(I don't own Supernatural or Voltron. A little thing to get my mind churning for Monster of the Arena. Might remain a one-shot, but I might continue if people want me to. AU (though, you can guess that, but it's AU timeline as well where Garrison and space travel a happened a bit sooner than in Voltron canon.))

-July 28th, 2000-

"You're 21! You aren't old enough to be a father, Dean!"

The teen clung tightly to the bundle in his arms. He had been hoping that his dad would have been asleep and he'd deal with the blow-up in the morning, but it didn't seem like Lady Luck had blown on his dice tonight.

"I know," Dean glanced at his 15 year old brother, but Sam only stared at him with wide eyes. Dean turned his gaze back to his father, "but she, that Mcclaine girl, she can't take him. She doesn't want him, dad. I'm the only one he's got. And us Winchesters, we need to stick together."

John sighed and dropped onto the end of his motel bed, head in his hands. Dean waited anxiously, silently praying.

"Let me see my grandson, then," John said finally.

"What?" Dean stared at his father.

"Bring him here, then," John said, motioning his son forward, "let me see my grandson, Dean."

Dean wasted no time, hurrying over and proudly presenting the bundle in his arms to his father, a silent 'look what I made!'

John carefully took the newborn and looked down at him. Small eyes opened, the bluest blue that John had ever seen, and the child already had a feathery soft mop of brown hair on the top of his little head.

"Hey, little guy," John whispered, "I'm too young to be your grandfather, but I'll do my best."

The newborn blinked up at him.

"What's his name?"

Dean's face flushed, "well, uh, since I was the one keeping the kid, she let me choose..."

John internally groaned, "alright, so what's his name?"

"Um.. Lance Metallica Winchester."

John stared at his son, "would you repeat that middle name, please?"

"Metallica?"

-2005-

"It's just for a little while, okay?" my dad assured me, grip tightening on my shoulder in an attempt to reassure us both.

I frowned; I couldn't understand why I couldn't stay with him and help look for Grandpa.

"Is it because of Mrs. Johansson?"

Said woman bit back a gasp of offense. She was a scrawny, bony woman in her mid-fifities with the wrinkles of a two hundred year old mummy, and I had hated her the very moment she had shown up all grouchy faced and document wielding, saying my mother wanted custody.

"I'll come back for you," he told me, holding my gaze, "okay? You'll have to stay with your mom for now, but your Uncle Sammy's gonna be a lawyer, remember? He and I are gonna go find your Grandpa and then Sammy will use that big brain of his and they'll have no choice but to give you back."

"But I don't want to go at all!" I complained, "Baby is my home! Not this place!"

He glanced back at the Impala behind us and then back to me, a sad smile on his face. My father pulled me into a hug and, looking back, I wished I had held on and never let go. But I didn't know that I should have, so when he pulled away I let him.

"I know, buddy," he sighed, "but your mommy says I can have you for the summers. That's something to look forward to, isn't it?"

"But I want to be with you ALL the time!"

"You should get going," Mrs. Mcclaine said, arms folded against her chest.

"Funny how you waited until he was old enough not to need to be watched all the time before you wanted him," my dad glared at my mom as he put my duffel bag on the ground.

"She said it was time for you to leave," Mrs. Johansson said stiffly before giving me what she probably thought was a nice smile, "you're going to have a mommy AND a daddy AND a house! Won't that be nice?"

"NO!" I stuck my tongue out at her, "I already have a daddy! And I don't need a mommy! And I want Baby, not a stupid house!"

"Hey," my dad crouched down next to me, "you be good, okay? Be good for me. I'll be back for you. I promise."

I leaned in real close and spoke in a whisper that I made purposely loud enough for Mrs. Johansson could hear, "but I'm pretty sure she's a witch."

He chuckled and looked at me real sad for a moment before ruffling my hair, "I'll see you later, Metallica."

"Come on, Lance," Mrs. Mcclaine said, reaching for my hand, "let's go."

"No!" I yanked my hand away, "you didn't want me then and so I don't want you now!"

I watched dad go, not looking away even when Baby had disappeared off into the distance down the road.

