Chapter Two: A Want To Be Needed

It's not like Lance wants to argue with his team, but he gets stressed too. They just need time and a little space then everything can go back to the way things were.


System: Nairn
Location: Outer Asteroid Belt

Lance was the last to arrive back in the Lion hangar.

They had freed the Trigamon already; having waited for Shiro and Wilt to reach Yellow before all three Lions destroyed the outer hangar doors, escorting the slightly scratched, but otherwise okay escape pod and the remaining crew to the castle.

Putting off the inevitable kiss-and-cry, Lance injected another vial of Eyre into his system before pushing back into the living compartment. Blue's living quarters were quite spacious, considering she held a full double bed, a compact shower room, sitting area and a food preparation and storage system as well as Lance's Speeder in an separate room just below.

It was here the he found a change of suit and plenty of bandages to dress his wound before the Eyre wore off. His damaged suit was tossed to the side, added to Lance's To Do list to patch in his spare time, already knowing the consequence from Allura if she found him with damaged or indecent armour. "You're Paladins of Voltron," she would say. "You carry the title of Defender of the Universe. You can't very well look worse for wear when you're carrying the hope of the people." Easy for her: she never went into battle.

Lance, however, had become quite competent at fixing his suit and undergarments. But that probably wasn't a good thing considering it meant he was getting injured each time…

The Cargo ship was scanned for life forms. Finding none, it was up to Yellow and Blue to guide it towards a planetoid that stood as a part of Nairn's Outer Asteroid Belt. It would be here that Hunk, Pidge and Coran could inspect the craft and deem it, either fixable, or utter junk.

For the foreseeable future, the Trigamon were the Paladin's new bunk mates, and those that didn't require medical treatment were being given the full-tour by Allura and Hunk, who had been adopted by Elmore and his friends. That left Coran monitoring the sick bay and Pidge assessing the damage left by the pirates. Keith was probably training or brooding.

That left Shiro waiting for Lance outside the Blue Lion.

Great.

"Hey Shiro, you doing well?" Lance asked when he dropped out of Blue's mouth, hoping Shiro would pick up on the fact that Lance wants to overlook his outburst and act as if everything was a-o-kay. That way he could head to the med-bay and get Coran to check him over without having to worry the team about his injuries. He'd already made them feel bad enough with the whole angry rant; he needn't burden them with the fact he got badly hurt as well.

"Are you?" Shiro asked, motioning to the laser's residue that remained on Lance's right thigh. He had been preoccupied with the wound on his back that he hadn't even registered that he needed to change his leg armour. Then again, he could work with it. After all, he had just come away from a gun-battle. It's not likely he would've done so utterly unscathed.

"Just a scratch," Lance shrugged. "Guess the Pirate's aim is as good as a Storm Trooper when it comes to gun battles."

Shiro's gaze lingered for moment, and another, sweeping Lance's body as he waited for Lance to drop his façade. He didn't, expertly massaging his expression placid, but with a raise of the Black Paladin's eyebrow, Lance crossed his arms.

Bad idea. The muscles of his back pulled painfully taut, a squirming feeling on his back that made him draw and intake of breath. Don't show him you're hurt, he'll only blame you for it, Lance's mind supplied, the ever-present fear of not being good enough taking forefront in his mind.

"If you want to talk about what I said, can we do it after I have a shower and a power nap? I'm kind of drained," Lance said; eyes averted to the access door. Somewhere beyond it was a Cryo-pod with his name on it, and by god, he was going to get in one before the Eyre wore off and he collapsed from the pain: the idiot still hadn't uncrossed his bloody arms.

He pretended the pain was irritation, hoping Shiro would back off like he does with Keith when he asks for space or with Pidge when they want five minutes piece to figure out this and that—

"Look, I get you were angry at Pidge—"

"Not just at Pidge," Lance muttered, finally uncrossing his arm and turning back to the man who wasn't picking up on the huge clue of 'please leave me alone.'

"Look," Space Dad said, sighing whilst his hand rubbed the back of his neck.

Lance watched. Waited.

Shiro had this thing where he couldn't let things lie. Lance, preferring to cool off in his own space, always struggled when Space Dad brought everything to the table. Allura had the same way of thinking, Hunk too, in the way they couldn't let the argument blow itself over, probably thinking instead it has been left to stew.

Lance preferred Pidge and Keith's way of dealing; silence and a mutual understanding not to bring it up again, although Keith failed with the latter.

Lance had no other choice than wait and take the lecture, taking comfort in the fact that Shiro was doing this here, now, without the prying eyes of the team. It wasn't fair that Lance got shredded whilst he had an audience and Shiro respected him enough not to publically shame him. If he respects us at all.

"I had no control of the explosion," Lance began, hoping to get the show on the road.

Apparently, that wasn't the direction Shiro had been aiming for. "Unless you set a bomb off yourself, I'm not holding you accountable for that, nor the fact that you were alone on the ship with pirates—"

"And no way to call for help."

Shiro grimaced at that, nodding his head in agreement. "And no way to contact us, you're right."

"But Lance—" And there's the 'but' "—but you have to understand, this could've gone a lot smoother if you had cooperated from the start."

Lance tried not to scoff. He hadn't been uncooperative. Perhaps he shot in first with Blue, but that had nothing to do with the fact there were Pirates on board, he got muted, and he and the Red Paladin were at wits since morning. Now Lance was left to face the lecture from Shiro, because it was easier to put the blame on him. He knew how it worked.

Shiro would talk. He'd say his side of the argument whilst Lance dutifully kept quiet and accepted everything without complaint. Because he can't complain, it is his fault. Then just before Shiro would feel guilty and worry he was ruining their relationship, ruining their chances of being to be able to bond and form Voltron, Lance would step in with a quick joke and a forced smile. That would be that and everything would go back to the way it always was.

It's okay. This is just another lecture.

It was just another god dam lecture.

"You can't just fly off in front of everyone when we had a plan in place. Pidge warned us about the jammers, but you didn't think and went in anyway. And when you got in between the ships…" Shiro's eyes narrowed, face dropping away, failing to conceal the anger of pressed lips, hard eyes.

"You know if Hunk had been any closer he would've rammed you out the way and gotten hit himself. God damn it, he fucking tried, but lucky for him, Yellow isn't fast and couldn't get there. Yellow's limitations saved him, but if they hadn't then he would've been hurt, Yellow would've been damaged too. Black is still banged up from our last run in with these Pirates. And alright it wasn't your fault," he said at Lance's look. Of course it wasn't my fault. I warned you about the damn Ion Cannon. You just didn't move quick enough.

"Fine, everything worked out this time. This time, Lance. But what about next time? What about when Pidge has to step in, and they get hurt? What if Allura or Coran suffer the consequences, what if it is Keith who steps in—"

"Like that will happen," Lance scoffed, despite himself. He folded his arms again, biting his bottom lip to stop the feeling of skin tearing.

