Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Shiro carefully made his way down the hall, tray in his hands holding a pot of soup, two bowls, spoons, and cups along with a pitcher of the tasty juice from the fruit the native Inarii had brought by that morning, and a large hunk of bread for just him. Lance was not to be doing solids, doctor’s (or, well, Coran’s) orders for the duration of his illness, of which they were only entering day two and the Inarii said the Reavian Flu that Lance had contracted normally last about five quintants.

Lance was miserable, both from the sickness and the fact he had gotten it at all when the Paladins had responded to the planet’s distress beacon and now could not partake in the festivities that followed them fighting off the Inarii’s oppressors; a group calling themselves the Jubbals that had been in control of the relatively modern style prosperous agricultural planet for the last several years. They had been aided by numerous Inarii, who had been rewarded with high status and rights deprived of their fellows, to keep order with fear. 

But the Jubbals had fled after Voltron arrived — cowards, Keith had scowled after them and Shiro had seen how much he had wanted to pursue but he was acting leader of Voltron now and couldn’t give into that urge. Shiro was so proud of him. 

Keith had really grown up.

And he regretted that he had not been there to see it. 

He had not been with Voltron for the past several months as they had all thought. He’d been captured instead following the fight with Zarkon and spent all that time strapped to a lab table with only vague memories of yellow eyes and cruel laughter. He was grateful this time that was all he remembered as his mind had taken refuge in the Astral Plane with the Black Lion’s assistance and her presence had kept him from falling into the nothingness.

But while he had been locked away, a clone masquerading as him had infiltrated the Paladins. From what Shiro had learned via hushed, whispered conversations as no one liked to speak of it,  they weren’t sure what the end game had been for the clone or who had sent him (although running vote was Haggar). Steal the Black Lion? Destroy Voltron? Kill them? He had broken apart the team, in a way, as Keith had left for the Blade and Pidge had told him more bluntly that he had become “an asshole” towards the end and his behavior was causing rifts in the team.

It was Lotor of all people that had brought the situation to light, the newly crowned emperor and with access to all Galran facilities and databases. And he’d found something that had concerned him, some sort of hidden laboratory that had traces of what he could only describe as a human signature that was identical to the records they had on Champion. He’d brought it to Voltron, intending to tell Allura in private.

Apparently Shiro had overheard.

Cameras, Coran had speculated later. The workshop room Lotor had confided to Allura the detail had had them along with microphones.

And he’d attacked.

It had been an attempted assassination, Lotor had told him almost haughtily but behind that Shiro could see what he liked to imagine was a flicker of actual concern for him, as Shiro had come for Lotor, both eyes and arm glowing, without warning when they’d exited the room.

Lotor had killed him first, impaled him right through the heart.

Shiro knew it wasn’t him, hadn’t been him, but he still shuddered at the imagery conjured.

The others had been horrified when they found out, but Lotor was insistent that he had not killed the one they called Shiro and Allura had backed him, her eyes wide but set. Lotor had insisted they go immediately to the facility before anyone could act upon the fact their plant had been discovered.

At the facility they’d found Shiro. The real one. Him. Shiro didn’t remember the rescue but he did recall Black telling him it was time and nudging him back towards his body that she’d been protecting him from. Pain she had whispered before in her projections. That was all that awaited him there previously but not now. Now it was safe. 

He’d been rescued, the Blade had been contacted and within the varga Keith was there. 

Shiro could still remember the way the boy had stared, disbelieving, before his entire face crumpled and he’d nearly knocked Shiro over with his lunging, desperate hug.

He should have known, Keith had whispered, sobbed, into his shoulder. He should have known. Something had been off, not right, but Keith hadn’t pushed, had thought the issue was him, that Shiro hadn’t wanted him to be leader anymore and he’d… he’d run away. 

He’d failed Shiro. His brother. All that time Shiro had been trapped and he’d… he’d just left. 

He had apologized so many times now that Shiro had told him if he said it again he’d give Lance permission to cut his mullet. It had drawn a watery laugh but better than that had been the quiet okay followed I love you that Shiro had just as gently but fiercely returned.

Shiro had insisted that Keith take back the Black Lion, for now he’d had to add quickly as purple eyes narrowed, while he regained his health and stamina.  His body was not atrophied in any way but he was weak and remembering how to breathe again had been a challenge Shiro hadn’t anticipated and sometimes he still found himself gasping and coughing when trying to eat or drink. 

That had all happened nearly a month ago and  while Shiro was back to full strength and hadn’t had a breathing hiccup in over a week now, he still maintained that Keith should continue to pilot Black and he would be an observer, an actual advisor and not a backseat leader.

And Keith was a good one. He was still reckless at times, but his team trusted him and he trusted them and the sight warmed Shiro every time.  And just like he’d proven with the Jubbals, Keith knew when both to fight and when to withdraw. 

After the Jubbals fled, Voltron had assisted in rounding up the Inarii who had betrayed their own kind but Allura had cautioned that Voltron would not be playing the role of judge or jury and that they had arrived only to vanquish the threat, not to engage in politics.

For now all Shiro knew was that the six Inarii identified had been placed in prison and were awaiting trial as the Inarii reorganized and elected a council — the previous one had all been murdered three deaca-phoebs ago they’d said quietly. Voltron had been asked to stay for a few days to both celebrate, to rest, and then to discuss an alliance once the council was in place. 

Lance had gotten sick that first night.

They had all been given a preventative earlier to the Reavian Flu currently sweeping the planet, but just like flu shots on Earth sometimes they didn’t always work. And Lance had been the unlucky one to fall to it.

He wasn’t contagious to any of them given their own vaccines, but he was also in no condition to be moving about as when the Reavian Flu hit it hit hard. It was manageable with plenty of rest and fluids, but it left the body weak and shaking with plenty of other potential symptoms including high fever, chills, nausea, headache and even disorientation.

Lance had already experienced the first four and it was still early. The Inarii said it would get worse before it got better, normally breaking on the fifth day. They felt awful that Lance had fallen ill and came by the castle daily with fresh produce from their fields and well wishes. 

They had wanted to see him but Allura had kiboshed that, apologizing quietly to Lance later but they could not have anyone, even well meaning aliens, wandering the castle halls. It was for the best, Shiro thought, as Lance both looked and felt awful and he didn’t need a bunch of strangers seeing him like that.

He didn’t even seem to like his team visiting.

Shiro had found that out when he’d come down last night, the Paladins rotating shifts just so Lance wasn’t alone in case his fever spiked or any other symptom became worse, and Lance had spotted him and huddled into his blankets, hiding his face.

Shiro had managed to get him to roll onto his back so he could place the cool gel pack Coran had instructed to replace every three varga, but Lance hadn’t met his eyes even as he’d murmured out a ‘thank you,’ and Shiro hadn’t pushed. Everyone dealt with being sick differently and Lance was tired and not feeling well. Shiro could hardly expect him to be social.

But something had churned his stomach even though he wasn’t sick when he’d come by earlier that afternoon to check in and found Lance curled up nearly on Hunk’s lap while Pidge sat next to him and gently stroked his hair and they had all been talking quietly. That in itself was sweet, but upon Hunk calling out a hello to him he’d seen, and he wasn’t imagining it, Lance stiffen and he hadn’t relaxed the entire time Shiro had been there.

Which led Shiro to believe he had done something.

Or…

Or maybe his clone had.

He realized then he hadn’t really talked to Lance since he’d been back, had barely seen him outside of group engagements. And while he had never been quite close with him the way he was with Keith and even Pidge, he’d never had Lance be quite so… distant. 

Something had happened.

Shiro just didn’t know what. 

What he did know was he wanted to fix it, clear the air between them. Lance wasn’t one to hold a grudge, he didn’t think so, and he had to know that whatever the clone had done had not been Shiro in control. Which meant that it was something Shiro had done but try as he might he couldn’t think of what it might be. 

He wanted answers but he also knew better than to ask now. He might get them but it would be a breach of trust while Lance was feeling this sick, this vulnerable.

No.

What Shiro planned to do instead was be there, show his support and care, and hope that Lance might open up what was on his mind on his own. It was why Shiro had volunteered for dinner and evening hour rotation tonight while the rest of Voltron attended a gala in their honor in town. He knew Lance was expecting Coran but he’d urged the older man to go, enjoy, because Coran tended to sit back when it came to celebrations and Shiro wanted to fix that too. Coran and he were the same now; neither dressed in Paladin armor but they were both still integral to Voltron and Shiro hated that it had taken him so long to realize how much they took the advisor for granted. Seeing Coran’s delighted face, his moustache nearly grinning, only made Shiro more determined that Coran would be a part of all events in the future. 

He glanced down at his tray one last time, making sure he wasn’t missing anything so he didn’t have to trek all the way back to the kitchen.

Nope.

All good.

He transitioned the tray to one hand, pressed the button for the infirmary door and it whooshed open and Shiro stepped in.

The lights were low — headache was getting worse, Hunk had reported a varga ago — but they still easily illuminated the lump in bed, a thin sheet pulled up to Lance’s chin and all that Coran was allowing him for his chills because they didn’t want the fever rising any more than it would already, that could not hide the fact he was shivering.

Lance turned, squinting, and revealing cheeks dark with fever. “Coran?”

“Nope, Shiro.”

And although Shiro had been preparing for it, seeing the flicker of… hurt? Guilt? flash on Lance’s face before settling twisted his stomach. He ignored it for now.

“I insisted Coran go to the party,” Shiro set the tray down on the small table. “He does so much for us all I wanted him to enjoy the night.”

And at that Lance’s expression softened and he nodded. “Yeah.” Dark eyes turned to Shiro then before looking away. “You, um, draw the, the short straw then?”

Shiro’s stomach clenched again as the self-depreciation was not accompanied by a laugh or a teasing smile and even then… even then he didn’t like it.

“Not at all,” Shiro said, trying to keep his voice soft but firm as he sat down in the chair — a large plush one — by Lance’s bedside. “I volunteered.”

Lance’s eyes widened ever so.

Shiro counted it as a win.

“I brought a bowl of Hunk’s soup and some juice the Inarii say will help with the nausea and tastes good, believe it or not. You up to eating something?”

“Dunno,” Lance whispered. Shiro could see his hands twitching beneath the sheet. “Too… too c-cold.”

“Then some hot soup should warm you right up. Want to try a few bites? It’s…” Shiro lifted the lid on the pot. “Some sort of tomato, maybe?” 

After a second Lance gave a short nod. 

Shiro forced himself to remain seated as Lance shakily pushed the sheet back and levered himself to sitting. The baseball tee he was wearing was splotched with sweat although his body didn’t seem to want to believe it was too hot as he gave a fullbody shiver and faltered.

“Want me to incline the bed?” Shiro asked. Normally he’d have just done but he didn’t want to intrude on any boundaries before he’d had time to figure out why those existed in the first place.

“S-sure.”

And Shiro counted it as another win as he raised the back of the infirmary cot up and Lance slumped against it with the blanket now pooled in his lap and the cold pack left behind on the mattress.

“Can I get a temperature real quick, buddy?” Shiro asked as Lance’s eyes fluttered closed as he tipped his head back. Lance gave a hum and Shiro picked up the scanner Coran had showed them all to use and after slipping his flesh hand beneath damp bangs — he definitely felt warm — he lifted them up and pressed the scanner to Lance’s forehead.

A soft beep echoed as it read the internal temperature.

One hundred and one point three. Up another point two from three hours ago when Hunk had last checked, all of the entries typed neatly on a datapad next to Lance’s bed. It wasn’t great but it wasn’t bad either and Shiro hoped they could continue to keep it low. 

“What’s the verdict, doc?” Lance cracked open an eye, a faint turn up of his lips, and Shiro hadn’t realized how much he had missed the boy’s smile until then, weak as this one was. At least Lance was looking at him again, talking to him.

“A little higher,” Shiro put the scanner to the side. “But not bad. How’s your stomach?”

“Kept down the crackers,” Lance said quietly. 

Four varga ago according to the chart. 

“Glad to hear it, buddy. Let’s try the soup then, huh? It smells delicious.”

“‘course it does,” Lance said, a touch of pride in his voice. “Hunk made it.”

Shiro was starting to see a pattern.

“Hunk’s an amazing cook,” Shiro agreed, spooning them both a bowl. “And he told me to inform you the only thing I did to this soup was serve it.”

That drew a rasping laugh as Shiro’s bad cooking skills were near legend. Hunk had banned him from the kitchen unless he was under supervision and Shiro had thought at first that was a bit harsh but when he’d blown up a tea kettle trying to heat water he’d agreed that was for the best.

He handed Lance his bowl; a nice deep one he hadn’t filled too high, and long fingers wrapped around it, holding it in his lap, and he let out a soft, content sigh from the warm porcelain. 

Shiro placed a spoon into the bowl, but even then the soft clank drawing Lance’s attention. 

“It’s not a hand warmer,” Shiro teased. “It’ll feel better inside.”

“But probably not so great coming out,” Lance’s sigh that time was resigned. Still he freed a hand and lifted up the spoon.

It shook.

Lance’s lips thinned and the spots of on his cheeks grew darker.

“You know,” Shiro said, putting his own spoon aside and lifting his bowl up in both hands, “when I was… recovering,” and for some reason Lance flinched ever so at that, “I found it easier to eat like this as my limbs were a little shaky. It’s a habit I’ve gotten quite into now.”

And he lifted the bowl and took a loud slurp. 

When he lowered it Lance was watching him and while he wasn’t smiling the worst of the veiled embarrassment had lifted and replacing it was something softer.

“How about you try?” Shiro plucked the spoon away. “Just go slow; I upended more than one bowl over my face before I got the hang of it.” “

“Gracias, Shiro,” Lance murmured and while Shiro didn’t know if such a thing really deserved thanks he didn’t refute it except to nod and smile. Lance liked to thank people, he’d seen. He liked to show appreciation, even for small things.

Something stirred in the back of Shiro’s mind as to when the last time was someone had thanked Lance for something small.

Lance successfully took a sip of his soup.

And another.

Shiro poured himself seconds as Lance slowly worked his way through his own smaller bowl, dipping his bread in that one and relishing every drop. 

Hunk really was an amazing cook. 

“How’s that sitting?” he asked as Lance lowered the bowl for the final time about ten minutes later.

“Okay,” Lance said, one hand going to his stomach and pressing down lightly. His head was bowed then but Shiro did not miss the slight pinkening again. “But, um…” Lance twitched uncomfortably. 

“What is it?” Shiro asked gently. “I’m here to help, buddy.”

Lance swallowed and then blurted out, “I have to pee.”

Shiro had been afraid he was going to say something felt wrong so the admission was welcome, even if it clearly made Lance uncomfortable for some reason.

It dinged a moment later.

“Do you need some help getting to the bathroom?” Shiro asked, as the infirmary bathroom was across the room and Lance was incredibly weak-limbed.

A short nod.

“Would you like me to carry you or do you just want some assistance walking over?” 

“I can walk,” came the quick answer.

“Lance, hey,” Shiro placed his flesh hand carefully on the slender shoulder and was relieved when Lance didn’t pull away, actually leaning somewhat into it. “You’re sick. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“I know,” came a barely audible whisper.

He still wouldn’t meet Shiro’s eyes.

“Come on, let’s get you up,” Shiro said, guiding his hand from the shoulder down Lance’s back, feeling a minute tremble as he pulled him gently off the inclined mattress. He helped Lance to shift to the side of the infirmary cot, pushing back the sheet and revealing dark gray sweatpants and bare toes, and then shifted his hand to wrap more firmly about the thin waist as Lance shimmied off the bed.

He wavered as soon as his feet hit the floor and sucked in a short gasp.

“Cold, huh?” Shiro asked, maneuvering Lance’s left arm to wrap about his own shoulders where fingers clenched the fabric of his shirt, as given the infirmary's cooler temperature it made sense the floors were chilled too.

“Y-yeah.”

They shuffled slowly across the room to the bathroom where Lance quietly told Shiro he could handle it from here and Shiro had waited outside. After he heard the toilet flush and the sink run and then stop did he maneuver back to the entrance and helped Lance back to bed.

It had taken Lance two tries to get into the high cot on his own but Shiro had not interfered, only standing by in case Lance fell while doing so.

He knew what it felt like to be hovered over — Keith had done almost nothing but when they’d retrieved him from the Galra medical facility for that first week — but unlike then he and Lance did not have that shared history that had made Keith’s attentions sweet instead of patronizing and overbearing.

Shiro frowned.

What was his and Lance’s history?

He hadn’t known anything of the other boy until he was waking up in Keith’s shack — his stomach still clenched at that and anger simmered at the Garrison — but Lance had clearly known of him, and despite the circumstances of his return to Earth he would never forget the near starry-eyed expression Lance had given him before coughing and trying to appear more serious (a state that never lasted long, Shiro had been quick to find out, although he had to amend that as since he’d returned he had seen a far more quiet, contemplative boy than the one he remembered).

He was apparently Lance’s hero.

It wasn’t a new concept to Shiro; given that he was the face of the fighter pilot program there were a lot of young men and women who he knew admired him, wanted to be like him, and he’d forced himself to stop feeling awkward about it and instead try to encourage them to be their own best pilot.

Then he’d become the Black Paladin, Lance’s leader essentially, and as details of his own hazy memories of what the Galra had done trickled out and what he had overcome, he had seen it only grow. It had warmed Shiro then, to know that despite all of the, the horrible things he’d done that someone could still see only the positives, could see call him a hero.

But… but was that it?

He’d already acknowledged he had not interacted much with Lance (or Hunk) outside of group settings and he felt a twinge of guilt every time because they were his team too and he knew how much Lance respected him. He should have made a better effort to get to know them because as he was realizing now he didn’t really know Lance. 

And then he’d apparently been gone for almost four months and that was four months of memories lost again, a history Lance had with someone he thought was him but was not, and Shiro wondered again if something had happened. 

So all he had to go one was the fact he had (and maybe still was) been Lance’s hero, his team leader, and while he had never, never, been unfriendly or unwelcoming towards Lance he had never gone out of his way to bond or get to know him.

No wonder Lance was embarrassed.

Asking Shiro for help had to be the equivalent of asking someone like Iverson; a commanding officer, a superior. They were friendly, but… but they were not family (Shiro wasn’t even sure if he deserved to use the term friend). Not like he was with Keith. Like Lance was with Hunk and Pidge and Coran and perhaps Lance was not quite so close to Keith and Allura but Shiro had seen the easy way they spoke, the clear way the worst parts of his rivalry with Keith had faded and taking its place was staunch support and friendship.

They had a history.

Shiro and Lance did not.

And as awful as this flu was, maybe it would be the chance for them to build that history, for Shiro to show Lance that he wasn’t just someone to be admired as a hero and leader. That… that he wanted them to be friends. Maybe… maybe one day even something like family.