-2007-

"We had a deal! You get him for the summers!"

"Maria, please! Just this one year! Please!"

"Why are you so determined to have him for an entire year!? What about his schooling!?"

"BECAUSE A YEAR IS ALL I HAVE LEFT!"

The kitchen plunged into silence. I pretended not to have noticed, silently playing with my toy lions.

"The blue one is my favorite," I said, holding it out to the giant of a man sitting across from me, "but I like the red one, too."

Uncle Sam took it from me carefully, as if he was afraid he might break it.

"You got big," he said, finally, placing the blue lion on the ground.

"You too," I said, focused on the red lion in my hands.

"Do you remember me?"

"No."

"Oh."

I glanced up at him, "are you trying to make small talk?"

He grinned, "maybe. You're pretty smart."

"What did he do?" I asked, "dad. What did he do? What was it that did that so that he only has a year left?"

"What?"

"What did dad do?"

Sam stared at me for a moment before picking the blue lion back up, "you're really pretty smart. But it isn't for me to tell you. So let's play lions, okay?"

I stared at him for a moment, then turned my attention back to my little wooden lions, "we'll have all year to play lions. In between decapitating vampires and ganking everything else that goes bump in the night, of course, but I call dibs on not being the one digging up bodies for salt and burns. And if mom says I can't go, then I'll just hide in the trunk. You guys can let me out and into the backseat once we're far enough away from the house that she won't see me."

Uncle Sam stared at me.

"This one, she is the leader," I decided, proudly showing him the black lion, "they're all girls, cause they don't have manes. That's alright, because my big sister says that they don't need no man. She says the girl lions are called lionesses."

I scooped up my lions and smiled at my uncle.

"After we gank whatever the monster hurting dad is, can we go get pie?"

"Um," Uncle Sam hesitantly handed the blue lion back, "well, you're definitely my brother's kid, Lance."

-2008-

Most eight year olds never have to see their dad get torn apart by invisible hellhounds right in front of them. Of course, having said dad come back from the dead a year later wasn't exactly quite the norm either. But I've gotta say, having my dad back was one of the best birthday gifts I had ever gotten.

"Lost my kid for a whole year cause he decided to fake dying," my mother growled out under her breath from where she sat with my siblings on the couch, thinking that I couldn't hear her, "should refuse to give him Lance this summer."

"I hear Baby!" I beamed, choosing to ignore her as I sprang off the couch and raced to the door. The familiar 67' Impala had barely come to a stop in the driveway before I was out the door and I could see my dad getting out of the driver's seat. He grinned when he saw me and I nearly knocked him over with the amount of momentum I had when I barreled into him.

"It's okay," he whispered as we clung to each other and I sobbed into my father's shoulder, "I'm okay, Lancey-Lance. I'm okay. I'm right here, see? I'm okay."

I choked out a laugh and clung to him.

His eyes seemed a little sadder inside, but he was here. He was alive. And that's what mattered.

He was okay.

-2009-

"Will you stop?" the Trickster gave me an unimpressed look as I emptied my round into his chest, "I just need to talk to you."

"Or what? Gonna stick me in a loop with Uncle Sam again? Been there, done that, and it was pointless," I growled, "because it didn't make me any more ready to have my dad taken from me."

"Yeah, I could tell with how you managed to take down one of the hellhounds that dragged him down to Hell," the Trickster said, "but this is important. It involves the apocalypse, and the fact that Michael and Luci are trying to get their vessels."

"First, get my dad and my uncle out of that- that pocket dimension thingy you stuck them in!"

"Sorry.. Metallica, was it? Cool name, kid-"

"Don't call me that! My name is Lance! Only dad gets to call me that!"

"Fine, fine," the Trickster rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers. The tv showing what was going on in the pocket dimension disappeared and I found myself stuck in a seat, unable to move or speak, my gun dropping to the floor, "now just shut up for a moment and let me talk, will ya?"

The Trickster leaned forward, resting his head on his palms, head slightly tilted as he stared at me. I glared at him.