"It could," Shiro growled, raising his voice. Lance rolled his eyes. "Yeah, in what universe? If you hadn't noticed, he hates my guts," he said, voice cracking at the truth of it. Shiro didn't notice. "He doesn't hate you, but you certainly annoy him when you don't take things serious like him, you don't follow orders like he does, you don't put your all—"

"Like hell I don't," Lance spat, matching the Black Paladin's volume.

It always comes back to Keith. Be more like Keith, listen like Keith does, be useful like Keith.

So what if it's petty, inconsiderate and god he hates himself sometimes just because the guy he likes more than he should doesn't even think they're comparable, whereas Lance is always, always being compared to him.

Ever since the Garrison, he's been told to drop the idiot act and be a good astute student, like Keith. Unable to get into the fighter pilot programme until Keith dropped out and left him a place. A substitute. A stand-in.

Lance kept trying of course, trying to progress even without Keith there. Instead his enemy was Iverson; back-handed comments from him and the class, being shot down by Hunk and Pidge when they were supposedly making jokes. And when Lance asked them to stop, they teased him for having his feelings hurt.

In Voltron it is the same.

No longer cadets in training, but soldiers in war. There's more stressors, more fears, more responsibility that Lance feels like he's going to be left behind the second he stops to catch his breath. Second-rate in combat, second-rate in piloting, second-rate, second-rate, second-fucking-rate—

They're always pitted against one another in training, there's always the backhanded comment of "Keith wouldn't do that."

Probably because Keith has a stick up his ass or he has the confidence and the support of the Paladins, whilst Lance is constantly vying for some sort of acceptance, battling his fears that won't leave him alone, a million miles away from home, from his family, from somewhere at least he knew he was wanted.

There was a moment. Just one moment when he thought Keith appreciated him, when Lance might've been able to get past a petty rivalry he created to hide his shame, his fears, and his fucking emotions. But Lance, the idiot, the flirtatious playboy had to go and ruin it by "conveniently forgetting," disrespecting Keith and setting himself further back on the Monopoly board.

Blue purrs in his mind, but the calming feelings are just a slap to his face. Even Blue has to watch over Lance, to stop him from making mistakes.

Bitterly, Lance pulls away from her light, back to the Black Paladin that stands before him. He squeezed his hands into fists, feeling the taut of pain grounding him.

When he spoke, his voice was eerily calm.

"Look, I get that you and Keith seem to hold each other on pedestals and he's the perfect soldier for this little Voltron game we're all stuck playing, but if you want me to be like him, to follow orders without question, you've got to realise that's not me."

"That is beside the point."

"Is it?"

Shiro pinched the bridge of his nose, deciding to ignore the usual argument of "be more like Keith."

"I get that this is fun. Space Pirates, god knows I loved them as a kid, but we're paladins of Voltron, Lance. We're not five."

"Except you."

"Except me— Hey! I'm being serious Lance." The Black Paladin growled at his teammate's antics, but Lance just wanted him to get to the point already. The pain was bugging him and listening to this spiel was getting tedious.

"And I'm wondering if you have a point to this conversation," Lance said, unable to bite down the words before he spoke them.

Shiro scowled. Lance stared.

Silence dragged between them; Shiro not standing down because he believes himself to be right, Lance refusing to break. He's pissed, he's angry, he doesn't deserve this.

Stubbornness won in the end, Shiro buckling first with an exasperated sigh, dropping his head in a hand to rub at his brow. Was Lance giving him a headache? Pity.

"Just grow up Lance. You're meant be a Paladin of Voltron."

The words hit Lance hard. With clear precision they hit their mark, poisoning him with doubt that spiralled deep within him. Every dark thought about him being needed or not, being accepted or not, came rushing back at full force. It winded him, clouded his mind with painful emotion.

The Blue Paladin felt his face contort into a hurt expression, eyes shooting to the floor. His vision blurred, wet anger threatening to shake his voice, make his eyes water heavily. He hated wet-anger; the feeling of weakness it drags up from the depths of his stomach because he cares too much. Cares what Shiro thinks of him, what the team thinks of him, whether they think of him important or not.

Lance refused to allow the tears to fall.

He shoved his anger and irritation deep inside himself. He'd unpack those bags when he had the time; when no one was looking and he didn't have to keep the happy-go-lucky-Lance guise, when he could release anger onto the training dummies, when he'd scream and shout and drive his fist home on the metal gladiators, accepting the pain as punishment because he's weak, he's not strong, he's weak, weak, weak, weak, weak—

"Yeah, I get it, I'm sorry. I'll do better next time."

"Lance—"

"Honestly Shiro, I understand, loud and clear," Lance said, turning around and walking away, not giving Shiro a chance to call him back and half-heartedly apologise, all for the sake of Voltron's bonds. But he's not being allowed a chance of a bow out.

"Yes. Stop being reckless. Stop making things more difficult than they already are."

It was easy to hear the anger in Shiro's voice. Not just irritation at the younger Paladin, but something else. "You seem to constantly butt heads with Keith for this game of rivalry, and I wouldn't say anything against it; healthy competition will help you improve your skills. But I won't ignore it when you're endangering the rest of the team."

"I didn't—" but Shiro cut him off. "The reason Pidge turned off your Comms was because you couldn't stop bickering. You took focus away from the mission, in an unknown environment which was dangerous."

"And leaving me on mute was the best idea you could come up with?"

"Stop challenging everything I say!" Shiro yelled, stepping in with anger. Lance jumped back, a distressed sound broken behind his lips from the pain of moving. His eyes watered slightly, but did Shiro notice? No, he was still busy shouting.

"Just take responsibility for your mistakes Lance, because today, it was your fault. No one else is to blame, not Pidge for cutting communication considering they were patching the problem you caused with Keith."

Not "you and Keith caused." Because Keith can't do anything wrong. No, this was all Lance's fault, all of it: The Pirates attacking innocents, the Galra declaring war on the known universe, the reason Voltron is still fighting this goddamn war, because Lance can't seem to do his job right and defeat the enemy, save everyone, save the Universe.

Yeah.

It was all Lance's fault.

"I can't keep doing this Lance. Every time, you screw up, every time I've got to stand here and tell you, you can't seem to do that. We're not kids, this isn't a game, this is war," Shiro said. His tone returned to its normal volume, although every soft edge, every caring notion is kept clean from bitter words.

"If Zarkon wins, we won't just lose the war, we'll lose Earth, we'll lose freedom, and we'll lose lives. Is that what you want?" Lance actually laughed. "Are you seriously asking me that?" He didn't get a reply, just a pointed look.

Lance dropped his head, lifting a hand to wipe his face. "Look if you want me to apologise for my mistakes, I will. But I'm not taking the blame for everyone else anymore. So sorry, or whatever, but I'm tired and I need a shower and sleep."

Lance moved first, ignoring Shiro's hand that reached out to grab him. "I'm tired Shiro. So just… just save it for now, okay?" He didn't get a reply, but the Black Paladin didn't move to stop the younger as he took himself from the hangar, dragging his hurt with him.