“All right?” Shiro asked as Lance situated himself on the still inclined cot, sheet pulled back up to his waist and his head tipped back again.

He got a breathless yes.

“Stomach still settled?”

A nod.

“Up for trying the Inarii’s juice blend?”

“Um…” Lance cracked open an eye. “I, I don’t know…”

“It tastes like pineapple,” Shiro bribed. He did know that was Lance’s favorite fruit, a tidbit Hunk had dropped one time and for some reason it stuck in Shiro’s mind.

Lance sat forward so fast he almost tipped over.

“Whoa, there, easy,” Shiro put a hand out to brace Lance as he groaned. “It’s not going anywhere, promise.”

Lance flushed but let out a small laugh and met his eyes with a nod. 

“I’ve even got straws,” Shiro said, said objects sticking jauntily out the top of the glasses. Lance’s was in blue and Shiro’s was orange. “Be warned though, it’s a bit thick. Sort of a smoothie.”

He passed a glass to Lance and his own smile grew as Lance’s eyes lit up at the first sip. 

“I brought some cards,” Shiro said into the silence broken up only by slurping sounds. He did not imagine the surprise cross Lance’s face. “If you weren’t quite tired yet,” he said, pushing past the clenching in his stomach at the expression. “Coran said you needed to sleep but I know how… how exhausting sleeping can be.”

Lance had caught the inflection and the surprise softened to understanding.

Shiro kicked himself again for not making more of an effort before to get to know this young man, who was clearly more than his joking, flirtatious nature of previous would suggest.

“I’d… I’d like that. Um, what games do you—?”

A muffled thump that sounded as though from above brought Lance up short and both of them looked as one towards the ceiling.

“Is the party over already?” Lance asked. “I didn’t think I’d slept that long, but…”

“No,” Shiro frowned. “It just started a bit ago.”

Something prickled on the back of his neck.

It grew as the lights flickered for a split second before coming back on.

“Maybe… maybe a crystal went out?” Lance suggested.

Shiro inclined his head. It was possible. He didn’t understand Altean technology in the slightest and the sound could have easily been some system kicking in… or off. 

But the uneasy feeling didn’t dissipate.

“I’m going to take a quick look,” he rose to his feet. “Just make sure everything is all right. Finish your juice,” he instructed as Lance shifted as though he was going to join him, “and rest, okay? I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

But before Shiro could even start moving towards the door the sound of footsteps sounded in the hallway beyond.

A lot of footsteps.

Too many.

“Lance,” he tried to keep his tone calm even as his prosthetic flickered to life with a hum and a soft purple glow. “Stay—”

The infirmary door exploded. 

Chapter Text

Smoke billowed into the infirmary from the destroyed door and as much as his eyes watered Shiro didn’t turn away.

He would not be caught off guard again, even as the prickle down his spine had not receded.

How had someone gotten into the castle?

Why had they attacked the infirmary?

Who were they?

That last one was answered somewhat as the smoke finally cleared to reveal four Inarii.

They were an interestingly designed species. They were about Pidge’s height but what they lacked in height they made up for in muscle; huge arms and hands. They were bald, skin the texture of an orange peel with their color to match although in shades from peach to a dark russet, with small rounded ears almost like a human’s. They had relatively humanoid features too, although their noses were little nubs and their eyes larger with no eyebrows. 

Three of them were holding blasters although one was more like a shoulder cannon like Hunk’s bayard and Shiro would bet that was what had destroyed the door, while the fourth had a datapad and a strange set of goggles hooked over their face. 

They seemed just as surprised to see Shiro as he was to see them. 

“I thought you said it would be the advisor!” said the one with the cannon. Even as he spoke he did not lower his gun and his gaze remained on Shiro, appraising.

Shiro’s felt another shiver down his spine.

That look…

It reminded him of Haggar.

“It was supposed to be,” responded another. “I swear it.”

“Well clearly it isn—”

“Who are you?” Shiro interrupted, demanded, shifting his stance and bringing his arm up in clear attack mode. 

“How are we supposed to retrieve the sick Paladin now?”

“This is ruining everything!”

Shiro almost blinked as he was completely and utterly ignored. It might have been funny had this clearly not been a hostile situation and they were talking about doing something to Lance. 

“I’m not asking again,” Shiro growled. “Tell me—”

“Don’t move.”

The words came from the one with the cannon and his gaze had shifted past Shiro now.

Lance.

The words were darker in tone than the previous conversations would suggest he was capable of.

Shiro was again reminded of Haggar.

He didn’t dare take his eyes off the enemy in front but he had a feeling Lance had reached for the datapad on the table.

“I said,” the cannon whined and all around the other guns charged with a sick green glow, “don’t move.”

Lance must have ignored that as the next second one of the blasters fired.

Shiro’s heart leapt into his throat as he whirled towards it, too late, too slow, he couldn’t stop it oh God, Lance was—

The blast went right through the table, upending the tablet, the food tray and shattering dishes.

Lance’s hand, outstretched and shaking, was missed by inches. The boy’s eyes were wide and his face pale beneath the fever.

But he was unhurt.

Shiro flipped back to face the aliens even more wary now. 

They not only had weapons… but they could aim .

“Who are you?” he repeated his earlier question, debating the merits of rushing them right then and there. 

The blaster trained past him at Lance stopped him. Shiro was fast but even he wasn’t fast enough to intercept the laser — point just proven — and he had no shield. His arm could take a hit but it had also been… been months since he’d fought hand-to-hand combat outside of light training the past couple weeks and he knew who would be the likely winner in this type of near hostage scenario. 

“We are Inarii, Black Paladin Shiro,” spoke the goggle-wearing one. 

Shiro again resisted the urge to blink because he had obviously meant more than that. 

“I’m not the Black Paladin,” was what he said instead.

“No?” the alien cocked his head. “The Voltron Show would suggest otherwise, Shiro the Hero.”

Shiro kept his face impassive although internally he winced. He’d seen episodes of said show and, well… he was almost glad he’d been a Galra prisoner than have to go through that. Not only for the horrible acting and cheesy lines his character had said, but… but Shiro had seen the roaring crowds and flashing lights and even watching it on a video screen had made him freeze because it was just like the Arena and he’d barely closed the laptop before he’d been sick with the hazy memory. 

Shiro wasn’t about to argue semantics.  

“What do you want?” he asked, hoping for a more direct answer.

“An interesting question,” the one with the cannon spoke. “For the answer has changed.”

“What. Do. You. Want?” Shiro ground out, done with their games and half-answers. 

“We wanted freedom for our brethren,” the Inarii said. “We had planned to take the Red Paladin and use him as a hostage to secure their release and then our departure from this planet.”

Realization and horror clicked as one for Shiro.

The six Inarii they had put in jail… they were not the only traitors to their people. It made sense though, in a sick way. Shiro had heard whispers from the Inarii of the tortures and punishments doled out for insubordination and how they never know how the Jubaals had found out even with their Inarii informants because no one spoke to them of such things.

They’d had a network of informants and he was looking right at them. These aliens had betrayed their own kind, had been responsible for the resulting  torture and executions. 

And the fact they were telling Shiro so blatantly of their plan… 

They were either incredibly stupid or confident and Shiro didn’t think it was the first. They had gotten away with this charade for years; playing the role of fellow oppressed citizen while no doubt reaping rewards and comforts out of public view.

Shiro felt sick.

“But that was before,” the Inarii continued. “Before we found you, Black Paladin. And you are worth far, far more than the Red Paladin.”

Shiro didn’t have to see to know that Lance had flinched and he felt a different kind of sickness then, an anger, at the slight to one of his team. The Paladins were equal ; all five were needed to form Voltron and that meant one did not outrank another, not even the team leader. 

Which was why when Shiro heard of what the clone had done and said as him… he felt sick all over again. 

“Do you know how much Sendak, leader of the Fire of Purification, has offered for your head, Black Paladin? It is a sum beyond measure. It is,” and thin lips pulled into a cruel smile, “more than enough to secure our power and comfort upon Inar once more.”

Shiro was stuck on the first part.

Sendak.

Sendak wanted him? 

Shiro did not want to imagine the why.

Then the second part hit.

“We were willing to accept our losses as we are not so foolish to believe we could take down and control the Black Paladin,” the Inarii had moved on. “But now…” The cannon glowed green again with a charge, aimed past Shiro. “I suppose we’ll see how much you care about your team. He dies, Black Paladin, if you do not surrender. Now. ”

Shiro’s felt frozen.

These Inarii with their long-range weapons would normally be no match for him, even as out of practice as he was. And had Lance been healthy Shiro knew he could count on him to get out of the way and make himself no longer a hostage.

But that wasn’t the case.

Because Lance was sick and in no condition to do so and Shiro would never, never, risk his life like that. 

He was getting a horrible sense of déjà vu of when Sendak had infiltrated the castle and had threatened Lance, who had been defenseless and hurt, to now, somehow these Inarii invading the castle and threatening Lance who was defenseless and sick.

“Shiro,” Lance’s voice, barely a whisper came from behind him.

It was laden with such guilt and Shiro had no doubt he’d drawn the same parallel. 

He wished he could say something to reassure him that this wasn’t his fault — God, neither had been the first time but did Lance blame himself? Shiro had never asked, but God, did he? — but now was not the time.

Shiro powered down his arm.

“I surrender.”

It would be all right, Shiro told himself. He would comply with their demands until they were free of the castle and Lance was safe and then he would attack. They hadn’t been expecting him so they wouldn’t have brought any type of dampener for his arm. 

Was it honorable to go back on his word? No. Was it just for this circumstance? Absolutely. Shiro had found that honor codes meant little in the universe and upholding them when the enemy would not do the same was not only foolish but deadly. It was a hard lesson to learn, it still made his stomach twist, but it was necessary sometimes for the greater good of the universe.

And…

Shiro repressed a shudder at the memory of a cruel Galra yellow eye and a red cyborg one.

No.

One of the blaster wielding Inarii moved towards him, a set of cuffs that would do little once he powered his arm up and so Shiro let them place them on his wrists, handcuffed behind him, without resistance. 

And then he moved towards Lance.

“Hey!” Shiro pivoted, taking a step but the cannon whine stopped him. “I surrendered,” he growled as the Inarii displayed a second set of cuffs.

“You did,” the apparent leader of their group said, cannon still trained on Lance. “And we are taking measures to make sure you continue to do so. The Red Paladin will come with as well as your… incentive. Do not think about it,” the Inarii added sharply as Shiro clenched his fists, about to break the cuffs off, “because he will be dead before you can save him.”

“Shiro,” Lance whispered his name again, “I’m… I’m… lo siento.” 

Shiro didn’t know much Spanish but he knew ‘I’m sorry.’ 

“Not your fault,” Shiro said, gentling his voice and meeting dark ocean eyes. “It’s going to be all right. Promise.”

Lance gave a shaky nod as manacles were clamped tightly about his wrists, at least his in front. Shiro bit his tongue as the Inarii tightened them to where he saw tan skin whiten and Lance winced.

“Paladins secured, Earli,” the Inarii addressed their leader  and Shiro committed the name to memory. “Shall we proceed?”

“No, not yet,” Earli shook his head. “They are missing something.” His eyes roved about the infirmary before they landed on the far counter. “There,” he inclined his head. “Fetch the bandages.”

The same Inarii who had cuffed them did so, the heavy roll of linen bandages small in his large hand.

“Now gag them.”

Shiro’s eyes widened and he heard Lance suck in a sharp inhale. 

“You don’t need to do that,” Shiro said, trying to keep his voice even. 

“But I do. I can’t have you calling for help, now can I?”

Shiro mentally filed that away. The castle was parked on the far outskirts of the town which meant they were concerned about them making noise later on and being overheard. 

“He’s sick,” Shiro protested as the Inarii stepped up to the bed, a cruel look on his face now too.

“And the sick can still scream.”

Shiro clenched his jaw so tight he heard his teeth grind.

“I trust you are both smart enough to cooperate with this process,” Earli smiled cruelly. “But if you choose not to…” The cannon gave another hum. And while Shiro knew they wouldn’t kill him he was afraid they would hurt Lance. 

He was only insurance to them at this point.

“Lance, buddy, look at me,” Shiro commanded gently and Lance’s gaze darted up to him from where it had been focused on the Inarii unrolling the bandages. “It’s going to be all right.”

Another small nod.

Shiro kept eye contact until Lance was lost to sight as the Inarii stepped in front of him and blocked Shiro’s view. 

He could still hear Lance’s heavy breaths and then a whimper before it was cut off. Shiro’s fists clenched but he did not move and he could feel Earli’s smirk.

When the alien finally stepped away from the bed Shiro nearly saw red.

They hadn’t just wrapped the bandages over Lance’s mouth. They’d been layered into a thick band and forced between his teeth and pulled so tight that the dark skin was white from the pressure on the edge’s of Lance’s mouth before they cut across his cheeks to a knot at the back of his head. 

Lance was already nauseated and having something like that pressing down on his tongue, the sterile taste…

Shiro could see it in Lance’s expression too, the way he kept convulsively swallowing and his eyes pinpricks. 

“Your turn, Black Paladin.”

“It’s going to be all right,” Shiro repeated the phrase before he couldn’t. “Lance, it’s going to be all right. Don’t… don’t think about it, okay?”

Lance swallowed again and gave a short bob of his head. 

He didn’t look any less sick. 

The Inarii had crossed to Shiro now and a slight problem became obvious.

They couldn’t reach Shiro’s head.

“Kneel,” commanded Earli. 

Shiro forced down the flare of pride that cropped at the words and did so.

He would not endanger Lance.

He got the same treatment, gag sitting uncomfortably in his mouth and painfully on his cheeks but he knew his discomfort was still nothing compared to Lance’s. He swallowed too, the linen already wicking away moisture from his mouth, as realization set in that this was even worse than he had imagined.

As he’d told Earli, Lance was sick. He needed fluids and rest and constant care to make sure his temperature did not rise dangerously or his other symptoms worsen. 

This situation was none of those things. 

“Up,” the Inarii who had gagged him had his blaster back in hand and pushed it against Shiro’s back. He slowly rose.

“And you, Red Paladin,” Earli’s gaze and therefore Shiro’s swung to Lance. “Up.”

Lance had needed help walking to the bathroom not even twenty minutes ago, and that had been with his airways clear and hands free. 

Now…

Lance though was already inching his feet over the edge of the cot, made more difficult without the use of his hands, and Shiro could only watch as he wavered at just sitting.

“Hurry up, Paladin, or we’ll see what color your leader bleeds.”

Lance leveled a look at Earli, something dangerous in those previously scared eyes. 

Shiro felt pride beat fiercely in his chest.

But also fear.

Because Lance was protective of his team; he’d seen it time and time again now and made all the more obvious as he sat back and watched Voltron work. Lance would take a hit, put himself in danger, to protect the others without a second thought. It was an admirable quality to care so much about his team’s welfare, but…

But it was also dangerous.

And Shiro was afraid of the lengths Lance would go to to protect him. If Shiro was going to fight back, it would be now, when he could break free of the cuffs. Once they got a stronger pair or an energy dampener on him, and Shiro had no doubt they would, that chance was gone and while Shiro wasn’t bad in a fistfight he didn’t think he could take on this entire squadron with just his own body and protect Lance at the same time.

But Lance didn’t make any sudden moves as he slid slowly from the bed. He were trembling as he stood, wide-legged and braced and toes white and curled against the floor, but he was standing.

“Now walk.” 

The gun prodded Shiro’s back and the other alien with the blaster moved to Lance’s side, encouraging him the same. Shiro’s growl was muffled as Lance took a shaking step and another, his eyes trained down at his feet so he likely didn’t trip.

“Faster,” commanded Earli as they made their way slowly into the hallway. 

He didn’t seem to be in any particular hurry though, no sense of unease or fear of being caught.

“Camera data has been erased,” spoke the datapad carrying Inarii. “Traces of Jubaal signature weaponry recorded and false trail laid.”

Shiro’s breath caught.

What?

He’d already assumed correctly that Inarii was some sort of hacker and was how they’d gotten into the castle without alarms, but… but he thought for sure there’d be camera footage left behind, some clue the team could go off of.

Not…

Not a wild goose chase.

Because who would suspect they were still planetside? The Inarii responsible had been locked up, after all, and no one knew of the fact there were more of them, hiding among the victims like wolves amongst sheep. 

They were nearly out of the hallway when Shiro heard a scuff behind him and gun be damned he twisted around, just in time to see Lance hit the ground, cuffed hands thrown in front of him to catch most of the impact but his knees still slammed down and he collapsed atop his arms a moment later.

“Get up,” the Inarii behind Lance gave him a hard nudge with his large, sandaled foot. 

Lance made a gagging noise as the appendage pressed against his stomach and his shoulders quivered. 

Shiro knew what was about to happen. 

But there was no where for the sickness to go. 

Lance rolled onto his side, shaking and heaving, and a bit of ropy bile, red in color and Shiro had to forcibly remind himself it was just the soup, not blood, trickled over the top of the gag.

“Well isn’t that pleasant,” Earli sneered. He stomped back towards Lance and Shiro had a horrifying feeling of what the alien was going to do.

He made to go towards Lance, no blasters trained on the boy at the moment and he didn’t give a damn about them shooting him, but pain exploded on the back of his head as he was clubbed with the blaster previously pressed against his back.

He went down with a muffled yell, unable to catch himself at all, ears ringing.

It gave a level view then as Earlii lifted his foot up next to Lance, who was still gagging and choking. “Disgusting.”

He slammed it into the boy’s stomach. 

Lance’s entire body convulsed and more red bile managed to drip out.

Tears dripped down Lance’s face too through scrunched eyes and Shiro saw him trying to swallow, to cough, to breathe. 

He couldn’t breathe. 

Shiro tried to relay that but the gag brought only garbled noises out although they were rising in pitch as Lance was turning a delicate shade of blue. 

And Shiro didn’t know how he did it, he truly didn’t, as Lance managed to swallow back down the bile and the muffled gasp that time, while still painful and thick, was breathy.

Air.

Blue was receding to white and then to color beneath the red of the fever.

Shiro let out a muffled deep breath of his own.

God.

God. 

He’d just…

He’d just almost watched Lance choke to death on his own vomit. 

“Disgusting and pathetic,” Earlii sneered. “Get him up,” he ordered and Lance was wrenched none too gently by his hair up to his knees and Shiro felt hands descending into his own hair and pulling him to the same. 

“You, Black Paladin, figure out how to carry him or he’ll be dragged.”

Shiro took that as permission to move and shuffled the few feet over to Lance, who was only remaining kneeling by the hand still tangled in his hair. 