"You, like your father and uncle, have your own role to play. A role that you were born for. But you..." he paused, eyes never flickering from my glare as he waved his hand, a chess board appearing on a table that appeared just as quickly as the board that rested atop it, and he snatched up a blue colored king piece, "are more than a pawn on a board. You are the king. Without you.."

The Trickster wiped his arm across the board, and the blue army disappeared in a burst of flames, flickering out of existence as quickly as it had flickered into existence.

"Without you, the entire game is lost."

I stared at the chessboard and found that I could speak again, "I'm just a kid."

"And that's where you're wrong," the Trickster told me, waving his hand across the board again, and the blue army reappeared, "you kick off the entire game. Without you, the game is already lost, for it never gets to start. You're more than just a kid. You'll see, Lance. You'll see."

"Let me guess, this is the part where you tell me that together we can just kill everybody and sit back with a bucket of popcorn while Lucifer and Michael fight it out and destroy everything, including my family."

The Trickster glared at me and snapped his fingers. I flinched, but instead of finding myself obliterated, the chessboard had disappeared and a familiar, wooden lion was on the table. He picked it up, gently brushing his thumb across the chipped blue paint.

"You Winchesters always seem to find yourself between humanity and everything that wants to threaten it, don't you? Without you, Lance, humanity won't make it past 2020; as a free people and unaware of the things that go bump in the night, at least. That's when they come, unless you help stop them, and if you're not here when the time comes for you to fulfill your part... what I'm trying to say, Lance, is that you Winchesters all have a role to play. And I want you to play it. That's what I'm drilling into their thick heads in the pocket dimension I shoved them into, and that's what I'm trying to drill into your head. To play your role. But I can't have you dying before that can happen, or -as I said- humanity has lost. Big time. Michael and Lucifer's little showdown won't even matter."

I strained against the invisible bonds keeping me trapped to the chair; the Trickster barely acknowledged my futile attempts to get free. Instead, he reached forward and placed his hand against my chest, and a cold so cold it burned bit against my skin even through my shirt and jacket where his hand touched, and I cried out, tears pooling in my eyes from the pain. I barely noticed him slip something into my hand and he curled my fingers around it.

"If you ever, and I mean ever, are in a situation where your death is the ONLY possible outcome, I want you to hold onto this feather and think, or yell, or pray, for Gabriel. Do not let go of it, no matter what happens after that, do you hear me? It will burn, and it will hurt, but you'll be alive."

"W-what?"

"Promise me."

"Okay."

"Promise."

"I promise- I promise I'll pray.. if- if I need help."

He smiled then, and when he cupped my face in his hands and pressed a kiss to my forehead, his hands were warm, "good boy."

The blue handprint above my heart never faded. And I kept the feather in my jacket pocket. Always.

A little water-resistant makeup to cover the handprint for times I went swimming or exercising, and I figured nobody had to know about it.

Nobody had to know that I was an even bigger target than being a Winchester already made me.

-/$:~~~2014~~~_ -

Suicide mission. You can see it in his eyes, see it in how my father looks at me as he tells me to go with Cas and the others. See it in his eyes that he knows we're going to die. See it in his eyes that he's already dead. But I look him right in his dead, dead eyes, and he can see it in my eyes. I'm going with him.

When my Uncle Sam smiles at me -smile, that smile- it's easy, so easy, to tell.

That it isn't Sam.

Footsteps. I don't turn, I don't look at the Dean with living eyes. On the ground, my father with the dead eyes lays, dead on the outside too, now. The feather burns in my pocket, but I don't grab it. What would be the point? Earth is done for. I am done for. Everything is done for.

There is no point in living in a world fallen to the Uncle Sam with the eyes that screamed 'this isn't Sam' and I don't even tremble as Lucifer cups my face in his hands.

For a moment, the world stands still.

His face softens.

"You had a bright future, Lance Winchester. But humanity has already lost," he whispered, "you should be thankful."

I stared at him, and I could see my reflection in his shimmering eyes.

I can see my dead, dead eyes. As dead as my father. Dead on the inside.

It burns, for a moment, when he presses his hand to my forehead. I hear the Dean with the living eyes let out a scream from behind me as Lucifer smites his son. Me. Smites me.

The king topples. The board falls.

