Chapter Four:A Want To Not Be A Burden

Lance has been captured by Aliens. Keith sets out to find him.

System: Ruse Minor
Location: Torous

"Lance? LANCE!"

The scream stopped as quickly as it had begun, replaced with the deafening sound of radio silence.

Nothing. Not even static.

The only thing that remains is a fear in his chest.

Keith kept trying, shouting out in desperation, panic rising in his chest. At first it was the same discomfort that plagued him as he walked the surface of Torous, searching for salvageable material, focused only on the task of returning with parts to fix a ship and send the Trigamonon their way.

Why hadn't he given more thought to the silence? Why hadn't he realised that it wasn't Lance who chose to remain silent, but that he wasn't able to call out? Was the truth that Lance thought Keith to be ignoring him, after the bickering that led to silence from the rest of the team?

We're they fighting without the Red Paladin even knowing.

"Lance, answer me!"

Keith kept shouting, ignoring the guilt that barely made itself known in the sea of fear inside him. His fingertips felt cold as they wrapped tighter around the controls, his arms and legs aching as his entire body held its breath in the silence. He hoped it to just be a prank, waiting for the chortling laughter and the usual teasing. "Aww Keith, you do care."

But Keith's hopes were in vain. There was nothing but silence; the only constant the two shared since they last saw one another.

To say now was the time that Keith started freaking out was a fair statement. But the constant yelling; the repeated smashing buttons to hail the Castle and the running sarcastic commentary of his own blunders was only the beginning of the Red Paladin's meltdown.

He jammed the pedals to the floor, his fingers twisting on the shuttle's controls as if they were around the Blue Paladin's neck. But it's not just anger that controls his actions; it is also the suffocating fear.

Keith knows it, and he knows the reason behind the feeling that makes him choke on the air around him. But the boy, stubborn in all aspects of himself, still refuses to acknowledge it.

This isn't the first time that thought has entered his head, nor the coupled regret that is as heavy as manacles. What if this was it? What if he's gone and Keith is still to reach out to the boy that means more to him than petty rivalry and a decent spar?

Keith understands the fault of his emotions, the distraction they can bring, and that emotions are what get you hurt. Especially when they were in the midst of war.

He'd love to shove them down to who knows where, lock them in the closet and turn his back, bring his focus away from feelings, to the fight that waits for him on the horizon.

But emotions weren't an unwanted Christmas gift that you could hide in the back of your wardrobe.

They were a fundamental basic of daily life.

Keith's life was anything but basic. Being a Paladin of Voltron and Guardian of the Universe, –or whatever shitty title they held along with the shit tonne of responsibilities– such responsibilities that his other teammates didn't seem to understand.

Lance most of all. He ignored his duties countless times, always getting himself into trouble.

And now it was Keith's duty to rescue him.

The Red Paladin growled out as many colourful insults his head could think of, trying to vent his unruly emotions into something useful. Anger was a double edge blade, but it was better than fear, that could cripple anyone's fight or flight instinct. Anger and irritation would fuel him, bubbling like liquid electricity in his veins, lightning guiding his way to victory as the world around him began to slow.

The spark of adrenaline filled him, his touches minute to the handles of the shuttle, yet it responded with accuracy; the distance between Keith and the missing Blue Paladin closing rapidly, whilst Pidge's nitro-boost lit the engine flames blue.

The torrent of insults was super-charged when the pod's system glitched and the module went blank. There wasn't even a signal from the shuttle itself pod to place it on the cross-section. There was no way to compare Keith's current location with the last known location of Lance.

What now?

Search for Lance with faulty communication systems and hope for the best? Land quickly and try to bypass the jamming signal to get a secure lock on his location, which could take minutes or hours, depending on how focused he remained and the skill of the quiznak-ing fuck that kept him off the grid.

Or head back to the castle, grab Red, the team, and boost back here for a full, planet-wide search for the Blue Paladin that was in the hands of seven unknowns who could do who knows what in the time that Keith can't find him.

Fearful thoughts looped around in the Paladin's mind until there wasn't room for anything else. It isn't a thought-through task of directing the pod to Lance's last known position. It is just done, because Lance is in trouble and Keith needs to help him.