The boy wouldn’t look at him, streaks of bile decorating his chin, as surely as the shame and tears painting his cheeks. 

Shiro felt something in his heart twist.

No.

Lance had nothing to be ashamed of. 

His hands were behind his back but he leaned forward and bumped his shoulder gently against Lance’s and that garnered a pair of watery ocean eyes finally looking up.

Shiro wiggled his shoulder and jerked his head at it. He hoped Lance understood.

He got a slow nod.

Shiro turned then, leveling a glare at Earli as he came into view, and a moment later he felt Lance’s hands loop over his head; his wrists cuffed but his arms still able to open and close. Shiro braced himself, knowing he was going to be choked for a second, and rose to his full height in one smooth movement.

It was his turn to gag as Lance’s entire weight dangled off him but even while sick Lance was quick on the uptake and managed to jam both of his feet through the gaps between Shiro’s arms and  his sides and then wrapped his legs tightly about Shiro’s waist. They were trembling but Lance had them locked tight and Shiro knew he wouldn’t let go.

It was a very awkward, somewhat painful piggyback ride as Shiro was still being lightly choked and his arms were pressed painfully into his back, but he would take it any day over the alternative.

Shiro considered for all of a moment of making a break for it but squashed it. Lance was literally a target on his back and he was only alive because they wanted to control Shiro. He had to remember that and tread as carefully as he could. 

“Move,” Earli prodded Shiro’s side with his cannon and Shiro gave him one last glare before he did so, trying to keep his gait as steady as possible for Lance’s sensitive stomach.

Each step forward felt like a failure.

But each step forward meant they were alive. It meant that later escape was possible.

Shiro focused on that, watching his own steps the way Lance had so he didn’t see the castle, what should have been a safe place, giving way to outside and freedom that he could not take.

He had to just keep moving.

One step at a time.

Chapter Text

“Go on, get down there.”

The blaster against Shiro’s back pressed harder as he paused at the top of the narrow, dark staircase that led down into some sort of cellar. The night sky glittered above, taunting him with a freedom he could not pursue.

He’d planned the entire nearly varga-long flight over — and whether they had actually traveled that long or had gone in circles Shiro didn’t know but he wasn’t familiar enough with Inar’s landscape to make much use of it anyway — all the possible scenarios he could encounter when they stopped and what to do.

They all fell back to one sticking point.

Lance.

He was getting worse.

They’d been loaded onto the cruiser and forced to sit across from one another in the cargo bay, all three guns trained on Lance while the goggles-wearing Inarii had moved into a closed cockpit to pilot. They knew very well what was keeping Shiro in check and it wasn’t threats to his own safety.

Lance had ended up tipping over, but it was honestly for the better as the ship lurched and shook and even Shiro’s own stomach was doing somersaults. He could tell Lance was desperately trying not to be sick again, curled up tightly in ball with his bound hands pressed against his stomach.

The Inarii had mocked him, calling him weak and pathetic and disgusting and Shiro hated how he had been able to do nothing as already fever-flushed cheeks had darkened with shame. He hated more that Lance was affected by such cruel, deceitful words. 

Lance did actually pass out — Shiro wished he could call it sleep but that was too kind a word for how tense Lance was during it and the fact he kept shivering — about forty dobashes in as exhaustion from his flu overtook the fear and pain from their situation. Still, Shiro was grateful Lance could find reprieve at least there.

The Inarii were just as talkative as they had been when breaching the infirmary and Shiro listened attentively in case they dropped anything of use.

They were going to the home of Earli, a secluded location, and nowhere close to anyone else. Whether that was true or not Shiro had no way of verifying but after stepping outside now and seeing only fields for miles in any direction he could confirm that it was. That meant the odds of anyone stumbling across them or, should they escape, finding help close by was very, very low.

They would be reaching out to Sendak that evening and Shiro could sense despite everything they were nervous about that. If he could smirk around the gag he’d have done so. Sendak was a Galran after all, and they had to tread carefully with their request. And their request?

They didn’t want the bounty. They wanted instead an army of sentry robots programmed to their own needs and control so that they could rule with fear and numbers. It sickened Shiro that it would very well likely work as most Inarii were not trained in how to use weaponry. These ones must have received such training and weapons from the Jubaals and Shiro once again inwardly cursed that they’d ever thought it was over just because the leaders had been taken into custody.

Earli was in charge of this group and one of the other gun wielders, the one who had cuffed them, was named Handof, and the goggle-wearing one who was their technology expert was Niska. The other one remained unknown but he was the quietest of the bunch although that still hadn’t stopped him from prodding Lance with his gun regularly and chuckling to himself when Lance would make gagging or choking noises and he had delighted in waking Lance up when they were arriving, pulling on his hair and twisting it in large hands until Lance had come to with a confused, pained moan.

So as much as Shiro didn’t want to go into the dark cellar if it would get Lance out of their immediate way he would take it. And he was glad to go first because if Lance tripped — when he tripped, Shiro amended, as the stairs were rickety looking and Lance was already unsteady — he could hopefully try and catch him with his body at the bottom.

Shiro provided Earli one last glare and began his descent.

He had to duck as he entered the room as the ceiling was barely five feet high in the center and tapering closer to four feet on the perimeter. Handof, who had trailed behind Shiro, ordered him to his knees and he had reluctantly sank down, the alien now towering above him. It was surprisingly well lit for a cellar; several crystals embedded in the ceiling and giving off a soft yellow-white glow while a few smaller blue crystals were embedded above empty shelves bordering the walls. 

It showed though there was one exit and one exit only out of the roughly fifteen foot square space and that was the staircase they had come down and which Shiro had no doubt would be locked, guarded or both from above.

A thumping sound a moment later had Shiro wincing and he felt his blood boil as Lance tumbled into view, clearly having misstepped. The boy did not move from where he’d landed and Earli, coming down behind him, gave a solid kick to Lance’s back that sent him rolling to a pace in front of Shiro.

Dark eyes had met his for the barest tick before they’d looked away and Shiro hated again how Lance seemed to be ashamed to hold his gaze. None of this was his fault and what the Inarii were saying… they were wrong and as soon as Shiro had his voice back he was going to make sure Lance understood that loud and clear.

“Welcome to your new home,” Earli sneered, gesturing wide. “You will stay here until the Galrans come for you, Black Paladin. Perhaps they’ll even want this one,” his foot nudged Lance from behind, “for some entertainment.”

Lance didn’t react except for another tremble that ran through him, be it from the pain or fear or the chills plaguing him or maybe all three,  and Shiro only glared. 

Footsteps sounded on the staircase and Niska appeared, a glowing green bracelet in hand. Shiro tensed. He knew what that was.

“You are familiar with this,” Earli observed. “Good. Then you should understand what a gift it is that I bestow it upon you so that you might be uncuffed. Do you agree, Black Paladin? Tell me how grateful you are.”

He seemed to actually expect an answer as Handof cut through the knot holding the gag on and it fell to the floor with a small puff of dirt from the earthen floor. Shiro resisted the urge to lick dry lips or crack his jaw and give them that satisfaction.

He also bit back the retort of “fuck you” that he really wanted to say, despite his aversion of such language because this situation absolutely called for it.

But any retaliation on his part he knew would be returned on Lance and he would not see the boy hurt any more.

“I’m,” his voice was a rasp and he pushed past it, “grateful.”

“You don’t sound very grateful to me,” Earli smirked. “Try again, Black Paladin.”

Shiro swallowed down his pride.

For Lance.

“Thank you,” Shiro emphasized the words. “For your kindness.” He nearly spat the last word out and Earli’s lips curled at the clear sarcasm but he seemed satisfied.

“ Niska?”

The alien maneuvered behind Shiro and he felt the bracelet being affixed around his prosthetic. A moment later it sealed and his arm immediately felt heavier, blockier, but a twitch of his fingers showed he still had control and so it would be enough.

Earli had his gun pointed now at Lance as Niska removed Shiro’s cuffs, a reminder to not try anything. And even without that Shiro knew it would be foolish to fight here; he was stuck either on his knees or hunched over while the Inarii could stand at their full height.

Niska moved towards Lance and bent down to where cuffed hands were pressed back against his stomach. A moment later there was a click and Lance was freed. His gag was not removed and Lance made no effort to do so himself, remaining curled up.

“I think that takes care of things,” Earli said, nodding his head and Handof moved past Shiro for the staircase where he took up post with his blaster trained on Lance. “We’ll see each other again soon, I’m sure, Black Paladin.” He did not address Lance.

Shiro felt something cold trickle into his stomach at the omission.

It was either because it was another way to taunt him, to tell Lance without even words how little worth he had to Earlii.

Or…

Or it was because he didn’t expect Lance to be alive later.

Which, without supplies to combat his illness, his fever could very well be a reality.

“Wait,” Shiro called out, voice still a rasp. 

Niska was already ascending the stairs but Earli paused from his backing up. And while he had no eyebrow Shiro could see the questioning expression overpowered only by dark amusement.

“We need water,” Shiro said firmly. “And—”

“No,” Earli cut him off. “Such things are to be given to grateful prisoners. And you are not yet grateful, not yet desperate enough, for such.”

“You—”

“Take care of him as best you can, Black Paladin. His fate rests in your hands.”

And then the Inarii were gone and there was the thump of the cellar door closing.

Shiro remained stationary for all of a moment before he crawled the foot to Lance and his fingers, stiff from his own cuffs, fumbled at the knot holding the gag on tight. 

“Hang on buddy, hang on, almost got it,” he murmured.

Lance remained curled up on his side, back to Shiro, and shudders racing through him. 

A second later the statement was true and Shiro gently tugged at the gag and was relieved when Lance opened his mouth and he pulled it free. 

Lance coughed then, a weak, wet sound.

And then to Shiro’s relief Lance rolled onto his side, front facing Shiro now, and ocean met warm charcoal. 

But there was only fear in Lance’s eyes, not even a modicum of relief from the gag being gone.

Shiro felt his stomach clench again.

Something, more than the obvious, was wrong.

“Sh-Shiro,” he stuttered, more red dripping down his chin that had been trapped in his mouth. As uncomfortable and gross as that was Shiro didn’t think it was the cause of the fear. “I, I c-can’t…” Lance weakly shook his head on the ground, tears gathering in his eyes. “I c-can’t feel my h-hands.”

Shiro’s gaze dropped immediately down where Lance had them curled against his stomach.

The long fingers were a sickly white and the flesh above his wrists was an angry, splotchy red and bruise-colored purple.

The cuffs had completely cut off his circulation.

Oh God.

Shiro tamped down the immediate fear because his own panic was not going to help even as his shoulder gave a sudden throb as though to remind him the fate of lost limbs. 

“Here, let me see,” Shiro reached for the abused hands, gathering them between his own.

They were cold.

Lance let out a low sob.

“Can you feel that?” Shiro asked, squeezing them.

Lance shook his head.

His breath hitched.

Not good.

“It’s going to be okay,” Shiro assured. “It’s going to be all right, okay, Lance? Okay? Stay with me, buddy. It’s going to be okay.”

As he spoke Shiro was gently placing Lance’s right hand down and putting his attention on the left one, Lance’s dominant because if… Shiro swallowed at the pessimistic thought and began massaging it between his own, kneading his fingers, metal and flesh, deep and hard.

Lance shuddered.

“I need you to help me, buddy,” Shiro said. “As best as you can try and shake your other hand out, okay? Move it on the ground, tap your fingers. Don’t try to make a fist.”

“I c-can’t,” Lance choked out. His entire arm was trembling. “It won’t m-move.”

“Keep trying, I know you can do it,” Shiro coached, prayed, because Lance as he knew was nothing if not determined. 

Lance managed to lift and drop his entire forearm with a shaky thump.

“There you go,” Shiro encouraged. “That’s it, buddy.”

He knew that wasn’t going to be enough but for now…

For now it gave something Lance to do and it couldn’t hurt.

The hand captured between his own was still cold and stiff even as Shiro pulled on the fingers and dug his thumbs into the base of the wrist, pushing out. He’d had a lot of experience once upon a time.

And while Shiro hated Haggar, what she had done to him, to his mind, to his body… she had cured him. His right hand had been completely replaced, eliminating the muscle deterioration completely, but his left… she had healed it. The pain was gone, the strength restored. He hated her… but he was grateful, in a sick way too. The dread that had haunted him since he was a young teen when he’d been diagnosed, had hung over not only his career but his life and future, had been erased.

He hated she had been the one to do so.

He was grateful she had.

It was all very confusing and Shiro chose to focus not on those memories but on making sure Lance wasn’t going to be the one to have ruined hands now. Because if this was the universe’s way of balancing the scales… he’d take back his illness in a heartbeat.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered, dragging his thumbs up and down the back of Lance’s hand. 

And Lance let out a soft cry and his hand jerked in Shiro’s grip. 

“I know, I know it hurts,” Shiro soothed as no doubt almost torturous levels of pins and needles were stabbing into the boy’s left hand, “but it’s a good thing. Focus on that, okay? It means your hand is going to be okay.”

“K-kay,” Lance whimpered. Tears were starting to spill down his cheeks.

Shiro’s heart wrenched.

How much more did Lance have to suffer?

“I’m going to start on your right hand,” he said a minute later. “I need you to keep tapping your left, all right? I know it hurts, I know, buddy, but you have to.”

Because if he didn’t address the other hand, still white where it should be tan, soon…

He and Lance switched, and Shiro began to dig his fingers into this new frigid appendage, murmuring encouragements and assurances to Lance as he did what Shiro asked, trembling and shivering all the while and fighting against a body that needed rest. 

Shiro once again found himself admiring Lance’s strength. It was something he had overlooked before, and he regretted that so so much, but he wasn’t going to make that mistake again. 

To Shiro’s relief a few minutes later he could feel Lance’s hand growing warmer in his own, color returning, and it was twitching. Lance had quieted his sobs but Shiro could tell he was still in pain.

“You’re doing great, buddy,” he said softly, more gently rubbing the hand now and hoping the touch was soothing rather than the rough massage of before. 

Lance though shook his head. “I’m, I’m s-sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Shiro asked gently, even though he had a feeling he already knew the answer.

“I got us c-caught,” came the reply, intermingled with a fullbody shiver. “And, and now…”

“Shh,” Shiro hushed him. “That’s not true.”

“It’s my fault—”

“Lance,” Shiro’s voice was sharper, firmer, and Lance broke off. Shiro softened his tone. “None of this is your fault, buddy. I need you to believe me when I say that.”

“I got s-sick—”

“Which was not your fault either,” Shiro interjected. “You took the vaccine same as the rest of us, remember? Or am I remembering a different Lance comforting Hunk when the doctor came out with the needle?”

Bringing up Hunk had been the right move, even if it was about his needle phobia, as Lance untensed ever so at the mention of his best friend. Shiro still found it amazing how close the two were, how deep their bond, how even the thought of Hunk could bring Lance comfort. 

“None of this is your fault,” Shiro repeated it. “And, and I don’t want you worrying about what happens next, okay? I just want you to focus on yourself and feeling better.”

Of which Shiro knew was unlikely to happen as things were but he had to think positive and needed Lance to do the same. State of mind was a powerful thing and they were going to need every bit of that they could.

Lance gave a jerky nod of his head on the ground.

“On that, how’s your hand doing?”

“H-hurts,” Lance managed, still weakly tapping it.

“How’s the right one? Feeling better?” 

“It’s… it’s not as bad.”

“Let’s switch again then,” Shiro said, carefully lowering the one he’d been massaging to the ground and taking Lance’s left back between his palms. “They’re going to hurt for a little longer and prickle for a while after that, but they’re going to be okay. I promise, buddy.”

Lance untensed further.

“I’m not going to pretend though that things are… things are bad, Lance. And they’re… they’re probably going to get worse. So I need you to be honest with me about your symptoms and condition.” Shiro did not imagine the flush steal across Lance’s cheeks.

He was going to nip that right in the bud.

“There is no,” Shiro emphasized it, “reason to feel ashamed about any of this. You’re sick, buddy. And I’m here to help.”

“...okay.”

Shiro let out an internal sigh of relief and his lips curved into a smile as Lance’s eyes sought out his own and didn’t look away. 

Good.

“Let’s do a checklist then. How’s your stomach?”

Lance winced at that and flushed.

“Hey,” Shiro tapped his fingers on the hand still in his grip. “None of that. God, Lance, that was…”

Terrifying.

Horrifying.

Shiro thought Lance was about to choke and die right in front of him.

“Scary,” he settled on. “And beyond cruel. And absolutely in no way your fault, ” and that was a point Shiro had a feeling he’d be trying to drill into Lance’s head as blame seemed to be something Lance found some sick familiarity with and it was not okay. 

Lance remained quiet, swallowing thickly.

Shiro decided to help him out with a more pointed question. “Scale of one to ten with one being puppies and rainbows,” and that brought a ghost of a smile, “how’s your nausea right now?”

“...seven. But, but I don’t think… except, I can… I can t-taste it and…” Lance made a gagging noise and shook his head.

“I know,” Shiro said sympathetically, cursing inwardly that the Inarii could not even leave them water. 

An idea occurred to him then and after Shiro gently placed Lance’s hand down on the ground, the fingers tan and even a little red from the friction, reached over and retrieved his gag. Obviously the part that had been in his mouth was no good but the rest… 

He unbound it from the thick wad and then ripped off a piece.

“Let’s get you sitting up,” he said, “and while we can’t rinse out your mouth… we can wipe it out, huh? Might help a bit.”

“I… I don’t think I…” Lance trailed off, his eyes dropping again.

“Sit up?” Shiro clarified and got a small nod. “And I told you, buddy, I’m here to help. Can I lift you?”

Lance gave a hum.

Shiro gently slid his flesh arm underneath Lance’s back and maneuvered him to a sit. He could feel then the not quite visible tremor and the sticky dampness from sweat that had soaked through Lance’s shirt.

Not good.

“I think it’d be best if we went over to the wall,” Shiro said, as Lance was hunching over and even then swaying slightly.

But to Shiro’s surprise Lance gave a near violent shake of his head at the suggestion and he trembled even more.

“Lance?”

“Here, here’s fine,” Lance mumbled, eyes down and Shiro didn’t think it was only because his head was hanging. His breath was starting to come in little pants now.

Shiro had seen a panic attack before and while Lance wasn’t quite there yet he was headed for one.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Shiro rubbed his hand where he’d left it against Lance’s back. “We don’t have to move, we can stay here.”

Lance’s shallow pants did not abide.

“Lance, hey, breathe buddy, it’s okay. Come on, deep breath in with me now.” Shiro made an exaggerated inhalation and to his relief he felt Lance suck in a breath as well. He let it out with a heavy breath and Lance copied.