Lance has always loved the wind, the rain, loved the sunlight and the clouds that drifted lazily in the bright blue sky on Earth. He loved the Beach that lay just beyond the boundaries of his own backyard, back Home.

When he felt low, he'd take himself to that perfect stretch of golden sand, warmed by the sun's light. Some days it would burn his bare feet and he'd race to the surf, the rolling waves crashing on damp sand where walking was bearable.

Lance would walk and walk the length of Beach as far as he could, until the Skies were painted in warm, soft hues. Purples and pinks as bright as budding flowers, blues and golds vibrant like bird feathers fluttering across the crimson sky.

On days when the doubt was stronger; clinging to him like tar, making it hard to walk, Lance would take to the water. Bathe, swim, dive.

In the water he felt alive, cleansing himself of the tar and the heaviness, returning home with real smiles.

The voices didn't get to him that much back on Earth.

But here in space, Lance had no boundaries to protect him. He didn't have his golden beaches, the fluorescent glow of sunlight on the cresting ocean waves, his multihued sky of a thousand colours.

So Lance found new beaches.

Red sands as dark as blood, green water as vibrant cactus blooms, plants that grew like rocks; stubborn and discoloured, with a nasty taste for human flesh.

Sometimes they weren't beaches at all, but pockets of water that would float in the atmosphere of a shattered gravity. Filled with life, with plants and fish that swooped and dived between the floating amorphous pools.

He found new skies; yellow and pale in the light of seven suns, purple and foreboding as night came, white as freshly fallen snow as thunder clouds filled the sky, raining down pink bubbles that would bounce and roll and stick to Lance's armour as he waded through the never ending sea that barely reached his shins.

All of it left behind at the jump of a wormhole, the call of a new mission.

So Lance found peace in privacy upon the Castle, not to be abandoned with every step forward.

The Bridge; where he'd look out through the stars, to planets and burning nebulas. To the silence of space as bright and never-ending of Lance's hope to return home. His home was out there, somewhere.

One of the bright lights the twinkled back, or perhaps not, perhaps he was too far from even the glow of the familiar Green and Blue planet he feared he'd never see again.

No. He'd see them again. He had to.

The expanse did little to calm Lance when his mind focused on the distance, the fear, the insignificant hope that he would return home one day; a war hero with a thousand stories to tell, a hundred more to be told.

Lance found himself another space, a quiet, out-of-the-way space where he wasn't disturbed by the team in moments he was weak. They stopped finding him silent in the bridge, looking at the holo-projection of Earth; its green lands and blue seas.

They stopped finding him at all, no one yet to stumble upon the Holo-projection room, once housing the memories of King Alfor, now housing the image of home.

Lance's home.

After weeks of hard work, sorting through streams of code and data dumps pulled from his own memories, Lance had been able to recreate the perfect moment of Sunset, when the sea reflected the sky, when the day was drawing to an end and it was beginning to grow cold. He had finally recreated his beach, only to crumble to the floor, sobbing like a child that had lost his mother.

Even as perfect as the projection portrayed, as exact as a stored memory could be, Lance couldn't feel the Sand beneath his toes. He couldn't feel the waves that used to soak his sandals when he'd forget to dodge the lapping sea. He couldn't hear the cawing of gulls that swooped and dived, scanning the line between Sea and Land.

The colours of the sunset were false and bright. It just looked wrong.

Blue remained as his support, the ever-present of security inside his mind to stop the demons from swallowing him whole. She was there to lean upon, instead of the team who didn't need the extra pressure of Lance's problems. Not when they're fighting a war. Not when there are other problems, bigger problems, more important problems that needed their attention, their focus, their energy…

But as Lance stood there, back in the Lion hangar, just a stone's throw away from Blue, he feels her support waning: Her thoughts not as strong within his mind, her calming words not as loud as he stares blankly at those before him.

Coran was helping Hunk and Pidge run through the basic list of checking the Cargo ship system alongside the Trigamon; robust little creatures that had a knack for mechanics and fixing things.

Allura remains with the grey female, and the shy one that led the Paladins to their trapped friends. They're speaking of coalition and agreements, Galra movement and politics that Lance has neither the mind nor energy to listen to. He has been summoned for a task as well, given to him by Shiro who stands in front of him. He hears his words, but they are halted somewhere between listening and understanding; caught behind the gossamer veil of tiredness that drags at his mind, making his arms and legs heavy, his body slow.

The tiredness had begun a while ago. He couldn't remember exactly when it first started, when he first heard its silken voice whispering distorted lullabies in his ear. It is poison in his mind, twisting thoughts to sickly self-deprecating idealisms that only fuel the monsters of fear and doubt of self-worth.

Eyes are cast to the Yellow and Green Paladins, leading the Trigamon away with a wave to the three that remain. Hunk's gaze remains on Lance for a moment longer than normal, but then the Trigamon usher him away to the pods they'll be taking to the Planetoid to start repairs on the cargo ship.

Lance watches in silence, not even having the energy to scowl as he watches them leave him behind. Its ice in his chest and Blue is calling out to him, but he blocks her out, a dismissive turn in his mind that leaves her lost in memories, clawing at his understanding in hopes of her Cub hearing her voice.

Lance does not. Instead he hears his own: dark and angry.

And now they're sending us away. They're sending us far away.

Maybe we shouldn't bother coming back.

Lance doesn't fight the thoughts, doesn't deny, nor confirm its mutterings. He would, normally. His persona would prevail, the mask back on and he'd shout something to Allura about her trying not to miss him whilst he is gone.

But he is tired. He doesn't want to see her aggravated eye roll, doesn't want to hear their sneering laughs and quick bunts that do so much more damage than he has ever let on.

So Lance keeps his mouth closed and says nothing as the hangar doors slide shut.

There is darkness inside him, draining him of energy. He knows it; already familiar with the sense of emptiness. This time there is neither fear nor a sense of lost as parts of himself slip away like sand in a time turner. He knows where he stands and remains standing before the edge.

He is tired, although the blame falls to him after denying time for a Cryo-pod. Not when there is work to be done, fixing the Trigamon's ship and keeping watch, in case the Pirates try to retaliate for Voltron's interference. He can't be useless, he can't be a burden. Healing can wait until night.

Lance barely has enough conscious to acknowledge that Shiro has finally stopped speaking.

[Little Cub, you're shutting me out,] Blue calls again, desperate to help him, struggling with the growing distance even now as he stands just a few feet from her and the readied pod that would take him and Keith through the stars to their destination.

They are due for Torous, a small planet that was used as this sectors dumping ground, suggested by Wilt, the shy Trigamon who had been aboard several disposal ships in the past, in which Torous has been the final destination.

It was here, in the Ruse Minor system that he and Keith were to salvage spare parts to fix the cargo ship, the flight pod set up, waiting for Hunk and Pidge's transmission of parts needed for the repairs.