When the pod touched down in the bowl of the second valley, there was no sign of the Blue Paladin. All that told Keith that his teammate had been here was footprints in the layer of sand left behind from the sandstorm. There were too many to deter an actual number, but the shuttle's scan had showed him seven indicators.

At least the footprints all led in the same direction, along with a long, unbroken line. Something was dragged. Or more likely, someone.

Keith set off at a run, his Bayard drawn forming a sword, cursing Lance for not having his own weapon out before he got jumped. Then again, neither boy had known that they were accompanied on this planet.

Shiro had warned them of the possibility that they might not be alone, but they settled the noise down to Kokachet and Cretins in the metal work.

The idea of it being Sentinel Aliens was left on the back burner whilst they hunted for the parts they needed instead, splitting up to make the task quicker.

Keith's mind lapsed as he ran, part of his focus on the trailing footprints, other parts reliving the trip to Torous all over again.

Lance's silence. The stress in his body as it tightened and relaxed and tightened over and over, laid there, sleeping, caught in a nightmare he didn't want to accept even after he woke. Keith had pitied him, sympathised when he was reminded of himself, alone in the shack, waking up as he called out upon waking. But the sympathy was unwanted and Lance had pretended he was okay, that the

Vagueness and the lack of rivalry was simply an after effect of tiredness, or whatever excuse he had tried to supply before the others interrupted.

The silence continued, hung between them throughout the remainder of the trip and during the task of scavenging topside.

The boy that wasn't himself, who hadn't answered when Keith tried to call out to him, who still wasn't answering, no matter how loud Keith yelled, desperate to get some sort of acknowledgement that Lance was okay, he was fine, he wasn't in danger—

The loop of questions replayed. They continued, building in emotion. Anger to Lance for being an idiot and getting hurt, fear for the thought of just what had happened. And where was the damn fool was now?

"—th?"

"Lance! Lance I'm here buddy, where are you," he said, words cracking on relief. He wasn't dead.

"Keith?" But before Keith can answer, he hears another voice; angry and foreign. "Akola," it says, and again when Lance keeps calling out for the Red Paladin. A hiss of energy resounds in Keith's earpiece and he yells out again, but Lance's voice is silent. No, no no no nononono—

Keith charges forward, vision red as he chases the shuffling footsteps. They weren't too far ahead. He'd find Lance and he'd save him.

His own unruliness would do no good for his concentration or focus in the inevitable fight to come. He knew very well that it wasn't just him in danger if he let his head go and anger takes hold.

Breathing deep just pissed him off more, so Keith sought out logic. Calm mind meant easier thinking. Anger would cloud judgement and he needed to assess the situation before diving in head first. Maybe, if he played his cards right, there would be no fight and he could get Lance out without letting loose.

Plan. Get a plan in place. But Keith can't plan if he doesn't have all the details. He doesn't know where Lance is, where he's being held, if he's injured or not, if he's even still alive— No!

Keith's mind went blank, stumbling on the metal underfoot as he caught himself above a canyon; the edge of the cliff tumbling far down to a magma river.

The trail didn't cross the chasm, instead, coming to an end at the entrance of a tunnel. The entrance is disguised in the build up of scrap, but the unmistakable marks of the aliens quarry being dragged into its depths is what leads Keith into the darkness. He doesn't call out for Lance, knowing that doing so would alert his captors of another coming to save him. He doesn't turn on his helmet lights either, retaining the element of surprise as he lowers himself into the gloom, slow, allowing his eyes adjust to the sudden lack of light of the cave.

The cavity curved downwards, spiralling out of sight, the roof sloping down, jagged. There were obvious chisel marks, remnants of stalagmites and low ceiling littering the pathway for Keith to step over, like the broken teeth of a serpent. It was obvious work of the cave dwellers, widening the entrance to allow themselves easier access.

Keith knew not what waited for him below, but whatever it would be, he readied himself.

Luck wasn't on his side, it seemed when he approached a spilt in the tunnel. His anger spiked once more, cursing the darkness that taunted him, until a harsh laughter rippled up from the darkness deepening far away from him. The sound bubbled up, malicious and dark, sending chills down Keith's spine despite the heat of Torous.