“And again,” Shiro coached, keeping it up while he peered more closely at the shelf-lined walls to try and figure out what about them had freaked Lance out so much. He didn’t see anything.

“We’ll stay right here,” he said as Lance’s breathing evened out. “But… can you tell me why you don’t want to go over to the wall?”

Lance shuddered, his eyes still down. 

But he answered.

“It’s… it’s just…. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Shiro countered gently. 

“I just… I don’t… I don’t like small sp-spaces. And, and the ceiling...”

Shiro hid his frown. Claustrophobia was obviously a concern for pilots and crews as they would be stuck in small, cramped spaces for sometimes weeks or even months on end for long voyages and the Garrison thus did rigorous testing to make sure all of its students could handle that sort of environment. Lance would have had to pass to be admitted and it wasn’t something one could hide, especially given Lance’s severe reaction now when the cellar, while low-ceilinged, was still rather large and relatively bright. 

Did that mean… Lance had become claustrophobic after the Garrison? Somewhere up in space? When? How? 

“This is okay though, here?” he clarified instead of asking for further. Now was not the time.

“Y-yeah. It’s, it’s open.”

“Then we’ll stay here. And you can lie down again in a bit, all right?”

Lance gave a heavy nod.

“Let’s get you cleaned up a bit now, huh? Can you look up at me?”

Lance did so even though his eyes slid sideways.

Shiro didn’t push the issue as this was not something that was going to be changed in one conversation.

He turned his attention to rubbing the bandages across Lance’s chin, scrubbing as hard as he dared, to clean up the dried vomit and then instructed Lance to open his mouth. 

“Do you want to do this, buddy?” Shiro asked as Lance hesitated. 

Lance nodded.

Shiro passed him a swath of the bandages and watched as Lance raised a trembling hand up, but he had motor function and the limb was responding, and brought the cloth inside his mouth, blotting at his tongue and teeth.

“Just chuck it over there,” Shiro gestured to the far corner where he’d sent this dirtied bandages and Lance did so when he finished. “Better?” A nod. “Okay, then, let’s resume our checklist.”

Chills? A seven, followed by another shiver. Shiro wished he’d been wearing his jacket but all he had on was a dark long-sleeved black shirt. 

Headache? Six.

Exhaustion? Seven. Shiro honestly thought higher as Lance was nodding now and he kept fluttering his eyes. Shiro resolved to hurry through the list so Lance could rest.

Shiro had checked the fever element for himself, trying to remember how warm Lance had been when he’d scanned him in the infirmary. He thought he might be warmer now, but not too much? Shiro mentally marked it at a high one hundred and one.

Throat? Three, and only hurt when he swallowed heavily. Not surprising considering he’d rubbed it raw vomiting and then had to swallow it all back down. Shiro still winced.

Dizziness? Seven, but only a three when he was lying down. Shiro had taken that as his cue and gently maneuvered Lance onto his back, pillowing his hands — keep them warm to help the circulation — on his stomach, and had then guided Lance’s head into his lap. Lance had blushed but the whispered "gracias" and the way he’d relaxed at the contact had assured Shiro it had been the right call.

Anything else?

And Lance had hesitated.

“Lance…” Shiro said it warningly. 

“My, my back. And stomach,” Lance winced. “I think… when they kicked me…”

“Can I take a look?” 

Lance nodded and Shiro rolled up Lance’s shirt as best he could from his angle, rotating him gently side to side to look.

There was a dark red splotch, skin slightly swollen, on Lance’s lower back and two more on the boy’s stomach. Shiro prodded them gently and Lance hissed but they seemed to just be bruises and not high enough to have injured his ribs. Thank God, as dealing with that or endangered lungs was a complication they did not need.

“It’s nothing too bad,” Shiro told him, tugging the damp shirt back down for what little comfort it gave. “Some ice would help, but…”

It was his turn to trail off.

Ice. Water. Blankets and electrolytes and warm soup and pillows and all things Shiro didn’t have. He blamed himself. He should have asked nicer, been less sarcastic the first go around. If he had, then maybe—

“‘s not your fault,” Lance’s words were soft but they pierced straight into Shiro’s thoughts. 

“Lance—”

“‘s not.”

Shiro huffed a laugh at his own argument turned against him. “All right.”

Lance’s lips made the barest curve even as his eyes fluttered closed.

He was exhausted.

He should have been sleeping, resting. Not being forced to walk and kicked and shoved down staircases and then the scare with his hands…

“Get some rest,” Shiro said softly. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Despite all of the uncertainties of their situation, Shiro knew that was one promise he could keep.

Lance graced him with another ghost of a smile and within a few minutes his breathing had deepened into the heavier ones of sleep.

And Shiro waited and watched. 

Chapter Text

By Shiro’s rough estimate it had been four hours, putting them into the timeframe when the others should be arriving back at the castle and finding them gone and the infirmary blown up wide. 

But right now he couldn’t focus on what they were doing, where they were searching (the wrong direction, God, he hoped there was some mistake on the Inarii’s part, something Pidge or Coran would spot) because in those four hours...

Their captors had not made a single appearance and Lance…

Lance needed water.

Badly.

The number one rule for any flu, both Earth and apparently space, was that fluids were a must to keep the body hydrated so it could better fight the fever and Lance was sweating, a lot, and had no way to replace any of it.

Shiro could already feel that his fever had risen, both from the heat he was giving off as his head rested in Shiro’s lap and the darker color to his cheeks and temperature of his brow, that Shiro found himself checking nearly every fifteen minutes as though it could make a difference.

Shiro knew that Lance, when the situation was important, always gave his full effort and that was more obvious than ever since he’d gotten back and seen the way Lance had stepped up, matured. 

And apparently Lance was giving this flu all he had.

“You don’t do anything halfway, do you?” Shiro asked him quietly, stroking his fingers through sweaty bangs, his voice quiet but too loud for the space.

Lance answered with a shiver.

Despite the fact his temperature had to easily be one hundred two, probably higher, he kept shivering, the chills wracking him and Shiro knew he probably wasn’t helping as his own body temperature was warm and the contact wasn’t what Lance needed, but he couldn’t move as acting as a pillow was about the only thing he could offer. 

He’d gotten up only once, after Lance had fallen asleep, to scout out their prison and, against rational hope, check to see if the trap door was locked. It most definitely was and all Shiro had to show for his efforts to force it open were an aching shoulder and another knock to his head as unlike the cellar there were no lights on the stairs and he’d misjudged the distance. There were also no openings in the walls and tapping it had yielded a dull thump indicating they were thick; the cellar the only likely thing carved out.

The shelves were bolted into the walls and no amount of tugging could free them. The dirt was all packed down although puffs still rose up from the ground and already Lance had particles clinging to him, attracted by the dampness of his skin and shirt. 

Shiro had finished his useless perimeter check, back aching from walking at a hunch during it, and come back and resettled Lance’s head in his lap and taken one of his hands between his and gently rubbed it while he slept, alternating between the two, as the bruises forming up his wrists were still concerning. Lance had whimpered a few times, the sound pulling something in Shiro’s chest, but he had quieted down eventually and remained asleep. 

Shiro hoped he continued to sleep. When he awoke he had nothing to offer to make him feel better and his body did need the rest.

But as if summoned Lance stirred, a breathy mumble escaping him, and his hands and then his feet twitched. 

Damn it.

A moment later a pair of hazy ocean eyes were blinking open and gazing upwards where Shiro was looking down. 

“Shiro?” His name was a rasp of confusion and Lance’s brow furrowed. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” Shiro stroked his thumb against a hot cheek. “Go back to bed, buddy.”

But the sleep was clearing from Lance’s eyes to be replaced with pain and then a wince as he swallowed and there was no moisture to soothe it. 

“Sh-Shiro?” he repeated, tone higher and something now bordering panic on his face as he swallowed again.

Shiro had a feeling what was about to happen as Lance’s expression twisted.

He moved quickly, hands sliding down to Lance’s shoulders and he lifted him up, turned him on his side and just in the nick of time as he felt the slender body convulse in his arms and then ropy, acidic bile, still red-tinged, was hitting the floor.

“Shh, shh, you’re okay,” Shiro murmured, resituating his prosthetic to wrap under Lance’s chest and his flesh hand rubbing circles on his back as he heaved again. “It’s okay.”

It really wasn’t though. 

Lance was already dehydrated and this was making him moreso. Shiro already knew he didn’t have near enough fluids in him as he’d have liked; he’d eaten the soup and maybe had half of his juice before they’d been taken and prior to that had been the water pouch with crackers four varga before. He’d used the bathroom in there once and now vomited two times. 

Lance choked out another round, this time all clear stomach bile. 

Not good.

Very not good.

“‘m sorry, ‘m sorry,” Lance was choking out the words between gasps and heaves. “‘m sorry. Lo siento. L-lo siento.” 

“It’s okay,” Shiro soothed. “Nothing to apologize for, buddy. Shh.”

Lance let out a strangled sounding sob and shook his head. 

Shiro kept up a litany of soft, indistinct murmurs and back circles, but as the minutes ticked by Lance didn’t make any more motions he was going to be sick and the heavy shudders seemed to be turning back into shivers.

“Any more coming up?” Shiro asked gently and got a headshake. “All right. I’m going to move us a bit; we’ll stay here, in the center, I promise.” Lance gave a nod to that and Shiro maneuvered Lance to turn, his back now pressed against the prosthetic, and slipped his other arm beneath the long legs. He didn’t quite pick him up but kept him raised and shuffled on his knees a few paces over and away from the vomit. He’d use some of the bandages to clean it up a little later and shove it out of the way into their garbage corner. 

He went to lie Lance down but to his surprise the boy reached out, shaking fingers hooking themselves in the folds of Shiro’s shirt and he paused.

“What is it, buddy?” he murmured.

And Lance abruptly let go of Shiro’s shirt with another shake of his head and a new patch of pink across his cheeks.

Shame or embarrassment. Again.

Why?

“Lance, talk to me,” Shiro said, continuing to hold Lance’s torso up with his prosthetic. “Remember, we agreed.”

“I’m c-cold,” Lance whispered after a moment.

“You’re burning up,” Shiro countered gently even though he knew it didn’t feel that way to Lance. 

Lance shivered again.

What Shiro needed to be doing was trying to bring Lance’s temperature down, which at this point meant just removing his shirt, maybe his pants, although such measures would do little in the long run. But those things wouldn’t make Lance feel any better right now as his body told him he was freezing.

And based on the way Lance had grabbed for him…

Shiro knew what he’d wanted. 

But then he’d let go when Shiro had spoken.

Had… had he forgot it was Shiro he was with? Delirium? Shiro didn’t think so, not yet (he prayed not ever). Which meant that the aversion was harkening back to Shiro’s observations from before of Lance being uncomfortable around him and the sickness had won out in that moment before Lance pulled himself back.

And while not so great for his fever Shiro knew the need for contact, for closeness and a sense of safety, was the bigger need for Lance at the moment. And maybe… maybe he could get some answers.

“Can I hold you?” Shiro asked carefully. 

Given how he was still supporting Lance around his back he felt the boy stiffen. 

“Not for long,” Shiro continued, “as it’s not good for your fever. But… if you’d like…” 

Lance still held himself rigid even though Shiro could see that he was struggling to do so. And then he gave a nod.

“Sí,” he whispered. 

Shiro smiled.

Lance was very flexible, he was learning, and his limbs went wherever Shiro directed them. He ended up sitting himself with his legs wide and situating Lance between them, pillowing the dark head on his chest and lifting Lance’s long legs over one of his own to trail off to the side. 

Lance, to his surprise and not, had hooked his fingers back into Shiro’s shirt. It reminded Shiro strongly of a child clinging to a parent after a nightmare and he wrapped both of his arms about Lance in response; prosthetic looser around Lance’s waist and flesh arm more snug about his shoulders to hold him to his chest.

“This okay?” 

“Sí,” Lance answered again. “Gr-gracias, Shiro. Lo siento. ”

Always with the apology. 

This was not a situation that warranted one in the slightest.

So why?

Shiro didn’t ask yet (he had so many things he wanted to ask), letting Lance get comfortable. He could feel the boy’s heart thudding against his own and Lance’s breaths were hot on his collarbone. He made a note that before Lance lied down again to see if he wanted to wipe out his mouth, although not much had come up this time. Shiro rubbed his thumb in small circles on Lance’s shoulder and just like he knew Keith found the gesture comforting Lance seemed to too, relaxing further in the embrace. 

Shiro waited to see if he happened to fall asleep, but after a few more minutes while slower his breaths were not the deeper inhalations of sleep.

Shiro had told himself at the start of Lance falling ill that this was not the appropriate time to ask about what his clone (or what Shiro had, he couldn't assume it hadn’t been him although he prayed not) had done to warrant the distance, but the situation had also changed. 

And Shiro didn’t want to think negatively, but…

But as things stood right now they weren’t looking very good. And in the event something did happen…

He didn’t want to wonder what ifs for the rest of his (very likely short) life.

“Lance?” 

He received a hum.

“Can I talk to you about something? You don’t have to answer at all, just listen.” 

Lance stiffened ever so but then Shiro felt him nod against his chest. 

“Thanks, buddy,” Shiro gave him a gentle squeeze. “I just… I wanted to apologize.”

Lance started. “Shi—”

“Let me finish, please,” Shiro interrupted gently. 

Lance fell silent.

“I wanted to apologize,” Shiro repeated, “because I think I’ve done something that hurt you. I’m… I’m not sure if it was my clone or, or me, and I’m sorry too that I can’t think of what it might be. But… but I’ve noticed there’s some… distance,” he definitely felt Lance twitch at that, “between us.

“Shi—”

“Shh, not done yet.”

“But—”

Shiro gave him another squeeze and Lance broke off.

“It’s not just that though,” he continued. “I also wanted to apologize for… for before all that, during those first few months up here. I never really took the opportunity to get to know you, Lance, or Hunk. I regret that. I’ve been watching, really watching, you these past few weeks with the others. And you are a remarkable young man.”

Lance ducked his head even though at their angle Shiro could not see his face. He still had no doubts there was a pink blush stealing over his cheeks. 

“I can see how much you’ve grown. Not just as a Paladin, but as a person.  I will admit,” and Shiro closed his eyes with a soft sigh, “that I saw how you interacted with Keith to start and… well, Keith is important to me. I’ve known him for… for years. He’s my younger brother for all intents and purposes and seeing how you would pick fights with him and insult him was… was difficult.”

“Lo siento,” Lance got the apology out before Shiro could stop him, his voice wavering. 

“Shh, no, don’t apologize. That’s not what this is about. What, what I wanted to say is that in part because of that, in part because of some of your other more… exuberant qualities, but mostly… mostly because of me and my own… my own problems,” Shiro swallowed as he didn’t like to talk about those hazy memories and confusion and pain that had cropped up far too often, “I didn’t really see you, the caring, compassionate, young man beneath everything else and I never made an attempt to.

“And so, I apologize. I can’t change what happened back then and I can’t change what it is I have done that has hurt you now, but I will make every stride to make up for all of it because I want to get to know you, Lance. I do. And you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to and we can let it be water under the bridge, but if you could… let me know what I did so I make sure to never do it again…”

Shiro trailed off, a mixture of guilt and release filling him from the admission. 

Was this how Lance felt from always apologizing?

“You…” Lance’s voice was barely audible. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

A swallow. 

“I, I d-did.”

That was not the answer Shiro had been expecting.

But…

But it did explain why he thought he’d seen flashes of guilt when Lance met his eyes. 

“Is this… about the clone?” Shiro asked, recalling Keith’s tear-laden apologies that he should have realized something was wrong, that he’d failed Shiro, but as Shiro had just painfully spelled out, he and Lance were not close. There wouldn’t be any glaring reason for Lance to have suspected if even Keith had not called out his behavior. 

A tiny shrug. 

Maybe?

“Lance—”

“You reached out. To m-me. And I didn’t… I didn’t listen,” Lance’s voice broke on the word. 

Shiro was confused.

Lance kept going, the words spilling from his lips like vomit and rising in speed and pitch.

“On Olkarion. When we went into the Astral Plane you were there. Fuzzy though, like, not like the rest of us. You kept… kept flickering. And, and you called out ot me. You told me to listen to you. And I, I tried, but I couldn’t hear you.”

Shiro froze.

What?

He… he remembered that.

“I thought that was a dream,” he said softly, feeling his own heart pick up tempo. He’d had so many dreams, so many visions and realities as time bled away in the Astral Plane that he had trouble remembering what was real, what was fake, what had happened, what he’d imagined instead.

He’d written that off as just another one because just like before nothing had ever changed from it.

But…

It had been real? 

He remembered at the time he thought it strange that Lance was the one who had remained behind last, as normally it was Keith or sometimes Pidge, a few times even Allura. Never Lance. 

That should have been his clue.

Why though?

Why had Lance’s spirit called out to him so strongly?

Shiro could have kicked himself.

Why not? 

He’d seen Lance’s compassion first hand, his ability to see things others missed. Keith was instinctual on the battlefield, Lance was instinctual with people. Something in him had made him pause and it had drawn Shiro over like a moth to a flame even if he hadn’t understood then what it was.

“You reached out to me, Shiro, and I didn’t… I couldn’t…” Lance broke off into a sob. “You were hurt. And, and I didn’t… I didn’t help you. I f-failed you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Shiro was stricken. “Lance, no—

“It’s my fault. I should have realized… I should have done something. You, you were there for another month and if I hadn’t been so st-stupid then—”

“Lance,” Shiro said sharply. 

“Lo siento. Lo siento mucho,” Lance continued to babble. “Es mi culpa. Soy tan estúpido. Es mi culpa. Lo si—”

“ Enough!” Shiro near roared, pulse pounding in his ears, and Lance flinched but Shiro couldn’t take it back.

Lance was scaring him. 

“Enough,” he said quieter, tightening his grip on Lance’s trembling form. “I don’t want to hear you call yourself stupid. You’re not. And I don’t want to hear you blaming yourself either. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But—”

“Lance, no,” Shiro shut him down again. “Buddy, listen to me,” and Lance flinched again and Shiro mentally kicked himself for that. That had been stupid. “You’ve never failed me,” he said gently. “Never. What happened there in the Astral Plane… you didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t even realize it was real and it was me reaching out. You couldn’t have known, Lance. You couldn’t.”

“But if I’d listened—”

“What were you doing in the Plane?” Shiro interrupted. “Why did you all go there?”

Because they had all been there, Shiro was remembering now of what he had written off as his imagination.  All five Paladins of Voltron. That wasn’t normal. 

Lance whispered that they’d been caught. That Olkarion was being destroyed, its people killed. They’d tried to tap into the Lions source of power, of their connection, for some miracle chance of breaking free and destroying the creature. 