Everyone has their tasks and that includes Lance, even if he is injured. But I haven't told them, he thinks weakly, looking to the Black and Red that continue the discussion, leaving Lance out. It is a simple retrieval mission; it shouldn't need this long an explanation to get underway. But Shiro enjoys his speeches. It probably helps with his Leader persona.

Besides if Lance says something he'll probably just invite the man to lecture him again. Lance doesn't have the energy for it, or for the energy of fighting his corner that he could retrieve the parts himself; the visual diagrams on the pods display system and Pidge's locator programming plenty of aid. He had suggested it, saying there were more hands for the actual fixing of the ship, but his diplomatic skills weren't quite up to scratch it seemed, when he was shot down quickly by the rest of the team.

Not time for playing around, was repeated a few times, no matter how many dark glares were gifted to Voltron's glorious leader. Lance suspected he had told the other Paladins, princess included, about his lecture to Lance and they all thought they'd jump on the bandwagon in case Black forgot anything.

And now, he is being shipped off to Torous, out of the way, with Keith as a babysitter.

Pidge had nominated him before they, or Hunk could be advised to go. "Keith's going too. He knows what we're looking for. He built his bike from scraps after all." Lance pretended not to see the disgusted look thrown his way. He tried not to look disappointed; he knew what parts were needed, even with Hunk's brief assessment. He'd spent enough time around him and the green Gremlin to know the difference between a sonic screwdriver and an Omni-drill.

But credit wasn't given where credit was due and Lance tried to hide his hurt, but the falter in the Red Paladin's annoyance told him it had failed.

Shit, no, come on. Focus. Focus.

Lance was already fighting too many battles: Pain from the wound on his back took up enough of his conscious; the little that remained was left at the mercy of his negativity.

Besides, the pain wasn't that bad anyway unless he moved too much or too quickly. The vials of Eyre stored in a cavity of his chest armour would keep his pain at bay while slip-side on Torous and the fresh air of the planet would help him clear his head. After completing his task, he'd return and get Coran to help him into a Cryo-pod for the night, letting the major wounds heal without affecting anyone else by being out of commission.

Lance would do it quietly of course. He didn't fancy everyone complaining that he had got hurt. Again.

"It is your fault anyway," they would tell him, bringing back up the argument of offline Comms and petty bickering that leads to such disasters.

No, it was best to avoid it and keep his mouth shut.

Tiredness was pulling at the cloak of lies he wrapped himself around himself, the disguise tearing at the seams as he pulled, fingers curling into it, continuing to tug it from the darkness's grip.

Still it whispered. Come on. Show them the real you. Show them the real disappointment you are. Show them how much of a burden you are. Convince them they don't need you.

Lance shook his head, trying to rid the thought, but his mind remained at the mercy of the monster's poison. It was hard to fight with the tiredness sapping his energy, leaving him vulnerable to the venom that shifted Pidge's words darker. Meaner. "We don't actually need you. But you'll get in our way, and at least Keith can keep you in check. Don't cause any problems for him, 'kay?"

Always taunting him, teasing him—

"—nce?"

—always making him feel worthless—

"—ance?"

—making him feel obsolete—

"LANCE!"

Lance looked up; mind catching on the self-hate as he was flung back to the present as Shiro stood before him. "Are you listening?" he said, brow cocked upwards, eyes flittering over Lance's figure; slouched from tiredness, arms folded around himself as if he is keeping himself standing.

"I got it. I'm ready to go," Lance blanched, hoping that Shiro hadn't just asked him a question. But the man's widening eyes told him that he's chosen the wrong words. Concern filled Shiro's expression, his voice too. "Lance… are you okay?" The Blue Paladin usually had a very keen sense of his surroundings, on and off the battlefield, so this vacancy in his eyes was quick to be noticed.

Yet it was mistaken, as Lance stood up taller, flashing a grin, his cocky bravado raised as a shield and a mask all at once. "Yeah, I'm great."

Keith rolled his eyes behind the older; turning to board Pidge's modified spacecraft and climbing into the pilot seat.

Shiro didn't look convinced however.

Not wanting another lecture, Lance threw his arms wide, twisting and turning like he would during warm-up before training. The monster scraped its claws down his back, over the hideous burn despite the double dose of Eyre flooding his system, but Lance's façade remained and the leader was left none the wiser.

He had wanted to sleep off the pain in a Cryo-pod, but of course the Trigamon's dilemma was more pressing, and Lance was left with raiding Coran's supplies for extra Eyre, too much gauze to carry and a heat pad that would help with the twinge of walking. He hadn't even the time for a proper shower, instead focusing on covering the wound with Eleiryian: concentrated Eyre combined with the healing gel of Fenian that was used in the process of the Cryo-pod.

The stuff was utter magic, but the small amount Lance was able to swipe wouldn't last and he restricted himself to using it only in emergencies. It was a good thing to have on hand if being abandoned by his teammates was to become a regular occurrence.

Lance had used Eleiryian before, craving the Gel that left no residue of scarred tissue or damage skin, but Coran had given it to him with a practiced lecture on the uses of such a dangerous drug. Perhaps it was the numbing side-effect that was to blame for making Lance's head fuzzy.

Turning hurt, so Lance barely caught a glimpse of his injury in his bathroom mirror; nothing more than a dark and deep red something across his once beautiful tanned skin. He just hoped he had managed to cover most of it, letting the Gel do its work.

Thinking of the burn caused an itch to ripple up his spine, but Lance ignored it. He returned his focus to Shiro, calm and collected; the perfect leader. Then his posture changed. Back straight, arms folded, legs splayed evenly, unconsciously preparing to defend himself.

The first strike.

"Lance, I need to be able to trust you."

Oh look, he doesn't trust us. The monster was back with full force, fuelled by Lance's pain. Claws around the boy's neck stopped him from speaking, choking him enough not for it to be painful, but a warning that speaking will only bring more pain.

Lance hurts enough. He doesn't want more.

So he remains silent, listening to Shiro's words, unable to refute those that struck with clear precision, each drawing blood and pain and the fear that his doubts were right.

Then again, do any of them trust me?

And as Lance thought about it, mind wandering away from Shiro's words, he felt the ice in his chest grow colder.

They're always keeping an eye on him, never quite paying him full attention, just the little nod of the head when he opens his mouth, the affirming notion that they know he is there. Like the smile you give a child when they speak and you weren't quite listening.

They don't listen to him, not really. They'll acknowledge he is there, but his thoughts, his two cents are worthless when gold and diamonds pour from their mouths.

It doesn't matter that he cares for them, that he loves them like family. He has already proven he'll protect them, when he took the blast for Coran. All Allura was concerned about was her precious crystal.

When Pidge revealed that they were a girl and Lance knew not to make fun of them, or joke about something like that. They left him out the loop and didn't think he needed to know.

When he almost lost Blue to Rolo and Nyma, the lecture that followed, the jabs that no one else had almost lost their Lion. They haven't trusted us since.

The darkness inside grew hot with anger, shown only in clenched fists and a tight jaw.