"Go on Jo'fir. Do it again," a voice said, the laughter echoing once more, as if the idea was amusing. Before Keith even caught sight of the aliens, he knew the target of their hostility.

The cave widened out into a larger room. Crudely carved into a circular shape, the walls lined with salvaged goods, stacked in piles, small towers. Net bags hung from pegs drilled into the walls, and a dozing creature slept on the far side, its neck looped with collar and a binding leash.

Keith stole closer, using the voices to mask his own approaching footsteps, the shadows on the walls of the cave his hiding place as he moved closer, ducking behind the raided scrap as he looked down on the fire pit and its audience. Lance wasn't there.

Keith counts the aliens. Only six. One was missing.

He threw his head over his shoulder, staring back up the way he'd come, fearing eyes on him. But no, the missing Alien was in the cave, not beside the fire pit but instead stood in the darkness a way away, staring down at something at his feet.

Lance.

He has been stripped over his upper armour; the undergarment ripped in places where it's been pulled off of him, thrown behind like its junk.

From here, Keith can see the skin around his eyes is swollen, lidded, and there's blood on his face, trailing from his slack jaw. His arms are pulled roughly behind his back and bound, pushed into the floor of the cave. His legs are bound too; the same red cord that binds the sleeping watch dog, the faint pulsating light showing Keith it isn't a simple rope or cord they've used to tie him up.

The alien that stands over Lance has a weapon under his chin, forcing it up to reveal shadows marking his neck.

Keith can't tell if it's just from the dancing flame, or if it's bruising. He can see more marks on the boy's forearms and across his chest.

The alien huffs in annoyance, letting Lance's head back down. "Why bother?" it says. "It's just a Culm. Throw him to the Kokachet and be done with it."

"Oh come on Jo'fir. We can have a little fun before we kill him."

The words freeze Keith as he crouches in the shadows, instinct telling him to jump them now, strike quick and fast. But Lance is still too close to danger, and Keith feels the fear in his toes. He can't rush in now, he doesn't know if he'll win. He can't endanger Lance anymore until he formulates a plan.

To Keith's surprise, a short, squat little creature jumps from the fireside, an accusatory finger pocked towards the taller hooded figure. "No. Jo'fir cannot kill the Culm."

Culm seemed to be their word for Lance, and Keith watched, relief that Lance's death wasn't the wish for all,—

"Garecht found it, Garecht keep it." —just the wish to keep him like a pet.

The alien beside Lance drew back then. "Oh, are you sure Garecht. Because I'm pretty sure it was Toil on watch." One alien raised an appendage, the others laughing along.

Keith used their noise to shuffle closer around the stacked junk, hoping to get to Lance while they were distracted and sneak out with him. He's facing this way now, but Keith can't wave to him in case it gets him caught. He lets his eyes trace the Blue Paladin's body, looking for disjointed body parts or limbs stuck out at odd angles that would stop him from running. The bindings certainly won't help, but Keith was sure that his Bayard could cut that. If only he still had his helmet on, then Keith could talk to him.

"Garecht's prize," the alien hisses, swiping at the fire, abandoning his place by the pit in favour of barging past Jo'fir to stand over Lance. Keith's chest tightens.

"Culm is Garecht's prize," it says, hood pulled back as it glares down angrily at Lance, who shies away. Keith is helpless to watch as the alien grabs Lance by his hair, pulling him back towards the fire, ignorant to the pain he causes. Lance can't stop himself from crying out, breathing heavy when he's finally dumped back beside the rock. The alien settles himself back on the rock, turning to the others. "Garecht keep," he says, as if he dares them to fight him. He doesn't realise he's just signed a death warrant from Keith, who fails to stifle a growl, feeling his fingers clench the rock he knelt beside.

The Red Paladin would openly admit he and Lance didn't always get along, despite the years spent together fighting the Galra in space. Sure he found him annoying sometimes, but then everyone was like that. They weren't going to get on constantly, and all friends fight. But still, Keith thought of Lance as his best friend, even if he never told the Blue Paladin that. They'd hang out in free time, banter when they sparred and kept each other grounded.

Of course they fought and of course sometimes Keith wanted nothing more than to never speak to Lance again. But he'd never wish Lance to come to boy harm. Watching him tied up, beaten and bruised was enough to make Keith want to take a blade to every Alien's throat a thousand times over.