“And did you?” Shiro asked.

Lance gave a nod.

“And when I was… when I was reaching out to you, were the others reaching for you too? Calling you back to the battle?”

A very small nod. Then, “But I—”

“Lance, buddy, listen to me now,” Shiro emphasized the last bit. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t blame you in any way. You are not stupid. You were in a horrible situation being pulled in two different directions and first and foremost…” Shiro swallowed thickly and continued, “first and foremost is your team. They needed you. You heard them. And you listened. You didn’t fail me at all, Lance. I’m so, so proud of you. You saved so many people that day with your actions.”

“But not you.” Lance’s voice was small.

“Not true. The fact I reached out, connected with you… Lance, I was… I was losing my mind in there,” Shiro admitted quietly and he felt Lance stiffen at the words, a breath of his name against his neck.  “I couldn’t go back to my body and so I was trapped in the Plane. I saw things and imagined things all the time and some were horrible and some were comforting. Those comforting thoughts and memories? They kept me whole. Sane. And while I wrote it off as another dream, connecting with you for that brief moment… it would have strengthened me. I know it did. And so you did save me, Lance. You did hear me, buddy. And that… that means everything to me. Thank you.” 

Lance was quiet then. 

A sniffle sounded.

“Shiro, I… I…” Fingers tightened in Shiro’s shirt.

“No more apologies,” Shiro said softly. “There’s no blame to be found here. Okay?”

And to his relief Lance gave a nod. 

Shiro still knew that probably wasn’t the end of it — Lance held onto guilt like some sort of safety blanket — but it was a start. A good one.

“Good,” he said it aloud. 

And without thinking Shiro bent his head down and pressed a kiss to the dark head.

Lance went rigid and charcoal eyes widened.

Why had he just done that?

He knew. He used to do the same with Keith.

A moment later though Lance went boneless,a tiny, content sigh, breathed out and his hands loosened their desperate grip on Shiro’s clothes. Shiro supposed he shouldn’t be surprised; Lance thrived on affection and he’d seen the way the boy cuddled up especially to Hunk, but the fact Lance had done so with him…

Warmth bloomed in his chest and he felt a smile growing on his face.

He realized a tick later the warm feeling wasn’t just figurative.

“Lance, buddy, it’s time to lie down again,” Shiro told him. All of the extra body heat was bad for his fever. 

The fingers tightened once more.

“You can still use me as your pillow,” Shiro offered. “But that’s it. I’m sorry, buddy. We need to keep your fever down.”

“...kay.”

Shiro was just about to shift Lance when there was a bang from above and even from here faint light trickled down the stairwell.

Moonlight.

Footsteps.

A moment later Earli, Handof and the unknown named Inarii appeared wearing matching smirks and while the latter two were carrying blasters there was something different in the other Inarii’s hands.

Shiro’s breath caught.

Water.

Chapter Text

“You want this, don’t you?” Earli chuckled, giving the bowl in his hands a shake.

Water spilled over and vanished into the earthen floor.

Shiro could hear and feel Lance swallow and he knew there was no point in pretending that he too did not desperately want it.

Feeling the heat radiating off Lance, Shiro amended that. Not want. Need.

Lance needed that water. 

Earli held it out, smile playing over his flat lips.

Shiro did not move and Lance couldn’t even had he wanted to, still wrapped up in Shiro’s embrace. 

He didn’t trust Earli whatsoever and the two guns trained on them weren’t inspiring confidence either.

Earli laughed again. “So suspicious. It’s not poisoned, I promise. Now come and get it or I’ll assume you don’t want it.”

Shiro’s spine was prickling as it could not be that easy. This group of Inarii had shown time and again how cruel they were, how much they enjoyed seeing even their own kind suffer, that the concept of them just giving their prisoners water was laughable.

And yet if they didn’t act now Shiro had no doubt they would take it away.

Shiro lowered his head, lips brushing Lance’s ear. “Stay here,” he whispered. “No matter what.”

Lance stiffened and his fingers tightened in Shiro’s shirt as Shiro began to lower Lance down. 

“No, Shi—”

“Shh,” Shiro shushed him. “It’s gonna be okay.”

He got the slender boy lying on his back, although he turned his head immediately on the ground and ocean eyes, while bright with fever, were intently focused on the two Inarii at the foot of the staircase. And even though Shiro knew Lance would be of no assistance should the Inarii attack he felt comforted still by the watchful focus.

Shiro debated his approach, as he would either have to awkwardly maneuver himself on his knees, crawl, or stand and then lean over due to his height. All of them were poses of submission and control. 

Shiro chose to stand as even with his shoulders rolled down and head ducked it wasn’t what the others represented.

He was just getting to his feet when Earli called for him to stop.

“Not you, Black Paladin. It’s the pathetic red one that wants this, isn’t it?” he shook the bowl again. “He can get it.”

“He’s sick,” Shiro kept his voice even. “I’ll—”

“Come closer and I’ll dump it,” Earli threatened. 

Shiro had no doubt he would.

And the soft glow of green light emanating from his wrist and the two blasters trained past him and on Lance kept him from further action. Maybe if there was only one he could… but he couldn’t risk it. They would kill Lance.

“Come and get it, Red Paladin,” Earli bobbed the bowl and more water sloshed out. “Or lose your chance.”

Shiro was still facing forward but he heard Lance shifting behind him, the soft catch of his breath as he pushed himself up on still weak hands.

“No, no,” Earli smirked. “You are below me, Red Paladin. Crawl like the dog you are.”

Shiro’s gaze tinted red as he heard Lance’s sharper intake then, could almost physically feel the hurt, the shame, that the words and command had brought on.

No.

Fuck. No.

“No,” he snarled the word out. 

Earli, fortunately, seemed amused rather than offended and the water bowl remained upright. 

“So protective, Black Paladin,” Earli sneered. “So… proud.” He smiled then, something cruel and dark and Shiro felt his stomach twist. “I’ll strip that pride from you. Come, since you insist. Come and crawl. ”

“Shiro,” Lance’s voice was high and shaky. “Sh-Shiro, no, I can—”

“Stay there,” Shiro said. He looked over his shoulder at Lance, lying down still although his arms were braced and shaking, trying to gentle his expression. “It’s gonna be okay.”

He let out a breath…

And dropped down to his hands. 

He moved slowly, keeping his head lifted and eyes narrowed the entire time on Earli, refusing to give him any satisfaction from the demeaning action. 

There was another prickle though going down his spine, a whisper of familiarity,of cold horror.

He’d done this before.

He pushed away the memory of high arena walls and jeers and heckles.

Not now.

“Stop,” Earli commanded as Shiro came within a foot of him and Shiro did so. He forced himself not to move and sit back on his heels as he’d like so that he didn’t need to awkwardly crane his neck up to see the Inarii. Instead he kept his gaze level, trained at their kneecaps.

“You still have too much pride, Black Paladin,” he heard Earli say. A few drops of water stained the ground inches from Shiro’s hands. Shiro wondered how much was even left. 

A sandaled foot came towards his face and Shiro forced himself not to flinch.

To his surprise it didn’t connect in a kick beneath his chin. Instead it landed between his hands with a thump, sending a small puff of dirt wafting.

“Look at how dirty my foot is because of you. It needs cleaned.” He could almost hear the smirk. “Lick it, dog.”

Shiro’s arms trembled then, pride warring with their need for the water, and his heart thundering in his ears.

This was…

This was...

Lance let out a choked noise. “N-no, don’t. I can…”

And hearing Lance attempting to rise again, to force himself up to do such a thing, had Shiro bending his head down.

He closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see.

And he flicked his tongue out.

The foot tasted awful; dirt and sweat and something that could only be described as rancid.

Shiro tried not to gag.

“I want it clean,” the foot bumped against his chin. “All of it. Go on now.”

Shiro very strongly resisted the urge to bite it instead.

For Lance.

Lance, who he could hear still trying to get up, little whimpers mixed with sobs, who would take on this task to spare Shiro from doing it.

No.

Not happening.

Shiro couldn’t do much but he could protect Lance from this.

He licked it again.

And again.

And again.

He fought hard to keep his gagging to a minimum.

He prayed there wasn’t a second foot.

Finally, several too long minutes later, a dark orange foot was clean, shiny from his saliva.

“Good dog,” Earli smirked and Shiro startled as a hand descended to pat his head.

God.

This was…

For Lance, he reminded himself.

“Sit up now,” Earli commanded and Shiro did so, easing himself back onto his feet and being forced to stare up,well aware dirt and saliva coated his chin and what a sight he must make.

“Now,” Earli grinned, and Shiro’s stomach twisted at the insinuation. There was more? “Beg.”

Shiro swallowed both dirt and pride.

“Please,” he kept his voice low, nothing like the growl, the sarcasm of before. He couldn’t afford to.

Lance couldn’t afford for him to.

“That’s all you’ve got?” Earli clucked his tongue and he shook the bowl. More water fell. “Better beg properly, dog, or there won’t be any left.”

“Please,” Shiro repeated, and there was something creeping into his tone now that he couldn’t fully control and he didn’t try.

Desperation.

Lance needed the water.

Earli smirked. “Go on.”

“Please,” Shiro swallowed and he lowered his eyes. “Please, give us the water.”

“Why?”

“We, we need it. Please.” Shiro’s hands trembled. “Please.”

A hand reached out and gripped his chin, wrenching his face up once more.

Cruel, amused eyes stared back. 

“Oh,” Earli murmured, squeezing his chin in one large hand, “how the mighty fall. What a pathetic excuse for a hero.” He released Shiro.“Take it,” he held out the water bowl, nestled in his one large hand. “All yours.”

Shiro reached slowly up.

And Earli dropped it.

Shiro lunged, somehow catching it before it tipped over, although he nearly fell over himself, barely managing to bring the bowl back protectively to his chest.

“Heh,” Earli spat to the side, cleary disappointed by the turn of events but not pursuing further. “Let’s go,” he said instead to the other two Inarii and Shiro was forced to remain kneeling where he was as they backed up, guns still trained on Lance and the risk too much.

A few moments later they were gone and they took the moonlight with them.

Shiro glanced down then at the bowl to see what he’d gotten them.

A surprisingly decent amount of water gleamed up, maybe about two liters. It wasn’t enough, far from it, but it was more than Shiro had expected. 

He paused before turning around to face Lance, who had gone silent save for his shallow breaths, and rubbed the back of his hand over his chin, removing the dirt and saliva. He wanted a drink but Lance first.

This was his water.

Shiro could do without. 

He turned and shuffled on his knees back to Lance and to his own shame he couldn’t meet the gaze he felt upon his face, his own cheeks heating now. 

He wished…

He wished Lance hadn’t had to see that.

“Shiro,” Lance’s voice wavered. “Shi—”

“Let’s get you sitting up,” Shiro cut him off, setting the bowl down. “Don’t want you to choke.”

He didn’t look at Lance’s face as he slid his prosthetic beneath the boy’s back, easily maneuvering him to lean against his arm. He thought Lance would remain there, slumped and exhausted.

Lance did not.

Instead Shiro found himself having to throw his other arm up as Lance practically threw himself sideways and shaking arms wrapped around his chest and a fever-flushed face was pressed into Shiro’s chest.

Lance didn’t say anything but he held on tight, hugging Shiro with all he had.

Shiro gently returned it, bowing his head over the dark one and trying to blink back the sudden hot stinging in his eyes. He prayed Lance didn’t notice that his left arm was trembling although he knew the other boy would. He didn’t say anything though. 

They remained in the embrace for a few minutes until Shiro leaned back ever so and gently coaxed Lance’s arms to release him. And when Lance looked up at him then Shiro met his gaze.

There was an apology written in ocean eyes. Gratitude. Guilt. And…

And admiration. 

Shiro let it bolster him, chase away the remnants of memories new and old, and something warm filled him.

“Let’s get you a drink now, huh?” he asked quietly.

“You first.”

And there was a determined set to Lance’s brow that he would not take a sip until Shiro had. Shiro knew better than to argue at this point and picked the bowl up, two-handed, and lifted it to his face.

The water wasn’t cold at all, room temperature, but it was clean. He took one small sip, swished it in his mouth to rid himself of the taste of Earli’s foot, and then spat it out to the side, before taking an actual drink. Not much though, as Lance needed it more.

“Okay, now your turn,” Shiro held the bowl up. 

Lance’s arms were still shaking but he lifted them for it. Shiro ended up keeping his prosthetic against Lance’s back to hold him up and used his other hand to help guide and support the bowl as Lance took a drink.

“More,” Shiro instructed as Lance paused after just a sip. 

“Shi—”

“You need it,” Shiro told him. “Five more.”

Lance slowly did so. 

It still wasn’t enough, not for all he had lost and what his body needed, but anymore and Shiro was worried he’d throw it up again and that they could not afford at all.

“All right, good job,” he smiled softly as Lance took his final sip. “Time for you to sleep again.”

“What… what about you?”

“I’ll get some rest later, promise,” Shiro said. “For right now, your pillow awaits.”

Lance’s lips quirked up and Shiro matched it.

He was tired, but he’d gone on far less sleep than this. He’d manage for now.

The bowl was set to the side and Shiro helped Lance lie back down, his head once more in Shiro’s lap although there was a different feeling about it now, an ease and familiarity that hadn’t been there before. Lance curled up on his side, long legs tucked nearly to his chest and his hands bundled against his stomach.

Shiro could feel him shaking.

“Try and sleep,” Shiro murmured. He carefully lowered his metal hand down — no residual heat from it — and trailed his fingers through Lance’s sweaty bangs.

Lance relaxed even further as Shiro repeated the motion.

“Shiro?”

“Hm?”

“Gracias. For… for taking care of me.”

“Lance, you don’t need to—”

“For… for that.” 

Shiro’s hand stilled.

“For protecting me,” Lance continued, voice soft. 

“I’ll always protect you,” Shiro said, throat thick. “Always.”

And he meant it with every fiber of his being. He would do anything to keep Lance safe. He didn’t know how they were getting out of this, but no matter what happened Lance was his number one priority. He would make sure he got home safe. He swore it.

Lance settled down then and Shiro resumed his hair stroking. Lance’s breaths grew heavier, nearing sleep.

“Shiro?”

Lance’s voice was barely audible then.

Shiro hummed, not willing to break the silence on the precipice of slumber.

Lance let out a tiny breath. “No… no matter what, you’ll… you’ll always be my hero.”

Shiro’s breath caught.

“Lance—?”

A heavy exhale answered him.

Lance had finally fallen asleep.

Shiro found himself blinking back tears again. “Gracias,” he whispered himself, smoothing Lance’s hair, the word rolling strangely off his tongue but it felt right. 

He gazed down at the sleeping boy, beyond sick and no doubt scared himself, but still managing to offer comfort and hope and soothe a battered, broken soul. 

“Gracias, Lance,” Shiro repeated. “Gr-gracias.” 

Chapter Text

Lance was burning up.

Shiro could feel it, the heat soaking into not just his lap where a dark head still rested, but radiating off of the slender, shaking body. 

Shiro pressed his flesh hand against the visible cheek and it was just as hot as he imagined it to be, the flush of fever morphed from the dark pink to a duller red. 

Fuck.

He never should have fallen asleep. 

He hadn’t, for a long while. For nearly five varga he’d stayed awake, Lance intermittently rousing himself from his shivering and Shiro had managed to coax him to drink a sip of water each time, although he’d ended up cupping it in his prosthetic as the bowl lip was too wide without Lance’s assistance and dark hands had remained limp.

Shiro had spent those hours trying to come up with some sort of plan of escape and so far he’d tossed every single one as there was too much risk to Lance. If he could only get the Inarii down to a single gun wielder he could do it; intercept the shot himself (hopefully with his arm) and take out the threat. So long as he wasn’t too hurt he could carry Lance out and commandeer the ship they had arrived to the house in.

He’d gotten Lance to drink nearly two handfuls of water around what he guessed to be about oh six hundred, taken a quick stretch to relieve himself — not that there was much — in their garbage corner, and then had another sip of water himself. 

He knew it wasn’t safe to sleep, but it also wasn’t safe to continue to remain awake — he was going on twenty-four long, exhausting hours now — as his head already felt fuzzy and he would be of no use in an escape later if he wasn’t somewhat rested.

A few hours, he’d told himself. While he still didn’t remember much of the Arena he had trained his body to run on just a couple hours at a time and wake up on its own. He was a light enough sleeper too that should the Inarii come back he would awaken.

And so he’d made sure Lance’s head was pillowed on his lap and then hunched over in a sit to sleep. He’d awoken a couple minutes ago with an awful neck cramp, but his head felt clearer. The rest had been good.

Except for the fact that during those few hours Lance’s temperature appeared to have jumped.

A lot.

“Lance,” he whispered, tapping said cheek.

No movement, not even a shiver from chills, which had come and gone throughout the night.

“Lance,” he said the boy’s name louder, wincing at the volume as it cut into silence that filled the cellar. 

Nothing.

“Lance,” his touch that time was harder, and he jostled a numb leg beneath Lance’s head.

Still nothing.

“Lance, wake up,” Shiro commanded, reaching down now and giving the boy’s shoulder a firm shake.

Lance lolled with the movement.

Shiro hastily extracted himself from his role of Lance’s pillow, more gently making sure the boy’s head didn’t clunk into the ground, and knelt at his side so he could get an unrestricted, right-side-up view of Lance’s face.

His lips were parted, chapped, and his breath was thin, hot streams. His eyes were closed beneath his lids, still, although his brow was furrowed. His cheeks were as Shiro already knew a dark red, but the color had spread, staining all of Lance. And while his bangs were still damp the rest of him did not appear to be the same; the shirt no longer clinging with sweat and his hands dry.

He was dehydrated.

Severely.

Shiro cursed.

He never should have slept. 

“Lance,” he patted the cheek again. 

Still nothing.

“Lance!”

The shout did it as Lance gave a little jerk and ocean eyes flew open.

“Sh-Shiro?” he croaked, blinking up in confusion. 

A moment later he moaned and made to curl up on his side, but Shiro pushed his hand down on Lance’s shoulder to keep him on his back. 

“N-no,” Lance whimpered. “C-cold.”

Chills were back again then. Of course.

And then Lance’s face scrunched up and his eyes widened.

Shiro knew that look.

He hoisted Lance into his arms and managed to turn him to his side, just as he felt the body heave.

Clear bile splattered the floor.

God fucking damnit.

Lance heaved again and this time the sound of a sob accompanied it. 

“Shh, shh,” Shiro murmured, forcing away his own fears and rubbing Lance’s back. “It’s okay.”

Lance vomited again.

Nothing came up.

His body still kept trying to do so, the dry heaves shaking both him and Shiro. 