Shiro didn't notice. He was too busy giving Lance the run-down of the simple grab-and-go mission. "We've all got our duties, so it will just be the two of you. And I know that you two have been at ends since yesterday morning, but everyone else is busy." Which means Lance isn't Shiro's choice. He's just a substitute for someone more fitting.

"The pair of you will be out of local Comms range for a while, until Coran contacts you. But he'll be helping Pidge and Hunk with repairs, so he can't be monitoring you while you're on Torous."

The heat burnt in Lance's chest. Ignore it, ignore it, he thought quickly, feeling his brow furrow with the effort.

[Cub, you're hurting,] Blue called, mewling in his mind, pushing against him to help keep him standing against the torrent of scalding water that threatened to knock him off his feet. He thanked her, held her close.

Shiro's words brushed his ears but Lance had switched off from them. He shuffled where he stood, looking to Keith already seated in the cockpit of the shuttle. He wasn't looking this way; instead his hands fiddling with the module as the engines sputtered into life. "Shiro, I'm good to go," he called, ending the lecture early. Lance took it as his sign to join Keith, stepping around their Leader.

But Shiro grabbed his arm, halting Lance's steps for a moment. He looked to the hand, then to the man that held him back. "Don't fight with Keith," he said with stern voice, the words tinted with a warning. "While you're out there, it will just be the two of you. I get that he gets on your nerves. I find his stubbornness difficult to deal with sometimes too."

Lance looked between him and his travelling companion. He could almost hear is thoughts. This was the umpteenth lecture this week. Why hasn't Lance figured out we can't deal with this nonsense every time? No one else needs reminding, but Lance does.

Shiro saw the anger that wormed its way on the Blue's face and couldn't help the exasperated sigh. "I get he is at fault too—"

"Then maybe should be lecturing him instead of me." The words came out before he could stop them, a trickle of anger slipping from Lance's mouth. Shiro's words too, came out carelessly, cast with a frustration brought by the repetitive argument. It was unusual to get back-chatter from Lance, not sure how to approach, yet still failing badly at these unsure little attempts.

Maybe it was a mixture of tiredness and the effort of the near constant battling with Pirates and the Galra, even the worry for Black; who remained sluggish and quiet from the Ion Blast.

No matter what feelings lay behind them, Lance could only hear the anger in Shiro's voice. "You're a Paladin Lance. You need to learn not to act so childish and accept that you are also to blame."

Childish? He wasn't a child.

Lance had to grow up quick, back on Earth. At twelve, he was responsible for his younger siblings whilst his Mama worked as many jobs the day would allow. He had to balancing the care of three toddlers, helping raise his brother and sisters between juggling schools assignments, his part-time job and the lies that he and his family were fine.

The scholarship to school was a godsend for the poor family, but that didn't take the strain off of Lance's duties: housework, school pick up and drop offs for his younger sisters, Esmeralda and Isabella, making sure Ariesa completed her homework, that Jeremy and Milo didn't stay out too late.

Between everything, it was like he had become a parent himself. He hadn't been a child since he was four and that man left Mama with countless bills and debts that nearly had them on the streets.

How dare he? Lance thought angrily. Shiro doesn't know anything about me. How dare he—

"I have spoke to Keith already," Shiro continued. "Just follow his lead, keep your heads low and we'll see you back here in a couple of vargas."

The Black Paladin looked at the boy expectantly, daring him to question his order.

Lance felt like sticking it to him, using every twisted word, carving them into a spear of hate and anger and loathing, and just ramming it into the older man's gut. Twist it round inside him, make him feel the pain for once, make him feel was Lance feels, let him be on the floor for Lance to kick him and make himself feel better for once.

"Sure thing. See you when we get back."


System: Ruse Minor
Location: Inbound For Torous

Silence hung thick in the small space of the shuttle's cockpit.

Keith remained alert in the piloting seat, Lance slumped awkwardly in his chair, head leant against the cold glass, just watching the Universe fly past as they traversed the outer regions of Ruse Minor, heading for the Universe's dumping ground.

He isn't focused on anything; not where they're going or the planets they pass, the star constellations and moons they've never seen before. It holds a beauty to it that Lance, with all his effort, fails to appreciate. Instead, he can only feel empty; so far from Blue that her presence inside him is gone, replaced only by the dark void of nothingness.

They haven't been to this system before. All the burning nebulae and storm forms are new, in bright colours of fire and sunsets. The storms remained small in the vastness of black, but Lance knew them not to be small, just far.

The red eye of dust planets blink at him as he passed, their unmoving, un-breathing forms remaining powerful and angry as he approached their territory. They were unwelcoming and angry, but Lance paid them no mind. They weren't living, thinking creatures. They were dead, burnt up planets that strayed too close to the sun they orbited; once living and thriving now left to be blow away into nothing but space dust.

Lance watched, wondering if he too, would one become space dust: Lost to the vastness, his body floating idle and free through the stars until he's burnt up by stars. He envies the planets for their lives; long, seemingly unending. Jealousy, that he is Human, simply a speck in the timeline.

Ten thousand years of war from the Galra was just an exhale to these colossal giants that would live until the end of the universe, perhaps already having seen a thousand wars, and will see a thousand more. For them, it didn't matter who won, who lost. Who died and who lived to tell their tale to their children and grandchildren and great grand children.

Would Lance be rewarded that simple treasure of a family to call his own? A love to cherish and hold, a child to nurture and teach.

The thought pulls his attention to Keith, focused and silent as he pilots them closer to the junkyard planet. Lance lets himself stare from the corner of his eye, taking solace in the quiet. It's probably the longest the two of them have spent with one another without bickering or banter gone wrong.

It's calm and peaceful, and even without Blue beside him, Lance can feel himself relaxing into the moment. He doesn't want to ruin it.

{Then stay quiet.}

Lance sat up sharply, his body jolting painfully, like he had been electrocuted. The sudden movement shocked Keith in turn, Lance's arm reaching out to grab him on instinct. He grabbed tighter, pulling at Keith's arm, the ship's tracking guidance with it.

The pod lurched starboard. "Wow, what the—" Keith growled in surprise, manoeuvring the pod back on track, before fixing Lance with a questioning look.

"What the quiznak was that about?" he hissed, a hand moving to rub at his arm, although his Paladin armour barred the way between his soothing touch and Lance's tight grip that broke with the realisation that he was still holding on.

"Sorry, I thought… I think I heard…" Lance trailed off, turning about in his seat, looking over his shoulder at the space in the back, but it was empty. It was only Keith and him.

So, who had spoken?

"Heard what?" Keith asked, side-eyeing Lance as he readjusted their course again, slowing the engines as he too, turned to look in the back. "I guess it was nothing."

"Just a nightmare then."

"I don't get nightmares," Lance pouted, turning away from Keith with a huff.

"I do."

Keith's voice was so quiet, so soft-spoken that Lance almost missed it. He turned, staring, not sure if he had heard correctly. But from the blushing of the Red's cheeks, Lance guessed that he had.