It took every ounce of strength he had not to charge in when one of the aliens kicked Lance across the face.

Winded, Lance collapsed into a bout of coughing fits, body shaking. Suddenly he's throwing up; the toxic green not as painful to see as the thick red that is mixed within it. Keith feels sick himself, his anger frowning out the wailing of the alien that complains his toy is broken.

"Perhaps not as weak as I thought," says the one who kicked Lance. Keith's eyes snapping to the large hulking frame, eating meat from its hand like a savage. The rest is thrown to the six legged creature in the corner, which scarves down up the meat, whining for more. "Shut up," one alien says, throwing a stone to silence the mutt who runs back to where the leash isn't straining.

Lance doesn't wince or cry out. Instead he growls, the blood its own weapon as he spits it in the Aliens direction. "I'm not weak."

The anger shown is a side of Lance that Keith has never seen before. Maybe he's seen Lance annoyed, or irritated with a quick jab to his preferred hairstyle and choice of clothing. (What does it matter anyway, they're fighting a war not competing in a fashion show?)

When the two argue, there's no real threat to their words, no real frustration that comes from their fighting. This anger though, is real.

The alien, a spiny creature of white and green, leans into the boy's space. Keith is proud to see Lance glaring back, not allowing himself to be intimidated despite the beating he's obviously been given.

The Alien's size has him towering over the others, his head scraping the roof of the cave and Keith knows exactly who was breaking the stalagmites at the entrance. Powerful muscles ripple underneath tight fitting clothes. He's showing off, intimidating his enemies long before he has stepped into the sparring ring.

Movement stirs from the fireside. Keith glances to the remaining, noting the ways the other aliens turn at the lizard's movements, the slight bow of their heads when he speaks, even if it's not to them. Keith knows him to be in charge, hoping that the frog that refuses to believe such is about to get a fist in his face for his spite.

"You're a tough one aren't you," his words a caustic joke, lilted with dangerous amusement that reminds Keith of a bully. With the hood thrown back, the Alien seems to glow. His scaled skin glows white from the fire light, casting shadows onto the contours of his body, making his face look far more angular, his muscles more defined.

Keith sees another shudder from Lance, but the boy shows nothing but repulsion at the stranger. He snarls, his teeth glistening red with his own blood and threateningly growls. "You don't know me."

His words are louder this time and the bite behind it has Keith grin in admiration. But the show of defiance will do nothing but urge his captors to harm him further.

The Blue Paladin's defiance is amusing to the others around the pit at least, their laughter disguising Keith's footsteps as he shuffles closer to the sleeping mutt. He has a plan, but it's going to require a window of opportunity and Lance's compliance. The only obstacles are the bindings and the enemy, but they're easily dealt with as long as things play out the same as in his mind.

Things won't go the way he plans though, Keith realises as soon as he sees Lance shudder. His body, shaking, face scrunched up in pain, shows that the brave bravado is just a mask. His stomach tightens when Lance empties his stomach again.

"Broken, broken," one alien chirps from beside Lance, hopping up and down like the floor is hot. It's almost comical, yet the words he speaks are angry. Keith curses out loud when he kicks Lance in the face, the boot coming away bloody.

Keith's eyes shoot open wide at his mistake, eyeing the aliens, but they're too busy watching their victim bleed from his nose, Lance still refusing to cry out and show them anymore weakness. He tells the frog to "piss off" and it gets him another kick.

Lance obviously isn't one to pick up on hints and tells them to "piss off" again.

This time there's no boot, the frog too busy doing his "broken" chant, hopping angrily near the fire. "He's not broken Garecht," the white crocodile said. "Jo'fir just thought the Culm could handle the power of his Gar."

Jo'fir, the alien that had first been beside the Blue Paladin, shrugged his shoulders at the sound of his name, keeping his body turned from the leader as if in fear. "So what? You said he was Human, Ovule and we've all heard of them at least once; furless, small little aliens that are suddenly battling Zarkon on his doorstep for the freedom of the galaxies. I was a little curious of his strength." He huffed, glaring at Lance. "Frankly, I'm disappointed. I was expecting a fight at least."