“Lo siento, l-lo siento.” 

“Shh, no, no, don’t apologize, it’s okay,” Shiro said, holding him as he shook. “Shh.”

Fear was curdling his own stomach.

Lance finally went limp a minute later, slumped over Shiro’s arm on his chest, and Shiro wasted no time in scooping the boy fully into his arms and carrying him away from the new mess. 

He didn’t stay in the center of the room though.

He carried Lance instead to the corner by the stairs where the light was lowest and he’d found on his perimeter check it was cooler, a barely there air current from the sliver-thin gap of the the trap door above caressing the ground there, plus without the direct light the heat from the crystals was eliminated. He hated that it was closer to the Inarii and that it was only about four feet in height for maneuvering (Shiro’s head scraping it when he knelt even with it bowed and he remembered Lance’s near admission of claustrophobia), but… but it was cooler, a couple degrees maybe.

And Lance desperately needed to be cooled down. 

Lance shook in his arms as he went to lower him down and unusually clumsy fingers reached out, trying to dig into Shiro’s shirt.

“Sh-Shiro, no. No. Not h-here. No aquí. ” 

“Sorry, buddy,” Shiro placed him on the ground and disentangled Lance’s fingers. 

Lance had looked sick and scared before.

Now he looked terrified, pupils shrunk and dilated. 

“N-no. No, por favor—”

“Lance, shh, it’s going to be okay. Shh.”

Lance continued to shake.

It got worse as Shiro rose into the bent crouch again to fetch the water bowl left behind.

“Shiro, por favor, por f-favor, no me dejes aquí.” Lance’s voice was rising in pitch and he tried to sit up but his arms wouldn’t support him; shaking and weak from the illness.

Shiro felt his heart break even though he didn’t know what Lance had said other than some sort of plea.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, buddy. Just a tick, okay? One second. I’m just going right here.”

Shiro moved as quickly as he dared, precious water bowl back in his hands.

It was already half gone. 

He knelt down next to Lance and trembling hands reached out once more and this time Shiro intercepted them with his own after placing the bowl down.

“It’s okay, Lance, shh, I’m right here. I’m here.”

Lance just whimpered.

“I need you to drink some water. Can you do that for me?” Shiro freed one hand to dip into the bowl, cupping the water in his prosthetic and bringing it to Lance’s face. 

The boy shuddered.

“Lance, come on, you need to drink.”

Lance shook his head.

“No. No. Shiro, por favor. No aquí, por favor. Es demasiado pequeño. Demasiado oscuro. Por favor, por favor. Sh-Shiro, por favor .”

“Lance, buddy, I don’t know what you’re saying,” Shiro admitted. “I’m sorry. Please though, I need you to drink the water.”

Lance let out a dry sob. 

This wasn’t working. 

Lance was too scared by the smaller space.

Shiro let the water trickle back into the bowl so he didn’t waste it. 

“Lance, look at me,” he commanded gently as the boy’s eyes were scrunched closed. 

Slits of blue peered up at him.

“I know this is scary,” Shiro said softly. “I know it’s… it’s small.” Lance choked on a breath. “But it’s cooler. And you need to cool down, buddy. Your fever… it’s rising, Lance. It’s dangerous. I promise, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll sit here with you and you can close your eyes if you need to but we need to stay here, okay?”

“Sh-Shiro, I, I c-can’t…”

“You can,” Shiro insisted. He took Lance’s hand inside his prosthetic and gave it a squeeze. “I know you can. You are one of the bravest people I’ve ever met. You can do this.”

And as dark as Lance’s cheeks were from fever and pale beneath that from fear, a dusting of pink filtered across them. 

“That’s… that’s not…”

“It’s true,” Shiro squeezed his hand again. “You are so brave, Lance. And strong. And courageous and kind and, and this? This isn’t going to beat you. The ceiling or this flu and definitely not those Inarii assholes.” Lance’s eyes widened ever so at Shiro’s use of a swear. “I believe in you. You can do this.”

And to his relief Lance gave a tiny nod.

He still looked so scared.

But he was going to try.

Brave indeed. 

“Okay,” Shiro breathed. “Okay. Come on now, you need to drink.”

He released Lance’s hand and refilled his own with water. 

“Slowly,” he coached as Lance parted his lips and Shiro poured the water in. “Don’t choke.”

He got Lance to drink two handfuls before the boy shook his head, dirt smearing on his face from the action. 

Shiro gently thumbed it off and Lance leaned into the touch.

He was still burning up.

Shiro didn’t have a thermometer but he would bet the boy’s temperature was easily over one hundred and two at this point, probably somewhere in the one oh threes. 

This wasn’t just a bad fever anymore.

It was a dangerous one.

Deadly.

“Lance,” Shiro rubbed small circles with his thumb on the flushed cheek, “I know you’re cold, but we’ve got to take your clothes off so you can cool down.”

Lance went rigid.

And then he shook his head just as a shiver shook his body.

“Lance—”

“No. Tengo fr-frío. Hace frío. N-no.”

“Lance, I don’t know what that means,” Shiro said gently, hating that he didn’t. Given that Lance kept falling back into his native tongue, he’d likely feel comforted hearing it. But Shiro didn’t think reciting all the Mexican foods he knew and the random words — gracias, agua, lo siento, verde, for some reason, he remembered, and one through ten— would be very helpful.

“C-Cold,” Lance stuttered. “Shiro, please.”

“Your temperature is really high, Lance,” Shiro did his best to keep his own fears about that out of his voice. “You need to cool down. I’ll stay with you, okay? Right here, just like this.”

Lance whimpered and turned his head so his forehead bumped Shiro’s knee. 

“Lance, please,” Shiro whispered. He didn’t want to do so without Lance’s permission, but if it came down to that… 

Lance shook.

“Lance, please,” Shiro pleaded. “Por favor.” 

The word felt strange on his tongue but he knew it well enough for all the times Lance used it and at the sound Lance gave a little jolt of surprise.

He paused.

And then Lance gave a tiny nod.

“It’s going to be okay,” Shiro whispered, stroking Lance’s cheek one last time, trying not to sigh with relief that he had permission.

Shiro ended up having to do all of the work as Lance barely had any strength left to move his body let alone maneuver limbs out of sleeves. He pulled the shirt off first, the cloth stiff with dried sweat but even then it clung. He folded it up to use it as an impromptu towel while Lance curled up, his hands pressed to his now bare chest and shivering despite the fact his skin was tinted pink. The bruises that marked his wrists were even darker now as were the ones on his stomach and back, turning into a bluish-purple. 

The sweatpants came off easier and Shiro rolled those to use as a pillow, an actually pretty nice one all things considered. Lance immediately dragged his feet up into a curl and Shiro felt like a monster forcing the limbs back down to lie flat on the ground. He was left in just a pair of loose boxer shorts although they would do little for making Lance feel warm.

He was alternating between whimpering and shivering now, but he did remain where Shiro had maneuvered him; on his back with his head propped on the pillow and legs straight in front. 

Shiro cupped a handful of their precious water and wet Lance’s shirt. The water was room temperature but that was still cooler than Lance’s heated skin.

Two more handfuls later and it was decently damp and Shiro lowered it onto Lance’s chest.

He startled with a gasp but went nowhere between Shiro’s weight and his own weak limbs.

“Shh,” Shiro soothed, drawing the wet cloth over sweat-dried skin. “Shhh. It’s okay.”

A tear Lance could not afford to shed slipped down his cheek. 

“Oh, buddy,” Shiro murmured. “It’s… it’s gonna be okay.”

Lance only trembled.

Shiro finished the faux-bath and got Lance to drink another handful. 

There were maybe six left. 

He wondered when the Inarii would be back with more.

He wondered if they would come back at all.

“Sleep,” he whispered, putting it to the side for now. “I’m right here.”

And saying so he brushed his prosthetic through Lance’s hair. 

“C-can’t,” Lance’s teeth chattered. “Too c-cold.” 

“I know, buddy, I know,” Shiro smoothed the bangs back again. 

Another tear snuck out. 

Shiro wished for some other way to comfort him. He couldn’t hold Lance, the body heat hurtful. The hair petting seemed to help, but not enough. 

Shiro realized what one of the issues was after a moment as Lance whimpered again.

The only sound in the cellar was Lance’s misery and it filled the small space, worse than the pressing silence.

“Lance,” Shiro murmured. “Would… would you like a song?”

He was rewarded with ocean eyes opening, revealing gathered tears. 

“A… a song?”

“I’m not the best singer,” Shiro admitted. “But…”

“Por favor,” Lance whispered. 

Shiro needed no second urging.

“Keith taught me this one,” he said softly. “His dad used to sing it to him, and well… I think you’ll like it. Ready?”

Lance gave a tiny nod. But more than that, even as he continued to shake, his lips had ghosted into a smile, a measure of peace on his face.

And Shiro quietly began to sing Moon River. 

By the second verse Lance had fallen asleep.

xxx

They were out of water.

It had been over twelve hours, nearing by Shiro’s internal clock around twenty hundred hours now the next day, since the Inarii had come that morning.

They had not come since.

Shiro had positioned himself at the base of the trap door and pounded his fists against it, yelling for them to respond, that they needed water and supplies and the Red Paladin was going to die and Shiro would kill them if such a thing happened. But angry shouts had given way eventually to pleas when the first failed to garner any response. There was no place for pride here anymore. 

And they still did not come.

And they wouldn’t. Because they had what they needed: him, the Black Paladin. 

They weren’t coming. 

They weren’t coming and Lance...

Shiro took matters into his own hands, as he cursed himself, he should have done from the start.

But determination could only get him so far.

He’d tried bashing the trapdoor open with his hands, his shoulder, but for as strong as he still was it wasn’t enough. The doors rattled some but they would not budge. Not without his Galra arm.

So he’d taken to trying to get the cuff off, smashing it against the shelves, digging his left fingers against it that resulted in only chipped and bleeding nails. If he could he’d dislocate his wrist, see if the angle would be enough to slip it off, but his prosthetic didn’t bend like that. 

It was too strong where he needed it to be weak and he was too weak where he needed to be strong.

And despite the noise he was making on all fronts…

Lance remained asleep.

He woke a few times but only for a few minutes and he settled back down at least easily enough when Shiro pet his hair and hummed out a lullaby, his own throat parched and rough now between the yelling and lack of water.

He’d also thrown up twice more, expelling the fluids Shiro had worked so hard to get him to drink.

At this rate…

Shiro tried not to think about it. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

It only renewed his own desperate attempts to free himself from the energy cuff because Lance… Lance was dying and if he didn’t get help soon…

It was Shiro’s fault.

If he hadn’t been there then they’d have taken Lance as originally planned and would have had to care for him while they negotiated the release of their leaders. But then Shiro didn’t know what they’d have done to Coran… given what he’d seen they wouldn’t have likely been inclined to leave Coran alive. Then again, they had clearly not expected Coran to offer any resistance and Shiro knew that the advisor was far more than what he appeared.

If Coran had been there… would Lance be safe now? 

He didn’t know.

What he did know was that Lance was in danger now because Shiro had not acted sooner. He knew, realistically, that had the same situation been presented to him he’d likely have taken the same actions because the odds had not been in his favor with that many guns trained on Lance and any type of retaliation or resistance would have gotten Lance killed.

But maybe…

Maybe he shouldn’t have played it so safe. He should have taken a page out of Keith’s book, out of… out of, he winced, out of the person his clone had started to become. 

And maybe that was why he hadn’t. Because he’d heard about how reckless that version of him had become; how he didn’t trust his team and made decisions on his own that endangered them time and again. And Shiro couldn’t help but fear that if that version of him had done so… could he? 

He had been that way, once, after all. There was no way someone the Galra had called “Champion” hadn’t been some degree of reckless, of dangerous, and the fact Shiro couldn’t remember most of those moments… That was telling enough. 

And now Lance was paying the price.

As if summoned Lance stirred, more than the shivering that had been plaguing him for the last half hour, and Shiro abandoned his futile attempts at once more bashing the cuff against the shelf — it had to break eventually, it had to — and dropped to his knees and crawled over to Lance. 

“Shh,” he murmured, stroking the flushed cheek with his prosthetic, praying Lance would stay asleep. “Shh.”

But eyes were flickering beneath closed lids and a moment later they were blinking open. But they weren’t the sharp but yet soft gaze Shiro had come to expect from Lance, the one filled with both an inner fire and a calming wave.

These ones were hazy, overbright, and they stared up at Shiro with confusion. 

Shiro swallowed thickly. At what point did a fever start messing with the brain?

At what point did it cause damage?

At what point did it cause death? 

“Lance,” he murmured, keeping his voice low. “Go back to sleep, buddy.”

Sleep was the only comfort he could offer.

Lance though blinked sluggishly at him.

“P-Papá?”

Shiro’s breath hitched.

What?

“No, no,” he corrected, heart somewhere in his throat. “It’s me, Shiro.”

Lance blinked at him again. 

A flicker of clarity returned to still too bright, too tired eyes.

“Shiro?”

“Yeah, buddy,” Shiro smoothed back stiff bangs. “Go back to sleep for me.”

“‘m…” Lance licked chapped lips. 

“Thirsty?” Shiro filled in. “I know. I know. I… I don’t have any water right now though. I’m so sorry.”

Lance blinked again. “‘s ‘kay.”

It wasn’t okay at all.

Another shudder wracked him. 

Shiro had become an expert on the different kinds. This one was just a shiver although it had Lance wincing, his eyes squeezing shut tight.

“Sleep,” Shiro said again, his own voice a rasp.

“‘kay, Papá.”

Lance had drifted off before Shiro could correct him again.

“Oh, buddy,” he whispered, and his eyes stung without the aid of tears. 

Shiro dropped his head into his other hand, choking back the dry sob clawing its way up his throat.

He couldn’t afford to go to pieces like this.

He was the—

No. 

He wasn’t the leader. 

But he was still responsible for Lance and he’d…

He’d failed him.

He didn’t know what to do. 

There was nothing to do.

God.

He was so tired. 

It wasn’t even the fact he’d had two hours of sleep in about the last thirty-six, although he knew that was part of it. 

He just…

He couldn’t do this.

He wasn’t caring for Lance anymore.

He was just watching him die.

Whatever Sendak had planned for him…

It would be mercy compared to this. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the word muffled by his hand. “I’m sorry. God, Lance, I’m, I’m so s-sorry.”

He was not the boy’s hero.

He was his executioner. 

Shiro stifled another sob. 

God.

He felt Lance tremble under his hand, a little twitch.

It was all his body was capable of doing. 

And at this rate…

It wouldn’t be long now.

Shiro lifted his head, taking in the slender form, still positioned where Shiro had maneuvered him; legs straight out in front and hands at his sides, head raised on the rolled up pants and although he was asleep — unconscious, really — his brow was still scrunched, his lips parted as shallow, hot breaths interspersed with little whimpers emitted from them, and his eyes flickered beneath his lids.

He didn’t look comfortable.

He looked scared.

And…

And if this was how it was going to end…

Lance shouldn’t go looking like that.

Shiro shifted then, sliding one arm beneath Lance’s legs and the other below his back and he tipped Lance up and pulled the boy towards him and into his lap. He settled the dark head against his chest and the long legs over top Shiro’s own, and wrapped his arms about the too warm torso.

At this point Shiro knew his own body heat wouldn’t make things worse.

It was already too late. 

Lance let out another whimper and Shiro brought one hand up to cup the back of his head, smoothing fingers through his hair.

Lance quieted with a tiny sigh.

He stopped shivering. 

“I’ve got you,” Shiro choked out. “I’ve got you, buddy.”

And just like before Shiro watched and waited.

But this time he only waited for the end. 

Chapter Text

Shiro counted the minutes.

He could do nothing else.

He couldn’t sleep. Not like this. Not until…

And Lance, despite the odds, continued to draw breath.

Shiro celebrated every one.

Lance hadn’t awoken since Shiro had cuddled the boy to his chest, but he hadn’t stopped breathing either. 

He was still fighting. 

He was strong. So strong. 

Shiro felt like the weak one. 

But reality was harsh and cruel and it said that this was only a delay to the inevitable and that unless something drastic happened… Lance would die and it would be soon.

Water wouldn’t even be enough, his fever too high. He needed both water and some way to lower his temperature (and fast) and nutrients that his body had expelled to give him strength to fight the illness and Shiro highly, highly doubted the Inarii would be so accommodating. 

Still, it felt better to cling to some false hope than to give into the despair. And as long as Lance continued to breathe, Shiro could continue to hope.

At two hours and forty-six minutes there was a thump from up the stairwell and a moment later Shiro felt the waft of cooler air and the clunk of the doors opening followed by a beam of moonlight.

The Inarii were coming.

Shiro tensed.

Should he attack? 

Positioned as they were now he was in front of Lance to protect him and nearly in line with the bottom of the staircase, which would force the Inarii to have to finish coming down and he could ambush them from the side.

He’d unfortunately still be forced into a crouch, bent nearly double at the four-foot high ceilings on the perimeter and short of tackling one of them to get them more on his level Shiro was at a distinct disadvantage.

But playing it safe had gotten them into this mess in the first place. 

And if Shiro didn’t act now… 

Lance would die. 

There was no more time to be careful. 

Shiro carefully eased the boy to the ground and rose into a crouch, hands clenched into fists. 

He would fight.

The Inarii were disadvantaged too, bottlenecked on the stairs.

He’d take them out there.

Shiro cast one look over his shoulder at Lance, who hadn’t stirred at the movement although his chest continued to faintly rise. 

He was counting on Shiro.

Shiro would not let him down.

Not again.

He charged the stairs, prosthetic held in front of him to act as a shield and left fist cocked back. It might not be metal but he could still land a punch.

Handof was first in line on the stairs, just about to step off the bottom step. 

Shiro’s fist slammed into his wide-eyed face with a sickening crack and he felt the cartilage in the rounded nose break. 

It felt familiar.

It felt good.

It scared him. It invigorated him.

He pushed forward and pushed the memories away.

Shiro’s hand shifted, reaching for the large blaster that Handof was releasing in favor of bringing his hands up to his broken nose. 

It would be his.

Shiro closed his hand about it…

And then pain. 

His entire right arm vibrated with it and while he couldn’t actually feel anything on the metal in the spot where the prosthetic met flesh it felt like someone had lit it on fire. 

He heard screaming.

He dimly realized it was him.

Shiro barely felt the blow to his head but he did realize he was going down as the world tilted sideways. He couldn’t even brace himself, the thought coming too late, and his chin clipped the bottom of the staircase, making his vision go white.

The fire cut off abruptly and Shiro lied there, panting, and trying to reorient himself.

The whine of a blaster quickly did it although there was no press of heat.