And then I'm dead on the outside, too.

...

...

-2010-

Someone is shaking my shoulder. I can hear sobbing.

I blink open tired eyes, blearily staring at my father, hovering over me. I can feel his tears falling on my face.

"Dad?" I murmur, a half-asleep whine in my voice, "daddy?"

"My boy," he whispered, clinging to me, "it's okay. You're okay. Lancey-Lance, you're okay. My baby."

I rub at my eyes, struggling to keep them open, "you.. have nightmare?"

He bit back a choked sob, a strangled laugh of relief in his voice.

"Yeah, buddy," he promised, "just.. just a nightmare. What do you say we go find Uncle Sammy?"

-2011-

"I liked them."

"I know, Metallica."

I didn't even have it in me to whine and tell my dad to call me Lance.

"Will... will they ever remember us?"

"No," Castiel said.

Nobody could find it in them to mention them again.

-2012-

"That's him," the other kids whisper when I pass them in the hall.

"He's the serial killer's kid."

"Do you think he's a killer too?"

"His dad and uncle are on a killing spree."

The teachers give me wary looks. My English teacher finds every chance he can to bring down my grades. Some of the kids act as if bullying me will make up for the tarnish the leviathans have drenched the Winchester line in, and the principal turns a blind eye even when he knows that I see him ignoring the Winchester being beaten up in the halls. But the one time I fight back, I get suspended for a week, so when I get back to school I just let them pummel me.

I get shoved into a lot of lockers that year, and my mom almost sues the school when I got locked in a supply closet for two days.

My mom legally changes my last name to Mcclaine, and I don't talk to her for a month, even though the bullying eases up a little at the change. I hear her and my stepdad talking over getting me a therapist.

"His father is his whole world," I heard her wail once, when she thought I was out of earshot, "he can't handle this on his own!"

When summer comes, the police set up camp around our house but there's no need.

The Impala doesn't show up.

Winchesters aren't stupid.

-2013-

The look on my father's face when he opens the Bunker door to Castiel and I is absolutely hilarious. Almost getting my ribs broken with how tight his bear hug grip on the two of us was when he dragged us in for a hug, well, that was less hilarious but I still found it pretty funny.

"How did.." he glanced between Cas and I. Cas looks a little sheepish, but I give my dad a friendly punch to the shoulder as I walk past him into the so-called Bunker.

"How did I get so tall? You missed my growth spurt!"

"How did you two get here?"

"I ran away when angel dad showed up at my door needing a place to stay and a way to find you," I grinned, waving my hand dismissively, "long story short, here we are!"

"Angel dad?" my dad frowned, giving Cas an odd look, cheeks looking a bit redder than usual.

"Yeah, cause he's like my other dad."

Cas shrugged, "he wanted to come, Dean."

My dad stared at his angel friend before grinning, "come on, you two. It's been too long. And Metallica," he paused, and I didn't correct him, "how about I give you a grand tour of our new home?"

-2014-

"How you holding up?"

I glanced up at my Uncle Sam. The wall was cold against my back but I couldn't find it in me to care.

"My dad just tried to kill my uncle with a hatchet and tried to send my soul to hell to be tortured so I can become a demon," I scowled, "and every time I close my eyes, I still have the image of Gadreel smiting my best friend glued to the inside of my eyelids. Not to mention that Grandpa Bobby died and NOBODY decided to tell me until yesterday, and that was only because demon dad was trying to distract me long enough to kill me. My DAD tried to KILL me and take me to HELL. How do you think I'm doing?"

Sam sighed and leaned next to me on the wall outside the door, both of us pretending that we couldn't hear demon dad screaming from where he was trapped.

"We're going to find a way to fix him, Lance."

"I can only hope so," I sighed, "god, Sammy-" and he didn't even correct me to Sam or Uncle Sam- "-I'm too young for this shit."

"Language," he chided me, eyes sad. He doesn't disagree with me, though, and he rubs my back as I break down into sobs until I have no tears left to cry.

-2015-

"You're not going to possess my uncle," I said, trying to appear brave even as my entire body trembled, "and you're not going to possess Cas either. I know he was planning to do that, to let you possess him."