When Lance said nothing, Keith turned to face the stare. "What," he snapped, embarrassment clear in his demeanour. Lance held up his hands in surrender. "I was— I was just surprised you told me. I didn't think you trusted me like that."

"What do you mean?" Keith scowled. "I mean, that is… well it is kind of a big deal to admit."

"Not really," Keith shrugged, kicking the engines back into full, focus returned to piloting. "Well, yeah, to me it is. Because anything like that, you wouldn't tell anyone, let alone me because you think I'd make fun of you or something."

"No you wouldn't," Keith says stubbornly. "You might dick about, but you're serious when it matters and I know that personal shit like this won't leave this shuttle.

"And I do trust you." He added. It was Lance's turn to blush, but before he could say anything, the Comms system beeped.

Keith accepted the incoming transmission as the voices of Hunk, Coran and Pidge filled the tiny cabin. "How's the pleasure cruise going," the Gremlin asked, their usual smug grin clear in their voice.

Lance let Keith communicate with the others, dropping back into his own headspace as the sight of Torous appeared in the shuttle's forward window. He thought of the voice, blocking out Keith's deadpan tone, favouring his mind for thinking.

He had heard voices before, sure, but they were always the sound of his own voice, deep inside himself, or a brush of a whisper in his ear. They spoke of dark, fearful thoughts drawn from the recesses of his mind he dare not tread.

Only explored in the twilight hours of day, when sleep would drag him to the inner workings of his tired, worn out mind. And only then could he see the fragility behind every strained thoughts, every egotistic lie he put forth in a show of confidence and pride.

Inside him, hidden behind the hurt, the pain, the masks he wore to deter the questions and worry…

Only there remained his true self; his pure soul that lay curled, trapped in the cage Lance built around himself in hopes of protecting himself.

The cage was his shelter. Bars built from the lies he has told himself and so many he's told others a thousand times over. Over and over and over and over, until the bars were unbreakable, un-breachable, unyielding...

"It's no problem."

"Don't worry about it, I'm just feeling a little tired."

"It's okay, I promise."

"I'm fine."

Bars that trapped his soul deep in the confines of his heart, twisted and darkened from the scars that every lie brings him. Every expectation thrust onto his already burdened shoulders, making his legs scream in agony as he tries to lift the weight of the world.

The universe, he thinks darkly, watching the planets that pass him by.

Paladin of Voltron, Defender of the Universe.

{Disappointment to the Title and to his Team.}

The thought sends a shock through Lance's body. He stiffens, his legs locking painfully where instinct tells him to run. He knows he can't, he's trapped in the shuttle with no escape from the darkness that claws up his throat, the fear pulling his chest tight.

That's not my voice. That's not my—

{No, Lance. It's my voice.}

This voice is different. It speaks with a taut tone, the words strangely melodic. Like rain on a tin roof, it laughs.

The sound pulls Lance back to earth, back to the make-shift den in the untamed forests that settled around his home. It is Luis, his brother laughing, screaming as thunder crackled in the sky, lightening striking the sea as the wind whips it up in a torrent of fear and unbridled power.

Its voice is gentle. It is the sound of water bubbling over rocks, the gentle caress of hair on his face as lips bend down and kiss his brow.

Another memory resurfaces, and this time it is Maya, leading him over the rock pools as she holds his hand to stop him from falling. His face is hot; he's been crying because he has already fallen and his knees are scraped up and bleeding. But she holds his hand, showing him where to step as she ventures first, her black hair pulled into a plait damp from their time in the surf.

{It's me, Lance. Do not fear.}

The voice speaks again. He hears his sisters, his brothers.

Nostalgia is replaced by a petrifying fear. It fills Lance's chest with ice, but the sweetness is a fearful comfort that lulls him into a peace that he can't quite want gone. With the voice comes memories he thought lost, with them the happiness, sadness, fear and guilt of childhood.

The voice reminds him of Blue. But it is not her.

It is something much darker.

{Do not be afraid, Osito. I am here for you.}

The silk in its voice doesn't calm Lance, but only served to cement the panic that rises in his chest. The panic that has his throat tight, his breath hot as fire as he clamps down on this mouth, trying to control the fear that bubbles deep inside.

{Calm Osito,} the voice orders and Lance cannot fight the command.

It chooses the name his Mother would call him, choosing the same words that she would use to comfort him when he needed that shoulder, or the tenderness of her touch.

It is not his mother. It is not a memory of her, or any of them.

Luis never played in the den in the forest.

Maya never took him to the rock pools by the beach.

These memories were not Lance's.

It was not his voice.

He hears it sometimes, his own voice spitting hate at him when he is weak or vulnerable.

He hears it from inside his own head and knows that this is his own darkness twisting words into lies. He knows it his own securities devouring the happiness he feels until he is empty and cold inside, uncontrollable like a serpent writhing deep inside, coiling around his organs and squeezing until he can't breathe…

But this? This voice is not his.

It does not come from inside, but instead beside him; whisperings on his shoulder, murmurs that brush against his ears, and only his.

Keith can't hear. He remains caught in conversation between the rest of the team, oblivious to the Demon in their midst.

There is familiarity from this monster. It retains differences to the voices Lance would hear back on Earth; the condescending drawl that would run unwanted commentary as he went about his life, refusing to buckle to the hate, the self-deprecation that no matter what he did wasn't good enough, that he wasn't good enough, that he was a burden, a waste of space, a substitute for a better son, filling the shoes while they were too busy to send him away—

Lance pressed his hands to his forehead, trying to control the thoughts, the memories of the words that filled his nightmares, every waking moment, the day that he finally buckled as he was pushed towards the blade, the bridge, the cliff-side views where Lance had imagined his own body falling, falling, falling, crashing to the rocks, laid bloody and broken and free.

This voice was different, but familiar all the same.

Like a memory disjointed and unattached, resurfaced from a photo, a word, a sound, but the angle is all wrong to the one Lance holds in his mind. Like he's looking at himself from above as a spectator to his own past, and not out of his own eyes. {You're wrong. I've always been here.}

Lance wants to claw at his head, scratch at his ears to stop him from hearing the voice.

But it won't work. He had done it the first time he heard them.

The disjunctive sound of his own voice, but not. The one that plagued him throughout his childhood, loud and louder still when blood bloomed on his arms in hopes to drown out the voice with pain.

The same voice that dragged along behind him in his depression, suffocated him when things got too much and he had swum out to sea, hoping never to return—

"Lance? Are you listening?"

It is a life line. Stronger than his own thread of hope, already frayed and worn from time of use.

Lance grasps at it, leaving the monster to grumble and grouse as he leaves it, deep inside the shadows of his mind.

"Huh, what? Sorry, I must've dozed off," Lance said. He turns to Keith, flashing a small smiled, hoping it's normal. The small nod of the head shows Keith's not concerned.

