Archive of Our Own ^beta

Luck was on his side tonight.

Even though he’d seen Keith walk out several minutes ago, he still stalked the entirety of their modest room at the inn, then turned to close the curtains on the window. He lowered his hand to his belt, knowing the familiar pressure of his dagger hilt against his palm, even if he couldn’t feel it with the construct prosthetic. The blade had a wicked sharp curve and a barb on the inside; one strike was all he needed. Standing over the bed, he looked down at where his charge -- actually his mark -- lay sleeping soundly. The journey was taking its toll on Lance. Even though he slept deep, his brow had drawn into a knot, the shadows under his eyes more pronounced in the darkness, his cheeks looked more hollow. Perhaps it was just as well this would be the night he slept for good; there would be no more violence awaiting him. Kuro had no doubts his soul was destined for the bright side of the Maker’s wheel, there didn’t seem to be a shred of malice in him. Pride, sometimes arrogance, a wicked wit, but not malice. If anyone would know what to look for, it was Kuro.

“You should come with us, Kuro. Keith says I’m a handful, but it’s really not so bad. You don’t have somewhere else to go right now, right?”

Kuro frowned, feeling the same tug at his insides he had many nights ago across the fire. He had watched Lance’s face, lit by the warm glow, smiling so widely at him. Keith looked as though he wanted to put his face into his hands, but he wasn’t arguing. Whatever Lance might have seen in him when he invited Kuro to come traveling with them, Keith must have been trying to search for it too. It was clear Keith cared more about protecting Lance than anything else, both of them felt too clean for Kuro to breathe near, much less spend his days traveling with. But it made his job easier, he would be able to complete his mission with a masquerade, a quiet tactic that would end with Lance eliminated and the legend of Voltron to remain as dead as he was.

“You go, Keith. I’ll stay here with Kuro.”

“You all right?”

“I’m just tired.”

Keith had looked dubious until Kuro gently assured him he would look after Lance. He said he would take care of him, made sure he rested. Keith left, still with a wary glance over his shoulder. Kuro meant what he said, Lance would rest, he would take care of him. And then he would disappear before Keith returned. It would be the end. So why hadn’t he struck. He clenched his teeth, gripped his blade tighter. He never hesitated. The Galra hand in the shadows never faltered; it was what made him the commander’s favorite. What had changed?

Nothing.

Nothing .

He was lying to himself.

Kuro closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Focus . He had many reminders of why he should deal the blow. They were stories in the scars all beneath his clothing. Thick ones, deep ones, burns, fractures, lines as thin as paper cuts, the burn of the magical construct he called an arm along his nerves telling him exactly why failure was not an option. He had sworn the moment Sendak put a weapon in his hand and called him Champion that he would not go back to the Druids again, not ever . Why did Lance complicate that promise to himself so much?

He heard the noise behind him too late. Keith’s arm locked solidly around his throat, and there was a lot of strength in the way his smaller body leveraged Kuro’s knees to buckle slightly. That’s when he felt the tip of a knife at his ribs.

“Put it down, you filthy traitor,” Keith growled in his ear.

Kuro smiled in spite of himself, a self-depracating, sad thing on his face. “You’d do better to kill me,” he whispers back, his gaze on Lance to see if he would stir at the sounds of their voices. The Seeker continued to sleep.

“I’m not gonna spill your worthless blood over his bed. Put it down, and we’ll go take a walk.”

It wasn’t without a sense of irony that Kuro left the blade on top of the covers, near Lance’s slightly twitching fingers. He stared at the beautiful face in slumber as long as he could before Keith wrenched him into a pivot, away from Lance and towards the door. Kuro wasn’t as ashamed as he’d been trained to be for this defeat. He was actually relieved.

They walked at that awkward angle out into the night, away from the inn through the back alleys, until they were at the edge of the town. Every time Kuro made a play at breaking free, Keith would wrench his arm until black spots danced over his vision or the knife would dig in. Kuro was pretty sure Keith had broken skin by now, felt the way his tunic stuck to him. It would take little more to slide the dagger home between his ribs, and they both knew it.

“It’s a shame,” Keith said as they finally got far enough away from Lance and the village for his comfort. “I was starting to like you.” He gave a mighty shove and Kuro staggered several paces forward before he regained his footing. Keith was good, such a worthy protector for someone such as Lance, a worthy lover.

Kuro turned and rubbed his neck, wanting to see his adversary face-to-face one last time. He couldn’t help being surprised. He should have already been bleeding out at Keith’s feet by now. “Are you seriously letting me go? I tried to kill your partner.”

“I’m aware,” Keith spat, “but I also promised him I wouldn’t kill unless I had to. If you’re about to make me ‘have to’, you won’t have a second chance.”

“They’ll just send someone else,” Kuro warned him. “Sending me back will infuriate him.”

Keith’s smirk was vicious, Kuro rather appreciated it. “Yeah, and what do you think they’ll do to you before they pick someone better and faster, hmm? By that time, we’ll be long gone.”

“No wonder he’s yours.” Was that jealousy in his voice? Or maybe anger that Keith was right. He was going back to the Druids, where they’d break him down and recreate him again. They would punish him for failing.