The lizard raised its hackles, eyes not once averted from Lance's face. "It might not be strong, but the Human shows fire. And also—"

Keith watches helplessly as the brute grabs Lance, four clawed fingers around his throat, the tops of his talons digging into the boy's bare flesh. The hand is huge in comparison, easily able to lift Lance to his feet. The boy's eyes are wide in fear, but he's as helpless as Lance, unable to fight the hand that holds him. All he can do is close his eyes and wait for it to end.

Keith tenses in his hiding place, feet poised to jump into the light and fight his way out. But with Lance in the position he's in, the lizard need only threaten to snap Lance's neck and they'd both be prisoners.

No. Keith is forced to wait.

The time to strike will come. He just has to wait.

Lance coughed into the floor, gasping at the air as his lungs collapse. They're not, but it feels like that as he lays there, rolled away from his own puke, staring into the darkness of the cave.

The aliens are still with him, they're not leaving, busy feasting on the roasting Kokachet; the smell just as vile as the boy's vomit. But it's not like asking him to be moved will get the boy distance from the stench. Besides, he doesn't even have the strength for it. All he can do it lay there and try to breathe, ignoring the pain in his chest, his back, his arm, his neck…

The blood in Lance's mouth is warm and he gags, letting it drool from his mouth to avoid choking on it. He can hear the shuffling of feet behind him, but his guards have grown bored with their game of 'kick the Paladin' and leave him to his coughing.

More shuffling and someone is beside him, leaning down to press a soft paw to his exposed skin. Lance lets out a sigh, his head heavy, pulling him down to the promise of sleep, yet the pain keeps him adrift in consciousness.

{Get up Lance. I thought you wanted to escape.} It's the shadow cat; licking gently at the blood on the boy's bruised face.

"How?" The boy breathed. Then snapped his mouth shut at the roaring laughter of the aliens. They're still ignoring him, knowing that he wasn't in any position to sneak out right under their noses. They think they've stamped out his impertinence and left him to wallow in self pity.

There is pity there, but he's not wallowing. He's gathering strength.

Lance's hands are unbound, unrestrained but the eyes that flicker over him tell the Paladin any attempt at reaching for his Bayard will be noticed quickly. He'll have to move quickly if he does, but then, there's no sure way he's to take down all the aliens. Hitting them will be no problem, but the time frame of standing and lunging at Lance will offer him about 2.5 seconds to aim and fire at each.

And he doubts Ovule will play surrender after just one.

{Giving up already?} the monster purred, teasing him with the flicking of its tail. No. It was antagonising him, spurring him on to stand up and fight back.

But Lance's strength was waning. If he's going to act, it has to be now.

The Human strains at the bonds on his legs, one hand holding tight to the gash on his upper arm. He uses his body weight to jerk his head away from the stench of puke, swallowing down tears when the pain tears at his gut, threatening another bout of vomit to paint the cave floor. Food Goo, blood and stomach acid didn't make a good mix, and the smell alone brought up another bought of digested food.

Lance struggled to quell the feeling inside him as he rolled again, gasping in pain as the motion took him further from the Aliens. And further from the exit.

"Don't die Human. You're no use to me dead," a dark voice warns him, but the attention of the crocodile was distracted by vulgar jokes from his comrades. Their noise faded into the background, leaving Lance and his monster to converse quietly.

{You're hurt.}

It leans in, sniffing the blood, tongue flittering over the surface, just as the crocodile had done as he tasted Lance's blood. There's the same inquisitive expression on his face, concern in its movements as it ghosts over the boy's skin, not quite touching the bleeding nose or the gash on his arm. Lance pulls his hand back, hissing at the sting, but let the creature inspect.

{You're bleeding}

"Not badly." The words are light, pressed between two smiling lips. But they both know it's a front on Lance's behalf. His voice dissolved into a series of coughs that leave him panting and too tired to move other than to grip his arm and stem the flow of his blood that wants to leave his body.

There's sweat on his skin. He can feel it on his brow, on his nose and cheeks. No. They're his tears. Why is he crying? Why is he—

{But not badly} it agrees. {But there is a foul smell to it,} it says, and the words spark an understanding in Lance's unconscious. It's not just metal in his mouth, but a bitterness that hurts his tongue, like the taste of lemon but harsher. More profound. How come he hadn't noticed it before?