"Oh really~" the devil smirked and leaned his face against the bars, "so what? You Winchesters think you can handle the Darkness all on your own? Wish I could be there to see that."

"You're going to help us take down the Darkness," I said, "so yeah, you're going to be there to see that."

He raised an eyebrow, looking amused; there was a knowing glint in his eye. He already had a feeling about what I was planning.

"You're going to possess me instead."

Chuck is dying, Amara is on the loose, and the world is ending.

But by the way my dad cradles me in his arms when Lucifer's been excorcised who the hell knows where and I'm me again, it doesn't really seem like he cares.

-2016-

Despite Lucifer on the loose, I had a pretty good feeling about life when Mick helped me get into my dream school.

"Gary what now?" my dad frowned at me when I came charging out of the post office brandishing the letter like it was a hand of God.

"Galaxy Garrison!" I declared, swinging into the backseat and running my thumb over the logo on the envelope, "Mick got me in!"

"Right," Sam cast me a grin, "but I think he wants to know what it is, Lance."

"Oh," I beamed, fingers itching to rip open the letter but I didn't want to rip it by accident, "it's a flight school, like for- for- like, did you hear about that Kerberos mission, those pilots.."

It occurred to me, suddenly, that an example of a couple Kerberos pilots labeled dead due to pilot error about a month ago probably wasn't the best example.

"It's like a flight school," I said quickly, "a really good one. You have to be really smart."

"Flight school?" my dad's face seemed to grow a couple shades paler.

"Where you have to be really smart to get in," Uncle Sam quickly got my back, "sounds like you've got a little genius on your hands, Dean."

"Kevin taught me a lot," I admitted, "and Uncle Sam's been helping me too!"

"But..." dad frowned, "well..."

Sam nudged his brother, "he'll be fine, Dean, he's not a little boy anymore."

"I'm proud of you, Metallica," dad said, "but.. well, just promise me you'll be careful. Take salt."

"I will."

"And iron."

"Yes, dad."

"And don't forget-"

"Dad!" I laughed, "I'll be fine!"

"Why you so intent on going anyways?" he asked me, "I thought you've always wanted to be a Hunter like us?"

I paused, closing my eyes as memories flashed through my head.

Ash, whose body I never even got to give the Hunter funeral for; Jo and Ellen, clinging to each other as they waited for the Hellhounds; Uncle Bobby, who I never even got to say goodbye to; dad's body torn apart by Hellhounds; Uncle Sam falling into the pit to drag down Lucifer; Gabriel, dead for us; Kevin's lifeless body, eyes burned out of his skull; Charlie's limp body in a bathtub; so many more; so, so many lost.

I opened my eyes.

"I.. I guess I just changed my mind."

"Hi, um, I'm Hunk."

"Lance," I grinned, shaking his hand, and I had a feeling we were going to get along just fine, "I guess we're roommates."

The first time I laid eyes on Keith Kogane, my eyes immediately went to the mullet he was toting.

Business in the front, party in the back!

I found my feet taking me to him before I even know what was happening.

"Hi," I held my hand out when he turned to face me, "I'm Lance Win- Er, Mcclaine."

He frowned at me, and I noticed he had purple eyes. I've never seen somebody with purple eyes before. At least nobody human. I would have to keep an eye on him.

"I'm busy," he said simply, brushing past me.

I watched him go, and a couple minutes later Hunk pushed my hand down; I hadn't even realized I was still holding it out. If Keith Kogane didn't want to be friends, then I would just have to be his rival. I had to keep an eye on him, just in case he ended up being one of the things I'm supposed to Hunt.

"A mullet?" I growled, the words out of my mouth before I could stop them, bitter at the memories something as simple as a mullet could drag up, "seriously? Who the hell has a mullet!?"

Ash had had a mullet.

-2017-

Looking up at the Blue Lion that towered over me, I finally understood what Gabriel had meant.

Blue Paladin. That's what.. that's what Allura called it, right? What I was now? Paladin.

I could get used to this role. It wasn't like I was a newcomer to saving the world... but saving the universe?

That...

That could take some getting used to.