“You’ll never know what that’s like.”

Kuro chuckled softly, another bitter sound. “I wasn’t meant to, boy. Watch yourselves from here on out.” He turned to head onto the path. He would return to the commander willingly. They probably already knew he hadn’t succeeded; they were probably waiting . But Lance would live through the night, and somehow that made it okay.

“Wait!”

Kuro froze.

“Lance! What are you doing ?!” Keith sputtered. “Go back to the inn!”

“Don’t tell me what to do! Kuro, come back here!”

Kuro took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. He would look right into the eyes of the Seeker, the one he would have killed by now if not for Keith. He deserved whatever was coming. Lance’s coat was draped over his shoulders like a cloak, and he stood by Keith looking for all the world like he would close the distance between them were it not for the way his lover shouldered his way to the side to keep himself between them. Kuro saw the knife, his knife, in Lance’s hands. It was too big for them, he had to use both to keep the hilt steady in his grip. If he was to die for this, how fitting it would be like that. He took only the steps necessary to get them in range without having to shout.

“What would you have of me, princeling? Do you even know?”

“You were going to kill me,” Lance murmured. “I know. That’s why I have this.” He held up the knife.

“Your guard dog stopped me. Why would you call me back to you?”

“No, you hesitated.” There was no question. Lance’s eyes were bright blue, practically aglow despite the dim moonlit night. Kuro started. “You don’t want to kill me. I know that and Keith will get used to it.”

“I’ll what ?”

“What are you saying, Lance?” Kuro’s shoulders slumped, tired. He was forestalling the inevitable.

“You should come with us. I’m still a handful and Keith is probably going to give you the evil eye until he can trust you. But don’t go back to them.”

Kuro laughed, and at first it was mocking, the sheer absurdity of turning tail and staying with a mark while his commander and the Druids still had a claim on him. But it bubbled out into something more, a hysterical sound of disbelief. No wonder this boy, Lance , was the Seeker of Voltron. There was no one else Kuro had ever met in his life with the sheer gall, the sheer fullness of heart to even contemplate what Lance was asking him to do. “You’re a fool,” he stated, breathless. “If I go with you, they will come back in double the force. You will not just be the Seeker, but you will also have ‘stolen’ the Champion with your charms and have had the audacity to survive with Zarkon’s target on our backs. Are you crazy?”

“No, I like you.”

“Lance!”

Lance ignored Keith as he stepped past the protective frame of his body. He boldly walked right up to Shiro and held up his dagger. “Go on, try to kill this pretty face again.” He was grinning. Gods above, damn that smile. It pulled on Kuro’s...whatever it was that served as a heart these days. That stillness inside of him he had locked behind so many defenses, the one part of him the Druids hadn’t reached. It was painful but warm to feel it swelling in reaction now. Lance knew he wouldn’t be able to do it.

Kuro sighed and sheathed it. “As you wish, my prince. I’ll...come with you.”

This time, Keith did put his face into his hand, dragging his thumb and forefinger over the bridge of his nose. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Lance.”

“I found you a sparring partner,” Lance said, hooking his arm in Kuro’s. “Now c’mon, it’s cold out here and we have to get going in the morning. We’ll get supplies before we go, Keith. You can come to bed too.”

Kuro let himself be pulled along, in absolute wonder that this was his life. Their days had just gotten harder, their path longer, and Lance was smiling as if the dawn of a new day would bring them all the tidings of safety and treasure.

“Say, Kuro,” Lance piped up as they approached the inn, breaking into his thoughts.

“Mm?”

“What’s your real name?”

Kuro started, blinking down at him. “What makes you think--”

“If it’s Kuro, then that’s fine,” he rambles on. “I just thought Kuro sounded like something big and bad, you know, a call name so other big and bad people knew what name to fear. It’s fine with me either way.”

Right there, with the part of himself he’d locked away from Zarkon and the Druids, was another thing he protected fiercely. He debated with much difficulty, it hadn’t touched his lips since he’d been taken from his people. It practically hurt to dig it up and offer it now, but this was Lance. He couldn’t resist.

“Shiro. You can call me Shiro.”

Lance let out a soft sigh wrapped around the syllables. It whooshed the breath right out of Shiro’s lungs, to reclaim that part of him by simply the voice of one saying it, giving it power. Names have power over demons, and he had just become Lance’s demon. For good or ill, it was the path he’d veered onto and would stay the course. Lance twined his fingers with the ones of his prosthetic, and he leaned his cheek against his upper arm. “Shiro,” he said again for good measure.

His left hand twitched, and suddenly Keith’s gloved hand gripped it, the leather warm and the hold crushing.

“You’re stuck with us now,” he grumbled. “Don’t make him regret it, or I’ll make you regret it.”

Shiro knew better than to promise something so wildly out of his control, so he didn’t. He had no idea if he could resist the hold the Galra had on him, or if he would make it out of this without hurting Lance or Keith or both. But he had to try. He didn’t really know how to be Shiro anymore, but he felt like this was someplace Shiro would start. Between two people who believed in him, even for a moment.

He had to try.