Do you know what it is?

{No. But it could be of what they spoke} the shadow-cat says, a glare cast to the figures around the campfire.

It's cold now Lance has moved from its heat, but he refuses to crawl back, seeking respite against the chill that has his body shaking. Lance feels more shudders ripple through his body, goose-bumps covering his tanned skin, the hair on the back of his neck standing tall as a ghostly wind blows into the cavern.

The fire dances in the breeze, but it's too strong to be put out.

A shame. Lance could've used it as a distraction.

{What if we don't have to escape?}

The words snapped against Lance's conscious like elastic stretched too thin. His body jerked up and away from the floor, losing balance before ungracefully slamming back into the dusty floor amidst coughing fits. The Aliens ignored him this time, continuing to drink and jest with one another.

Lance turned to his only companion; who remained sniffing curiously at the pool of bile. The creature ignored his scowl of anger, its attention focused elsewhere, sniffing the same scent that clung to the Human's blood that dripped from his chin.

"What do you mean?" Lance whispers softly, facing his back to the fire, hiding his lips in case the Aliens thought him communicating with someone. No, just an imaginary alien cat that prowled before him, coming to sit in his field of vision beside his confiscated Paladin armour.

{I mean, why try and escape when he don't have to.}

The words are a shock. Like a spell, it quelled the pain inside him.

Then, realising that he was no longer lying down in his own puddle of puke, let out a faint bubble of laughter. The motion scratched at his throat and burned his eyes but he didn't care. His comfort blinded his pain. A simple joy in a dark situation, Lance grasped it like the threads of his conscious. He'd hold onto this until it broke. He'd keep himself from the darkness for as long as he had the will to fight.

{What's so funny?}
"Nothing. Not really."
{Then why are you laughing.}
"Am I not allowed to?"

The monster sniffed again, moving across Lance's skin, its tongue tasting tasted the marks on Lance's face, and again over his chest were similar lacerations lay, like star constellations across his skin.

{You're crazy} it drawled.
"Of course I am. I'm talking to an imaginary being."
The cat scowled. {That's your choice.} Lance just shrugged, laughing when the motion hurt him. Because it was laughing or crying, and he wasn't about to start crying.

Driven by the spark of light inside him, Lance shifted his body again; daring to pull a hand from the gash Ovule had carved into his right arm. It was his fucking support arm, damn, holding the Blaster and aiming it was going to be hard enough but now Ovule had crippled his good fucking arm. Quiznak.

The cat is beside him, watching the aliens with an interest, still pondering the idea that escape isn't Lance's only option of leaving here alive.

"Ignore them. Help me!" It remained unfazed by its creator's demands, looking down with that same curious glint in its eye, a ripple of movement through its body. When it stood, it had grown a just detectable whit taller.

{Why?}
"Why! What do you mean why? Because we have to get back—"
{Why?} It repeated, its head cocked to side. It sat on its haunches, fixing Lance with a look he couldn't quite place. {Why are you so desperate to return to the Castle, to the Paladins? Why do you want to go back to somewhere where you don't belong?}
"I do—"
{You said it yourself.}

Lance doesn't reply.
Words lay on the tip of his tongue, but the voices in his head shut them down before he can ready himself to dispute what he's being told. What he's being reminded what he said.

Place Holder.

Seventh Wheel.

Stand-in until the real Blue Paladin comes.

He's no longer a warrior; stripped of his armour and standing weapon-less in the onslaught of a more powerful enemy. Only defeat awaits him.

{We could belong here.}

The monster nods to the Aliens. They're laughing, joking with one another around the fireside. If they were not Lance's prison-wardens, he would've thought the sight endearing. They're all friends there, all taking comfort in one another's company.
The boy's mind turns to his own friends, each Alien taking the place of his adopted Space Family. He can practically see them, laughing alongside one another as Coran re-enacts a famous story from Altea for everyone's amusement, Allura and Shiro laughing along to his jokes. Hunk would be dishing up some sort of delectable snack, Pidge trying to get Keith's opinion on improvements for projects and such.
{And you would still be where you are now, watching from the outside, wanting to be with them but never actually with them.}

The monster is right.