{But why would he be?} Lance ignores the voice. "So did they tell you what was needed?" he asks instead, eyes on the transmission light on the module. It's off, although for how long, he doesn't know. He wasn't listening. He was losing his mind.

"Yeah, Pidge and Hunk sent us scans of the equipment. They're working on a programme that we can use to scan the stuff on Torous to make hunting for parts easier. I don't know about you, but I'm not sure I'd be able to tell the difference between a phaser emitter and phaser assimilator."

"A phaser emitter is the focus point for warp core energy, and helps direct the concentrated energy into kinetic and heat fusion as part of the main engine system, or redirected as weaponry. "An assimilator dissipates collected energy in equal, controlled amounts. They're used in the warp core and engines as emergency shut-down systems or to stop them from overheating or exploding when they're turned on."

Keith blinked owlishly.

Lance ducked his head. "Ah, sorry. I guess I spent a lot of time watching Star Trek."

Keith didn't say anything after that, but he kept taking sidelong looks at the Blue, who had returned to watch the passing stars and not think.

He doesn't see Keith side eyeing him, sending restless fingers carding through his hair as his mind tumbles the thoughts that Lance is unsettled by something. There's always something different about the Cuban when the pair are together, without the prying ears or eyes of the team.

He's annoyed by the Green and Gold's interruption, but how were they to know the boy's weren't fighting, and instead making genuine ground on the road to understanding one another better.

And Keith did want to understand Lance. He had surmised him wrong when they first met, knowing his name only from jokes and rumours around the Garrison; too busy to listen intently, preferring instead his studies and the progress, making Shiro proud as he excelled quicker than his peers.

Lance's silence isn't anything new between the two of them, yet there's been no argument to start the sulking. To say Keith is concerned isn't incorrect, but he refused to admit the worry brought from silence. He knew Lance had been faking sleep for the majority of the journey, preferring that to keep up idle chatter that would usually have Keith driving nails into his head. He would never admit that, the trip was actually boring without the Blue's crappy jokes and incessant laughter. Okay, Keith definitely found the silence disconcerting.

Lance was never quiet unless he was sleeping or eating and even then, it would only be whilst he swallowed the food goo messily. This silence had been unexpected.

Instead, he had readied himself for random outbursts, vocal fighting and had prepared himself a lecture about Lance's screw ups that mainly revolved around his lack of effort in the sparring ring, and the cargo explosion. He wanted Lance's side and a chance to apologise for his own hand in silencing the Comms and leaving Lance alone with the enemy.

Maybe Shiro's scoldings had been stricter than Keith had assumed and finally, his 'rival' had taken notice.

But the silence? The un-Lance-ness that surrounds him?

It is anything but welcome.

It isn't long before they're entering Torus's atmosphere and the boys minds are pulled back on track of landing the ship.

Keith instructs Lance to help him as the fly through the atmosphere, searching the desolate planet for a place to land. "I thought it was uninhabited," Lance said, punching in the instructions for cloaking. Just to get them to the surface, Keith had explained when Lance asked why.

"Of sentient life, yes. But that doesn't mean we'll be the only ones scavenging here. Why do you think we didn't bring the Lions? It's not like we can defend them while we go hunting, and we know the particle barrier will do nothing if anyone wants to steal them."

"Kidnap you mean." Keith fixed Lance with a look. Lance just shrugged. "They're alive aren't they? If so, it's kidnap, not steal."

"You're so weird."

"Well you're weirder."

The schoolyard bickering was nipped in the bud as the shuttle drew closer to the surface. There is no flat earth to touch down upon, only warped metal and broken things. Wings of giant spaceships are their best bet and Keith spies the hull of an upside down Galran cruiser on top of a stacked tower of junk.

"Remind me to ransack its memory core. We might be able to pull information for Pidge to scour," Keith said as they landed on the wing, the metal groaning loudly as the spaceship's weight shifted. Keith and Lance remained in the shuttle as the spaceship began to tilt, Keith preparing to take off again in case the entire mountain collapsed. It didn't however, leaving the Paladins freedom to climb out.

The air of Torous was breathable, but with near constant sand being blown in their faces, it was better to keep their helmets on, visors drawn. This didn't help in the hot climate, where Lance just wanted to feel a fresh breeze on his face. He decided against as such when he was met with the biting sting of sand instead.

"This place is bigger than I thought," Keith said as he stood on the nose of the Galra ship, looking out at the expanse of orange and black; twisting metal towers glinting in the setting sun.

A full day, from dawn to dusk, upon Torous was comparable to the equivalent of three vargas, so there was little point in waiting out the night in the shuttle pod. They had lights on their visors and constant contact through the Comms. It would be quicker just to keep working in the dark.

"Are we searching together, or splitting up?" Keith asked when Lance hadn't responded. He was crouched on their landing pad's wing, looking down to the surface. Or as much of the surface he could see that wasn't covered in broken spaceships, old junk and orange sand.

"It will be quicker if we split up. Unless you want me to hold your hand," Lance smiled, teasing Keith in their privacy. The Red rolled his eyes.

"Fine, we'll do this separately. Hunk says that he needs recalcitrant knuts; as many as we can find. And piston modules, but he said something about the thermal makeup compared to a "kikeke aku?"

"Knock-off," Lance translates, knowing Hunk's irritation at cheap imitation of engineer work had his dialect slip up. {It's good to know you're useful for some things.}

Lance grabbed the side of his head, but the whispering stopped as quick as it started. His heart pounded in his chest, but no matter how vulnerable Lance felt, his mind wasn't invaded.

Looking up, he was thankful that Keith hadn't noticed the glitch; already back in the shuttle pod. He drummed the keys on the pilot's side of the module, the display lighting up from the terminal Pidge had logged for him. It's got the remaining machinery listed and all the little diagrams.

Keith waved Lance over. "Pidge finished the programme. Come grab it before you go," he said, plugging his wrist cache into the module and dragging one of Pidge's files onto the popup menu. Lance copied.

Pidge's 'identification programme' whirred to life, the information relaying immediately to his helmet's HUD. Scanning the nearest metal tower, little lines began outlining the shapes in weird assortments, comparing it to the shapes of their desired equipment. Nothing they wanted stood out from the first, nor the second, and Lance was too far away from the third.

"We'll keep the Comms on, so don't wander too far," Keith instructs, unconsciously imitating Shiro in the way he spoke. His voice is sharp, words to the point and it sends a trickle of irritation over Lance's skin. He has to swallow a spiteful "yes sir," instead nodding with a grin, walking backwards to the edge of the ship.

"Don't worry Mullet. We'll get the stuff and be back on the ship in a couple hours. Just try and find something before I find it all first."

Keith rolls his eyes again. "Let's just stay focused, okay? The sooner we're done here, the sooner we can get back." Lance's grin widened. "Still, you got to keep up Keith or I'll leave you behind." His foot stopped on the edge of the ship, teetering over the drop.

Keith noticed, his voice twisting into a shout, "Lance watch out!"