The blaster wasn’t pointed at him.

Handof had stepped past him, one hand clutching his nose but the other on his gun and it was against Lance’s head.

“Well, well,” a heavy foot pressed down atop Shiro’s back. He didn’t have to look up to know it was Earli. “Looks like this dog was trying a new trick. But I think mine was better, wouldn’t you agree?”

He must have some sort of remote because the next moment the fire was back. 

The dampener, Shiro realized, as his writhing arm nearly smacked his face, the green band lit up orange now. 

It was some sort of shock cuff too. 

God fucking damnit. 

Earli turned it off and Shiro’s entire body went limp, his pulse pounding in his ears and echos of his screams fading away. 

Lance hadn’t so much as twitched. 

“Is he dead?” Earli asked and Handof shook his head. Blood streamed down his face but Shiro couldn’t even find the satisfaction in it now. 

He’d failed.

He’d failed he’d failed he’d failed. 

And now Lance...

“Bring him up then too.”

Earli’s hand descended and dug into his hair, hand nearly encompassing all of Shiro’s crown. 

“And up we go.”

Shiro couldn’t have gotten his feet below him if he’d tried, world still spinning from the earlier blow and he let himself be dragged up the staircase, thoughts spinning now too as he tried to piece together some sort of plan.

The good:

Lance was coming with and not being abandoned in the cellar.

The Galra would want Lance alive and that meant they’d have to provide some sort of medical care.

The bad:

Sendak was here. 

He and Lance were going to be Galran prisoners.

He had an inhibitor as well as a shock cuff that prevented him from attacking.

Lance was their hostage again, further preventing Shiro from attacking.

The Galra were not so lax to an attack and Shiro would likely find himself further incapacitated.

The bads were far outweighing the good, but at least… at least Lance would be treated this way. Shiro chose to focus on that.

Another good point he noted as his head cleared the cellar into the slightly cooler nip of evening was that the Galran who had arrived for the negotiation was not Sendak; smaller in stature and lacking in fur and two eyes and all limbs attached, but both of those yellow eyes were cruel and the fanged smile that pulled up his face was nearly identical. 

“The Champion returns,” he whispered, the name sending prickles down Shiro’s spine that almost hurt more than the shocks. “And oh what a sight you are.”

Shiro got his mouth working again.

“Fuck you.”

The cuff activated.

Shiro kept his jaw clenched shut that time, tasting blood as he bit down on his tongue. 

He wouldn’t scream for them anymore.

“—most pleased to see the fight still in him,” the Galran said, speaking past Shiro, sounds filtering in as the shock deactivated. “This other one though…”

Shiro felt more than saw Lance dropped next to him. 

That time he let out a soft moan. 

He still didn’t awaken.

“He is the Red Paladin,” Earli toed Lance’s side, “even if he doesn’t look like it.”

Lance twitched at the action.

Shiro stared, torn between relief and horror.

Was Lance waking up?

Was he going to wake up to this?

“My leader has no need of him,” the Galran said, capturing Shiro’s attention.

His heart skipped a beat.

What?

But that meant...

“Our deal—”

“You will still get the sentries you asked for,” the Galran cut Earli off. “But this boy holds no interest to us. Do with him as you will.”

Shiro caught sight of Earli’s smirk from below. “Oh, we will.” And that smirking face angled to look down at Shiro. “Thank you, dog, for keeping him alive for us. We’ll make sure he has fun before he draws his last breath.”

“No,” Shiro breathed the word out.

“Yes,” Earli grinned. “This,” he nudged Lance again, who stirred, brow scrunching, “promises to be most entertaining. And when we’re done he’ll make an excellent statement piece.”

“I said no,” Shiro near growled, trying to fight against the growing icy fear tingling through him. He braced his hands on the ground to lever himself up, to do something, but the whine of a blaster from the unknown Inarii stopped him.

It was flush with Lance’s head.

“Ah ah ah,” Earli chuckled. “Although perhaps you’d like to give him a quick death, hm? Better than what we have in store for him. Maybe though…” Earli trailed off. “Maybe if you beg me I’ll let him live. Go on, dog. Let’s hear it.”

Shiro’s hands clenched into fists. 

He knew already that even if he pleaded for Lance’s life that it was forfeit to the Inarii. They would not care for him, they would not treat him and they most definitely would not return him. No, it was an offer of admissions, of the fact Lance would live only to die as his fever took him. 

But still…

He had to try.

Anything.

He said he would do anything. 

And if it could buy Lance a few minutes, a chance for some miracle…

Already Lance was stirring, no doubt roused by the cooler air and the rough handling. Maybe… maybe he had a chance like this.

Shiro swallowed thickly.

“Please,” he whispered. “Don’t… don’t hurt him.”

“That wasn’t what I offered.”

“Don’t hurt him,” Shiro repeated and he lifted his eyes up, boring them into Earli’s large ones. 

Earli sighed. “And here I thought I’d finally taught you a new trick. But old dogs don’t learn well, do they? That is not submission and I do not like it.”

Earli did not activate the cuff as Shiro expected. 

He instead nodded at Handof and the alien lifted his foot up.

Above Lance.

Shiro surged to his own hands, shout on the tip of his tongue.

He was too late.

The large foot slammed into Lance’s side and he was sent rolling away from Shiro. Shiro didn’t even see Earli’s foot, eyes only for Lance, until it was coming down atop his head and his face was smashed into the dirt. 

And then to his surprise the foot lifted almost immediately and over the new ringing in his ears — he was going to have a concussion at this rate — he heard… Earli apologizing?

What?

“—sincerest apologies, truly, it was just a bit of—”

“The Champion is Lord Sendak’s property now, Inarii,” the Galran spat. “Touch him again and our deal is off.”

“Of course, of course, again my most sincere apologies…”

A soft moan sounded and Earli cut himself off.

Shiro jerked his head up and turned in the direction of Lance.

He was coming to. 

His right hand twitched at his side and he weakly rolled his head back and forth across the dirt where he’d landed on his back before it tipped to the side.

A half-lidded pair of ocean eyes stared in Shiro’s direction, unseeing.

Earli walked towards Lance and Shiro made to get up again, but this time a metal foot slammed into his back.

The Galran.

“Stay, Champion,” he commanded, grinding his foot directly into Shiro’s spine. 

A moment later Earli had his fingers twisted in Lance’s hair and was dragging his head up, his body following, until he was on his knees. He swayed there, only upright from Earli’s hand. 

“Waking up, dog?” Earli gave him a shake and Lance’s entire body swung right to left.

He whimpered.

His eyes were still unfocused.

“Stop it,” Shiro’s demand came out more of a plea and not just because he couldn’t seem to draw a breath. 

Earli backhanded Lance across his face and his head snapped to the side.

His gaze landed directly on Shiro.

And there was something there past the sickness.

Fear.

And awareness.   

Shiro watched the slender throat bob.

“Sh-Shiro?”

He sounded so scared. And confused and hurt and exhausted and God, hearing his voice was both the best and worst thing.

“Lance,” Shiro choked out. 

Earli was directing Lance’s face back towards him, his other hand going and gripping his chin. Lance whimpered and tried to pull away to no avail. 

“Still have some life left in you, huh?” Earli smirked and Lance made another pained noise and even from the distance Shiro could see Lance’s dark flesh turning white beneath the Inarii’s cruel grip. “Let’s send off the Black Paladin with the sound of your dying screams.”

“That’s our cue,” the Galran said and he lifted his foot from Shiro. “On your feet, Champion,” he ordered. “Or I will drag you to my ship.”

“Shiro?” Lance whispered his name again. He was trying to turn his head, to catch a glimpse. “Sh—?”

He broke off with a gasp as Handof, bottom of his face covered in congealing blood from his nose, smashed the butt of his blaster into Lance’s stomach. 

Shiro was on his feet within the tick, but the Galran was right behind him and claws dug cruelly into his shoulders and the taller male used his stature to push down on Shiro, keeping him immobile.

“No, no,” Earli scolded although he sounded amused. “We want him to scream, Handof, not take away his breath. Like this. Niska?”

The Inarii with the goggles had been lurking off to the side, hidden in the shadows cast by the house and with what Shiro could now see as the gleam of inert sentries in rows, stepped forward.

Shiro could see something glowing green in his hand.

It was like his shock cuff except it wasn’t a manacle but what looked like a weapon.

A taser.

God.

“No!” Shiro jerked his shoulders, feeling furrows cut into his skin. “Lance!”

The taser connected with the boy’s bare back.

And Lance wailed. 

He tossed his head back and with Earli having released him just as the prod struck he hit the ground. Niska followed, trailing the taser now over his shoulders and chest as he writhed.

Earli and Handof laughed over the sound of the screams.

They cut off as Niska removed the taser although Lance’s limbs still twitched. 

God.

This was…

This was…

What did he do?

What could he do?

He had to do something.

“Don’t be trying to play the hero now, Champion,” the Galran’s breath was hot on his ear. “I have a little something here,” and Shiro felt his shock cuff activate for a split second, a burst of hot pain that faded as quick as it had come but would have still sent him stumbling if not for the Galran’s hold even though it trembled too, “to remind you that you are no such thing.”

The grip tightened. “Now walk.”

Shiro dug his heels in instead.

He couldn’t leave.

He had to do something.

Anything.

He didn’t know what though.

His head hurt, it ached, he was so tired, he felt sick but he had to do something. 

Please.

This couldn’t be…

Shiro tried to twist free, tried to ram his head back, tried to lift his own hands up to pry at the Galran’s claws on his shoulders, stomped his foot down atop the Galran’s armored boot.

But he was no match for the Galran. His attempts did nothing (his foot actually hurt from the contact) and he was pushed and his feet stumbled forward.

He was passing Lance now, whose eyes had gone blank and hazy, dull against the flushed color of his skin that even the moonlight could not wash out, his body trembling from both the sickness and the shocks.

“Move,” the Galran commanded, shoving him forward again as Shiro paused. 

“Shiro?” Lance was not speaking but Shiro could hear him, voice soft but filled with such warmth.

Earli took the taser and pressed it to Lance’s stomach.

The boy jolted back to life with a hoarse scream.

“No… no matter what…”

“How does it feel?” the Galran sneered as Shiro was fully shoved past the scene, onto the ramp of the ship as Lance cried out behind him. “To have failed so badly?” He chuckled. “You are no leader. No hero. You are Lord Sendak’s property now and nothing more.”

Lance’s scream cut off with a suddenness that pierced Shiro’s heart.

“You’ll… you’ll always be my hero.”

Shiro ground to a halt.

“No,” Shiro whispered, barely audible to himself.

He was not Sendak’s property.

Lance called him a hero.

It was time to be that. 

He had not failed yet.

He only failed if he gave up.

“Resisting is pointle—”

Shiro rammed his elbow backwards, driving it into the junction where the armor tapered into a bodysuit. He felt the claws rip free of his shoulders, ribbons of his shirt and blood going with them, but Shiro didn’t even register the pain. 

He was ducking low as he turned, avoiding the instinctual retaliatory strike, and then struck upwards with a fisted prosthetic.

The metal smashed into the bottom of the Galran’s chin and he went flying off the ramp.

A glimmer that had to be the remote went with him. 

Shiro turned his back on them both as the Inarii were alerted to the scene and were exchanging the taser for blasters; Niska and Earli lowering theirs towards Lance while the other two trained them on Shiro.

Shiro didn’t pause.

He couldn’t.

It was time to be reckless because if he wasn’t then Lance was dead. 

“We will shoot!” Earli shouted.

There was a glimmer of fear in his eyes.

Shiro wondered what exactly he looked like to cause such an expression.

He probably…

Probably looked like Champion, going in for the kill.

No.

He bared his teeth as he raised his arm to intercept the laser blast Handof fired.

He looked like a hero. 

The blast ricocheted away and Shiro was upon them. 

They could either fire upon him and try and save their own lives.

Or they could kill Lance and Shiro would kill them still.

There was no stopping him now.

Self-preservation won for them all.

Four guns raised.

Three fired, as the fourth one Shiro wrenched from Handof’s hands and swung it around, clubbing its former owner and sending him falling. 

One blast struck Shiro’s shoulder, another skimmed along his flesh arm and the third missed. 

Shiro ignored all of them.

Pain later.

Fight now.

He swung his own commandeered blaster around, finger instinctively finding the trigger as he always had in melee fights in the Arena. 

He didn’t hesitate.

Niska’s head exploded in a burst of orange gore. 

It splattered against Shiro’s face, thick and hot.

He ignored that too.

Again.

He turned the gun towards Earli.

And his arm was lit on fire.

The Galran had found the remote.

Shiro staggered sideways.

Someone was screaming.

It might have been him.

Above that though he could hear something else.

Lance.

Whimpering.

Still alive.

Still fighting.

Shiro would fight too.

“What the—?” the unnamed Inarii gasped.

Those were his last words as Shiro pulled on the trigger and the laser shot through the Inarii’s chest. 

Footsteps pounded behind Shiro.

Galran.

Remote.

He had to get it. 

The pain was becoming too much, his vision graying on the edges.

He fell to one knee.

The cuff didn’t deactivate.

The Galran was there, a step away.

Shiro pivoted on his knee and lunged forward at the oncoming Galran. Before the alien could step backwards Shiro clamped his prosthetic onto the armored arm and then brought his other up to wrap about the hand holding the remote.

There was no way for the Galran to let go of it, to turn it off.

It was the Galran’s turn to scream as the shock was transferred to him, conducting itself through his metal armor and far worse than the half second tick he’d demonstrated for Shiro.

His other clawed hand swept forward to knock Shiro away.

Shiro held on tighter even as it raked furrows across his shoulders, his back, and he felt his arm burning, the scent of cooking flesh tainting the air.

There was a hissing sound, a pop and around the pain Shiro felt strength returned to his limb, a lightness to it.

The cuff had been shorted out.

The Galran staggered back, armor smoking and angry burns visible along the edges.

He stared at Shiro for a moment, yellow eyes wide with horror before they rolled back in his head and he collapsed. Shiro didn’t think he’d ever be getting back up.

“I’ll kill him!” 

The panicked shout had him slowly turning.

Earli was kneeling behind Lance, the boy hoisted in one of his arms and the large cannon pressed directly to Lance’s head, lolling limp from his neck.

Earli’s arm was shaking.

“Surrender now!” 

Shiro slow-blinked, vision tunneling on the two.

There should be three.

Where was Handof?

A flicker on the edge of his peripheral had him turning.

There.

Running for the sentries.

Like those would save him.

Hands moved to pick up the fallen blaster. 

It only took one shot, the Inarii coming to a final halt just before he could reach the first robot.

Shiro swung his gaze back to Earli.

All alone.

“I’ll kill him!” Earli repeated his threat.

“No,” Shiro forced the word out.

His tongue felt thick.

“I will!” Earli’s eyes were blown wide with fear as Shiro took an uneven step towards them. The blaster whined to life.

Lance gave a faint moan even unconscious as the heat pressed against his head.

“No,” Shiro repeated.

Lance would not die.

He would kill Earli first. 

That was a promise.

Shiro dropped the blaster.

He didn’t need that anymore.

Earli seemed to take that as a sign of surrender as a somewhat hysterical laugh broke free. “That’s right, that’s right, you wouldn’t dare.”

Shiro took a step closer.

And another.

Earli’s laughter cut off.

“L-last warning.”

Shiro activated his arm.

Sick Galran purple light washed over the scene.

He could see it in Earli’s face.

He was not just scared.

He was terrified.

It went three ways in the Arena. 

You accepted your death, head held high.

You took out everything around you in one last act of violence.

Or you ran because you could not face your fate.

And Earli, for all his skills, was not brave. He was a coward. He hid behind numbers and weapons and trickery and threats. And now all of his shields were gone.

He ran.

Shiro gave chase.

It was over in three long strides.

Shiro pulled his prosthetic free from where it had plunged into Earli’s back and shook it, ichor flying while Earli slumped forward.

He did not move again.

Shiro stood alone in the clearing by the house, five threats eliminated, five dead bodies around him. 

It was a familiar scene for Champion.

But there was one huge difference.

This time…

This time one crumpled form was still alive.

Champion fought to live another day.

A hero fought to save another.

And he had.

“Lance,” the name fell from his tongue, as adrenaline gave way to exhaustion. 

Lance’s name spurred him on.

He collapsed to his knees at the boy’s side, sprawled where Earli had dropped him in his haste to run. Shiro reached out a shaking hand for Lance’s face.

A puff of hot air struck his palm.

God.

Thank God.

Now what?

Lance needed medical attention immediately and by the time Shiro figured out how to radio from either the Galran’s parked ship or locate the Inarii’s communication system to contact Voltron it could be too late.

He needed to so something.

Now.

His eyes flicked to the house, lights cheerily glowing in the windows.

It should have all he needed.

Shiro gathered Lance into his arms and rose, shoving away the pain trying to take over his vision.

It didn’t hurt.

Nothing would hurt more than losing Lance and that meant none of it; the burns, the shots, the gouges and bruises, hurt at all.

“I’ve got you,” he rasped, plodding for the house. “I’ve got you.”

He gazed down at Lance, the promise heavy on his tongue.

"I've got you."

Chapter Text

The Inarii house was a two-story home and at first glance designed similarly to what Shiro had come to expect in human homes: a foyer with a room off to the side, a staircase in front and down a winding hall he made out what looked to be a kitchen.

He went up.

The first open door on the second level was a bedroom, a large bed although still far too short for Lance’s height taking up the majority of it. Shiro moved past it.

Bathroom.

He needed a bathroom.

The second door yielded such.

And as Shiro had hoped, it also boasted a large bathtub. 

Lance was in pain from the shocks and the kicks, yes, but above all of that was the fever, which Shiro was forcibly reminded of as Lance’s body radiated heat far too hot to be safe.

He lowered Lance into the tub, like the bed not long enough, but Lance needed to remain propped up anyways. Shiro settled him down, ignoring the orange gore streaks he’d left on tan flesh, and turned his attention to the taps. 

A moment later cold water was pouring out and Shiro adjusted it so it wasn’t icy but cool — too much and he knew it would shock Lance’s system. 

Lance twitched as the water touched him, a little moan pulled from his throat.

“Shh, shh,” Shiro murmured, reaching his flesh hand out and carded it through Lance’s hair, his neck propped up on the tub lip. 

Lance fell silent even as his body continued to twitch as the water rose.

While that filled Shiro hauled himself back to his feet and shuffled to the sink. He started that tap, the water hot this time, and dunked his prosthetic into the stream and began to scrub. 

Orange swirled down the sink.

His stomach lurched.

Shiro tried not to be sick.