But Lance just grinned and stepped off the edge, laughing at the look on Keith's face as he plummeted to the surface. Mid-fall he turned, deployed his jet pack and slowed his decent, leaning into the motion to take himself over the warped metal floor of Torous until he was a substantial distance away from the giant tower.

"Bastard," Keith hissed, his voice crackling over the Comms. Lance just laughed. "C'mon Keithy-boy. You've got to have fun while you're here. Loosen up a bit."

Lance dropped himself to the ground, turning back to wave at Keith who stood like an ant on top of the mangled tower. "You think you're so funny don't you. Just grow up Lance; we're not here to play games." And Mullet was back to his normal grumpy self.

"Yes yes I apologise your majesty," Lance said with perhaps a little too much sarcasm. Keith cursed him again, but Lance was already walking away, his back to the sunrise and the leaning tower of Junk.

{Looks like he's fitting into his role nicely,} came the dark and unwanted voice. Lance bit his lip to focus on the pain rather than the voice but the monster just purred in his ear. {Don't be like that Lance.}

Lance said nothing.

He could feel the monster beside him, sapping his energy, his happiness.

It is darkness in his peripheral that was nothing more than shadows when he turned his head to see with clarity.

But the monster was still there. It laughed and it purred, settling itself around Lance's shoulders. He shuddered at the contact, feeling its leathery tail wrap around his neck uncomfortably so. A hand reached up to pull at the tail, but the second Lance did, the monster wrapped tighter. A warning.

So Lance let the monster stay.

He pushed his focus away from the heaviness, towards his task and the reason he was on Torous in the first place. Pidge's scans worked overtime as he walked, outlining weird and wonderful shapes. He located some knuts like Hunk requested, filling the sack that he'd brought with him, slung over his shoulder as he walked.

Even when he returned to the shuttle, dragging behind him a salvage tarp, used to transport more gear then he could carry, Keith doesn't mention the creature that sits on Lance's shoulder. The monster teases Keith for it, dropping down to run around him, sniff inquisitively as he sneers. {And this is the boy you like? Weak} it spat angrily, darting back to Lance's side. "Shut up," Lance hissed at him.

"Shut up yourself," Keith bit back, Lance having interrupted whatever he was talking about. "As I was saying, it's just the components left for the phasal shift augment and we're all set," he continued, glossing over whatever argument Lance was supposedly trying to start, tapping on his helmet to get rid of the listed gear as he scanned the new pile.

He had already ransacked the Galra ship and had dropped the pod down at the base of the tower after having cleared a flat space so that they didn't have to keep boosting up to the top of the pile. At least the purple ship was a decent landmark for them to return to.

"Keep it quiet," Keith orders, when Lance starts throwing the broken junk into the back compartment, ignoring the clattering thunks they make.

Lance raises and eyebrow, questioning the similarity of Shiro's voice he heard. The monster laughs. {Well well, Shiro's la mano derecha is finally filling the boots.} A scowl is drawn from the words, and Keith mistakes it for heedlessness and disrespect. He thinks Lance is fighting him, and returns the attitude without second thought. "Whatever Lance. Just go find the augment already so we can get out of here." He doesn't wait for the expected backchat, closing the back of the containment unit of the shuttle, making a point of keeping his back to Lance.

The Blue Paladin doesn't bother explaining the misunderstanding. What lie can he say anyway?

With no other choice he wanders off again, letting Pidge's programme scan for remaining module whilst he kicks at the dusty soil, weaving between the piles of abandoned machinery. He isn't really focused on where he's going as he weaves between the mounds until he's climbing mountains, digging between caverns and crawling through empty shells of crashed spaceships.

He is alone again, but not.

The monster walks beside him, alternating between hitching a ride and showing Lance how to traverse the unstable landscape. Lance watches in confusion, uncertain as he accepts the help as they trudged along; creating their own pathway across Torus's abandoned surface.

He isn't sure what to think, but this creature doesn't seem to want to hurt him. In fact, it just seems to want to talk, or bask in Lance's company; a creation in his mind that enjoys the freedom of Lance finally acknowledging him.

As Lance thinks this, the creature turns back to face him, lips pulled back to reveal a smile. {Found it.}

Pidge's scanning system bleep at him as it outlines the basic component of a deflector generator, which was needed after the Pirates had blown up the Trigamon's engines and the shield generator was one such installation that needed replacing.

The problem was, this was still connected to its old ship; an old Bo' Hunt transport ship, identical to Nyma's.

The sight of the ship brought mixed emotions, but it was the component needed. But he was going to need Keith to help him get it back to the shuttle.

"Hey Keith, I found us a shield generator," he said, using his booster pack to jump up the twelve feet towards the broken hull of the ship. They'd probably just rip the thing right from its roots, rather than trying to power up the ship and uncouple it from the main system.

Keith didn't answer. "Keith? Keith you there?"

Lance felt himself frown, ignoring the monster who dropped from his neck. {Oh dear. He can't hear you,} it smiled, jumping up into the ship to look down at Lance. {He has gone you know.} Lance ignored it, turning to face away, searching for the tall tower on which sat the shuttle. He couldn't see it.

"Keith, if you're there answer me," he growled, fear spiking in his chest. It came out bitter and angry, memories of being abandoned on the ship as clear as the setting sun in his mind. {He won't answer,} the monster said, it's tail flicking, smooth face looking down at the Blue Paladin who refused to accept it. "If you've silenced me again, Keith I swear to god I'm going to cut off that Mullet and feed it to the Weblum," he growled, voice pitching from fear.

Instead he tapped at his wrist cache, searching for Keith's signature on his geological map. Nothing. No red blips for the Paladin, no white blips to indicate the location of the shuttle.

Lance stared, eyes wide. "He's…. he's gone."

{He left you. Of course he did} the monster said matter-of-factly. Lance turned to face it, anger on his face, raising a fist. "He didn't! It's just…. It's just…." Lance scrambled for a reason, eyes scanning the horizon, hoping to see the glint of purple of the Galra ship, the white spark of the Altean shuttle.

"The towers! They're messing with the transmission system," he said suddenly, looking up to the twisting metal that would interfere with the signal, making it hard for Keith and Lance's transmissions to find one another.

{If you're sure—}

"I am sure," Lance said, turning back to the monster with anger. He was able to hide his fear of the creature that he could see; the apparition from his own head, his mind finally snapping from the weight of everything.

"They wouldn't leave me. They wouldn't abandon me here."

{Wouldn't they?}

Lance stutters at that, voice catching in his throat. The monster watches him, its tail swinging back and forth, head cocked to the side, child-like and disjointed that makes Lance shudder. No, it is the wind, coming in from the North. Lance looked to the way of the wind, seeing the cloud of orange whipped up into their air, coming this way.

[Sandstorm Imminent] flashed on his visor HUD. The broken hull of the Bo' Hunt ship was a good place as any to take shelter, and although Lance wanted nothing more than space away from his inner demons, he followed the black monster into the crawl space to wait out the storm.