He didn’t like killing. He had done it, both in the Arena and at times as a Paladin, when not doing so would endanger the team. The Galra Empire’s belief was victory or death and he’d had to quietly finish the job his team left because a busted kneecap or a bleeding hand, contrary to many of their hopes, was not enough to keep most down when they wanted blood . Keith was aware, Shiro knew, but such was the nature of having a close-range weapon like a sword. His little brother had had to kill far too many times too because of it and Shiro hated that he couldn’t protect him from such things. But Keith was not a child. None of them were. And maybe… maybe it was time to talk about those things.

But not now. 

There were much more important things right now.

Shiro finished cleaning his prosthetic and also scrubbed his face clear of the orange gore and ignoring the rest of the blood on him, the dull throbbing and stinging coming from his back and the flesh where his arm met metal, he turned the tap back to cool and filled his hand with water.

He swallowed two handfuls himself before moving back towards Lance. 

The water in the tub had risen about six inches and Lance’s trembling had changed to what Shiro knew now were shivers, no doubt his body reacting to what it perceived to be frigid water.

It hurt to watch but Shiro knew it was for the best. 

Now to get some of the fluids inside of him too.

“Lance,” Shiro gently patted Lance’s cheek with his left hand. “Lance, buddy.”

He didn’t stir.

Shiro tapped harder. “Lance, come on buddy, I need you to wake up.”

Lance was far more likely to choke if Shiro forced the water down and given how weak his body was Shiro was pretty sure it would do more harm than good. 

Lance’s eyes flickered beneath closed lids.

“That’s it, come on, come on,” Shiro patted the fever-flushed cheek again. It was so hot. “Lance, come on, buddy. Wake up.”

A whimper was torn from Lance’s throat, breaking off as he gave another fullbody shiver. Shiro paused in his tapping and dunked his hand instead into the tub and flicked some droplets higher up on Lance’s chest.

Lance’s eyes blinked open.

“Lance,” Shiro breathed and to his relief Lance’s eyes slid in his direction. But they were back to that hazy state of the fever, overbright and tired. Still, they focused on Shiro’s face and blinked again. 

Shiro brought his hand up and rubbed his thumb against Lance’s cheek. “Hey, buddy. You with me?”

“P-Papá?”

Not quite.

“I’m not your papá, buddy,” he murmured. “It’s Shiro.”

Lance slow blinked at him again. 

“Papá,” he whispered again. “Papá, t-tengo frío.”

Shiro remembered that one from last time.

He also made the decision for now to be the figure Lance thought he was. He couldn’t do much to comfort him, but maybe… maybe thinking his dad was there would be comforting all the same.

“I know you’re cold,” he rubbed Lance’s cheek again and the boy leaned into the touch. “I know. It’s just for a little longer.”

Lance shivered.

His eyes closed.

“No, no,” Shiro tapped the red cheek. “Eyes on me, buddy. Look at me.”

Half-lidded orbs gazed at him.

“Okay, let’s get you some water. I’ll go slow, all right?”

Shiro brought his prosthetic to Lance’s mouth, angling the stream of water into slightly parted, chapped lips. 

To his relief Lance swallowed.

His face screwed up a moment later.

Shiro moved his hand to rub Lance’s back. “You’ve gotta keep it down, buddy. Come on. It’s okay.”

Lance’s expression evened out.

Shiro refilled his hand, this time from the bath spout. 

He coaxed Lance into drinking six more handfuls, each time having to pause to rub his back and Shiro was aware some of it would likely be coming back up. But every little bit he could get into him the better.

He shifted on his knees then to grab a hand towel off the counter and wet it in the cool bathwater, now lapping at Lance’s navel. He let it keep running and plunked the towel in, squeezed it, and then brought it up to bathe Lance’s face.

He startled at that, splashing water with his movement and flinched more.

“Shh,” Shiro moved the towel down over Lance’s chest, trickling more water. “It’s all right.”

Lance only moaned. 

Shiro kept up the ministrations, rewetting the towel every minute. He finally turned the tap off when the water was just a couple inches below the rim and was brushing the bottom of Lance’s rib cage. He knew he’d have to drain the tub some and put fresh water in as it would warm up, but for a little while there was enough. He wrung the towel out again and folding it up he lifted Lance’s now damp bangs and placed it across his forehead.

Lance shivered and sent ripples racing.

He seemed to have fallen into some half-sleep state, eyes closed, and Shiro left him for the moment.

He got back to his feet, body protesting the movement and reminding him with more urgency that not only had he barely slept, he had been shocked, kicked, shot and his head had been struck more than a couple times. 

Later, Shiro told it. 

“I’ll, I’ll be right back,” Shiro told Lance, doublechecking to make sure the boy’s feet were pushed flush on the other side of the tub that should keep him propped up as he was. Lance did not come this far to drown in the bathtub. 

He trudged out of the bathroom and slowly down the stairs, one hand braced on the wall as he went. He hit the foyer and turned to go further into the house, looking for some sort of communication device. 

Nothing.

Just a bare dining room and the kitchen. Shiro paused there, the fruit bowl on the table calling him. He plucked one of the purple fruits from it and bit in.

Heaven exploded in his mouth.

He polished it off in three bites, grabbed two more, and ate them as he headed for the front door. It looked like the Galran’s ship it was.

Shiro froze.

Galra.

Sendak would be expecting an update by this point.

Would… would he come himself? Could he activate the sentry bots, all still stationed awaiting commands?

Shiro swallowed. He was in no condition to fight anymore and Inar was in no state to fight off a Galra attack, be it from Sendak or if the sentries activated. 

He could at least stop one of them.

Shiro doggedly made his way to one of the blasters strewn on the front lawn, and stepping carefully around Handof’s body he went for the sentries. A single shot was enough, right through their heads, to destroy the circuitry. Thirty strikes later Shiro’s arm was wobbling and his breath was coming in short pants.

He had to hurry. 

He stumbled for the Galra ship, ramp still extended, and maneuvered into the cockpit.

He was no tech expert like Hunk or Pidge but the Galra still had yet to stop his prosthetic from activating their systems. Shiro clunked it atop the control pad and the entire ship interface lit up purple and yellow.

Now to send a message.

His hands were shaking as exhausted eyes trailed over the controls looking for the transmission channels. A tick later he’d found it and slowly began to input the numeric code for the castle with a mental note to tell Coran to change it as this one was for emergencies only and give that he was transmitting it from a Galran ship Shiro did not want to take any chances.

The cruiser he was in was not video capable but audio still worked and Shiro sat, fighting to keep his eyes open, as the line pinged as it awaited an answer.

He shouldn’t have sat down.

Now that he was he wasn’t sure he could get up.

A tick later Allura’s voice sounded over the console, a mixture of both hard and hopeful as only the Paladins should have this line, but…

“State your identity,” she commanded. 

“Shiro,” Shiro answered. “Former—”

“Shiro!” his name was shouted by a number of voices and Shiro winced at the volume even as he sent a tired smile at the console.

“Is Lance—?”

“Lance is here,” Shiro cut Allura off but neither he nor Lance had time for twenty questions. “We’re on Inar—”” — “I knew it! I fucking knew it!” he heard Pidge yell and others were chattering in the background — “—and we need an extraction. Immediately. Lance is…” and all noise on the other side cut off. “His fever is… really high. He’s delirious. And dehydrated. And…” Shiro didn’t even really know how to describe all the things Lance was except maybe dying and that would only panic them.

“Are you all right, Number One? ” Coran sounded then.

“...I’ve been better,” Shiro answered evasively and he definitely heard Keith curse that time. “I’m in a Galran cruiser. Can someone… someone track it from this signal? I don’t,” he swallowed, not sure why he was suddenly having trouble forming words. “I don’t know how to...” 

To their credit no one asked why the Galra were involved or any follow up. All he received was a, “got it, ” chorused by Pidge and Hunk and a moment later a, “locked onto your signal, Shiro. ”

“I am wormholing us now, ” Allura said, telling Shiro that they had indeed gone off planet on the false trail. “We shall be there within the next fifteen dobashes.”

Shiro nodded at it before realizing they couldn’t see that. “Okay.”

It seemed pointless to say hurry.

“I have to go,” he forced himself to stand. “I, Lance, he…”

“Go to Lance,” Coran said. “We’ll be there before you can say ‘hunkledorp.’”

Shiro left the cruiser.

He paused on its ramp, casting his eyes to the night sky. “Hunkledorp,” he whispered, childish hope playing out over reality.

And while no castle appeared above he felt lighter as the strange word fell from his tongue.

He felt hopeful.

He let that buoy him back up the staircase to the bathroom. Lance was exactly as he’d left him. And while Shiro knew it was unlikely, maybe even impossible given the timeframe, he liked to think that the flush covering Lance’s face was a little lighter. 

“Hey, buddy,” he greeted softly as he sank down next to the tub. 

Lance didn’t stir, not even as Shiro put his left hand in and felt the water; lukewarm.

But his chest was rising and that was enough for now. 

Shiro pulled the drain plug and started the tap again with cool water. 

He brought a dripping hand up to Lance’s face and caressed the dark cheek. Lance let out a mumble and pressed against it. 

“Help is coming,” Shiro murmured, drawing small circles with his thumb. “They’ll be here soon. You’re… you’re going to be okay.” 

And that time he knew it would be true.

Chapter Text

Shiro held the tanned hand in his own, idly rubbing his thumb back and forth over it as though that could cajole Lance into awakening.

It had been three days.

Three days of worrying and feeling sick himself as Lance was hooked up to various fluid bags, lowered into Allura’s gigantic bathroom tub via Shiro, Hunk or Coran.

It had been whimpers and moans and more calls for his mom and dad and broken phrases of Spanish that Hunk had translated and responded in kind but Lance had not seemed to hear him.

It had been cold sponges and cloths and holding down fevered limbs as they thrashed and having to settle for only warm assurances instead of blanket as Lance shivered and shook.

It had been the agony of being forced into a pod, only Keith’s pleas enough to do so, and having to leave Lance’s bedside for almost six varga while the pod healed the wounds carved into his back, the burned flesh around his prosthetic and yes, the minor concussion, along with all of the other bumps and bruises. 

It had been guilt all around — of following the false trail, of not having better security to prevent the kidnapping, for not doing enough, for Lance and Shiro’s pain — and after a day of it Coran had put his foot down with everyone gathered in the infirmary and told them in a far sharper voice than Shiro had ever heard from him, “Enough!” and told them this was a place of healing and it had no place for blame and guilt. Lance would not blame them, Shiro did not blame them, to which Shiro had quietly agreed, and then Coran had turned on Shiro and told him that Shiro could not blame himself either and reiterated again that Lance would not approve of such behavior.

He was right. Shiro knew he was. Lance had even told him that back in the cellar and he had told Lance the same. 

And come the end of day two where Lance’s fever, finally, finally, began to drop down and Coran quietly announced he was out of the woods the guilt had abated.

But not entirely.

And Shiro knew it wouldn’t until Lance had awoken and was aware and he received confirmation that the high fever — just over one hundred and five degrees when the Paladins had arrived — had not addled his brain. Coran said scans showed positive signs but Lance would need to wake up to confirm it.

It should be soon.

Coran had advised Lance would likely be overwhelmed if they were all to be there and so he had assigned them each one-varga rotations to sit with Lance and no one had argued.

Hunk had been just before Shiro and he’d whispered that Lance had been stirring some, twitching, but hadn’t awoken. He sounded both disappointed and hopeful and Shiro had given the broad shoulder a squeeze.

He knew exactly how Hunk felt.

Lance’s hand twitched in his own again, a flutter of fingers brushing Shiro’s pulse. 

“Lance?” he whispered, other hand going to smooth now clean bangs back. “Buddy?”

Lance let out an indistinct mumbling noise.

Shiro settled back down from where he’d been leaning forward in the chair, eyes tracing the boy from head to toe.

He’d been dressed in the Altean version of hospital attire; a light teal tee-shirt with large sleeves that cut off right at Lance’s bicep and a pair of patching loose pants that ended at his ankles and revealed bare toes. They highlighted the vein valve — the Altean IV — embedded in the back of his left hand that was providing fluids, nutrients, and a mild pain reliever as the bruises, hidden by the shirt, had blossomed into painfully large dark blue and purple splotches and light burns from the taser trailed along his back and stomach. They could be healed in a pod within the varga, but not for a while until he was more stable from the sickness. 

His body was exhausted, Coran said, from fighting off the illness for so long and that was why he continued to sleep as much as he did. But it was sleep, not unconsciousness, and all of his vitals had moved back into normal ranges.

Lance stirred again, his head shifting on the pillow.

That was new.

“Lance?” Shiro squeezed the hand still in his grip. “Lance, are you waking up?”

Lance’s head turned on the pillow again, facing Shiro now.

And a pair of dark ocean eyes opened.

Shiro stared, holding his breath, as they slowly landed on Shiro’s face, still hazy with sleep.

Was he…?

Did he…?

They blinked once, twice. 

On the third blink they focused.

“Shiro?” came the most beautiful rasp of confusion Shiro had ever heard in his life. 

“Right here, buddy,” he squeezed Lance’s hand again. 

Lance blinked.

And then he shot upright with a gasp. “Shiro! Shiro, where—?” his head swiveled around and then up, taking in the high, brightly lit ceiling of the infirmary. His breath caught as his gaze landed on the infirmary entrance, still missing its doors and scorch marks on the nearest wall.

“We’re home,” Shiro drew his attention back. “We’re okay. It’s over.”

“We’re home,” Lance repeated. 

He still didn’t sound like he believed it.

“We are, promise. We’re home, buddy. And you… you were…”

Shiro wasn’t sure how to word it exactly. Lance had been the push he needed, his words light and warmth and driving out the dark and sickness of both his memories and the hopelessness staring at them. 

But to his surprise Lance ducked his head and a too familiar flush darkened his cheeks.

But this wasn’t from a fever.

And it wasn’t the soft blush of embarrassment at a compliment.

It was shame.

“Hey,” Shiro leaned forward and put two metal fingers beneath Lance’s chin and tipped it up. Ocean eyes remained averted. “What’s wrong?”

Lance weakly shook his head. 

“I just… I…” he swallowed. “I just… You…” his gaze flicked up for a second before it went back down. “You were, were amazing, Shiro. You… you took care of me and protected me and I… all I did was…”

“Was inspire me,” Shiro cut in, “and give me hope.”

“I didn’t—”

“And you reminded me that no matter what happened down there… I was a hero. Your hero. And Lance?” Shiro turned his own head so that his eyes met Lance’s on the side. “You’re mine.”

Lance’s cheeks darkened even further.

“What?” he breathed. 

“You’re my hero,” Shiro said softly but no less firmly. “You saved me, Lance. Your love and courage and compassion saved me. It is the reason we made it out of there.”

Tears gathered in the corners of Lance’s eyes. 

“You are so strong, Lance,” Shiro continued, holding the teary gaze. “You fought so hard. You never gave up. You didn’t let me give up. And for that I can only say…” Shiro swallowed. “Gracias.” 

Lance sucked in a breath, eyes widening.

A second later the tears spilled over.

“Oh, buddy,” Shiro leaned forward and Lance went right into his arms, free hand clutching at Shiro’s shirt as a sob shook his shoulders. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

Lance hiccuped on a sob and buried his face into Shiro’s chest. Shiro swayed on his seat, rocking them both. He pressed a kiss to the top of the dark head and then did it again just because.

Shiro held him for he wasn’t quite sure how long, but it was a while, until Lance gave a little twitch and Shiro realized his prosthetic had dropped and was pressing against one of the larger bruises.

He slowly sat up and Lance sat back, rubbing his eyes with his left hand.

“I should let Coran know you’re up,” Shiro said softly. “We can get you in a pod to—”

He wanted to say to take care of the injuries but Lance had stiffened and there was no hiding the flicker of fear on his face.

Fear.

Of the pods.

“Talk to me,” Shiro said gently. “What’s wrong?”

Lance just shook his head, lips a thin line.

Shiro wracked his brain.

Scared of the pods.

The pods were…

Narrow.

Dark.

“They’re too small, aren’t they?” Shiro asked. “Because you’re… you’re claustrophobic.”

“Lo siento,” Lance choked out. 

“No, no lo sientos,” Shiro said and based upon the watery huff he’d butchered that bit of Spanish. “You don’t need to apologize for that, buddy.”

“It’s stupid,” Lance whispered.

The same thing he had said the first time in the cellar.

“It’s not,” Shiro countered, same as before. “It scares you. That’s not stupid at all.”

Lance rubbed his hand across his eyes again. “It is,” he sniffled. “I… I just…”

“Is this… new?” Shiro asked carefully, knowing about the Garrison requirements, and he was proven correct on that hunch as Lance gave a jerky nod.

“R-remember when the castle… was, was haunted?” Shiro nodded that time. “I, I got locked in a pod. I thought… I thought…” he hiccuped. “It was so dark. And sm-small. And no one… no one heard me sh-shouting and I thought…”

“Oh, buddy,” Shiro murmured.

“It’s st-stupid.”

“It’s not,” Shiro said again. “And I’m sorry that happened to you. I… I know the pods are obviously bad, and the cellar wasn’t… wasn’t good,” Lance winced, “but… is it other places too? Your Lion?”

Because while the cockpits weren’t all that small (all five of them had fit in the Blue Lion’s to get to space after all) they weren’t exactly roomy.

Lance nodded though. “Blue, she… and, and Red… she knows too. And she… she helps. I feel… feel safe. And so it isn’t…”

Shiro felt a rush of both relief at that and admiration anew, especially with regards to the Red Lion. The fact the most temperamental, impatient Lion of the bunch had made the effort to comfort Lance and help him with that… it spoke volumes to how much Lance connected to others and reminded Shiro again of the boy’s inner strength.

“Thank you for trusting me with this,” Shiro took Lance’s hand back in his own and gave it a squeeze. “It’s something we’re going to need to address later, but not today. Your injuries aren’t bad and we can forgo the pod if you’d like.”

Lance nodded. “Gracias, Shiro.”

He still looked upset, eyes angled down, and pink on his cheeks.

“Lance, buddy, look at me,” Shiro commanded gently. 

Lance tentatively lifted his head.

Shiro leaned forward, brought his prosthetic up to cup the back of Lance’s head and pressed a kiss to the boy’s forehead. 

“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” Shiro sat back with a satisfied thump on the chair as a different pink stole across Lance’s face. “I am beyond proud of you, Lance. I said it once and I’ll say it again and again. You are a remarkable young man and I am so so honored to be able to call you my friend. To call you…” Shiro swallowed. “To call you family.”

It was a good thing Shiro was sitting as a moment later Lance was lunging forward and throwing his arms around Shiro’s neck. He barely caught Lance before he toppled off the bed and wrapped his own arms tightly around the trembling form.

He was never going to let go.