It's sat next to him, nudging the top of his head gently with its maw, it's tongue cleaning away the tears that have begun to fall; silent and warm, like silk painting his face, wiping away the pain of the Alien's torture on his weak human body. His heart beats dully in his chest, counting down until the inevitable end.

"I don't want to go with them," Lance whispers, eyes searching for the feathered comfort. Anything to take him from this pain, this darkness. Tiredness dragged its claws over him again, but the fear of not-waking kept his conscious from slipping into bliss, no matter how much he wanted it.

Lance can feel his mother's hand against his brow; the same hand that would card through his hair as he drifted to sleep, the same fingers twirling the end into soft ringlets that would disappear in the rain. It is the same hand that would ruffle his head when he got near-on perfect test scores, the same soft skin decorated with little gold bands and nail varnish that Mama would paint on Lance's fingers too. He pushed his head into the heft of her hand, smiling as Mama sat beside him in the darkness, telling him he'll be alright.

She caresses Lance's cheeks and moves his fringe from his eyes, fingers faltering when she catches a glimpse of the bruises on his skin. She's caught him so many times with them before, even after he had tried to hide under his sister's foundation. "Oh baby, what have they done to you?"
"Nothing Mama."
"Oh my brave, brave boy. I love you so much. You don't have to hurt anymore."
"It's okay Mama, it doesn't hurt."
"I mean your heart Osito. Your heart is hurting. But it doesn't have to hurt anymore."

Lance opens his eyes, swimming in emotion that pours down his cheeks to be caught in the feathered paw of the creature that had made him believe that is was his Mama speaking. He can almost still smell the salt of the ocean air, the fresh loaf of bread on the kitchen side as she stands there, apron around her, the one that's got jam stains on it from when lance wore it to make her breakfast in bed. Sunshine pours through the window, lighting up her smile, the natural beauty of her face.

"Lance."

Lance shakes his head, leaving Earth in his memories, turning to the creature that sits next to him, ducking its head to look down upon its creator. It has grown again.

"That was cruel," Lance spat, the tears flowing without restraint. {I thought it would calm you.}
"It was a cruel trick. Never do it again."

Laughter, cruel and teasing, bubbles up behind. Lance throws the aliens a look, his eyes narrowing when he sees their carefree smiles. He sees them with a different light now.

Where there had been soft, gentle warmth surrounding the companionship of friends, there is now a raging fire.

Hatred swells with it. Hatred and jealousy and an envy that Lance had felt many times before as he stands on the edge, at the in-between.

Never quite belonging, never quiet considered an outcast. They still need him to pilot Blue of course, but they'll never accept him fully. It's easier to cut ties that way.

{Haven't you already cut ties?}

"Not yet. They still need me." Lance's voice breaks on the last word, already knowing what his demon would say.

And it does. Oh so sweetly, it turns on him, fixing him in a gaze his mother would regard him in when she saw the bruises, when she listened to the stories behind the beatings.

The black snout is pulled into a gentle smile, the hurt behind its eyes barely hidden as it opens its mouth and speaks.

{You may need them, to feel wanted, to feel like you belong, that you're doing your part in this war that no one on Earth even knows is going on.}

{But they don't need you—}

"No—"

{You know that Osito. We've both known it for a while now. We've known it allalong.

{That you're just a place holder for the real Blue Paladin, nothing but the seventh wheel of Voltron; extra weight for them to carry.}

The words are wounds to Lance's strength. Physically and mentally, he is hurt by his own poisonous thoughts. They're his, the same ones from deep inside himself, the same bars to the cage of his heart he has trapped himself in, thinking it is protection, thinking the masks will block the pain and the truth.

But nothing can hide the truth he's known all along. He cannot turn cheek to the fact, the truths, the reality that he is useless. Just an extra body on a spaceship fighting a war.

Sure Lance takes down a Galra soldier here, or he keeps the peace there. But it's not like no one else can do that.

The rest of them offer more to the team than just poorly timed jokes and a laidback attitude that was meant to calm their worries and not let them get overwhelmed by truth of the fact that they're just kids fighting a war that's been going on for half a millennia.

Lance doesn't even feel his body shift, until the dirt is pressing into his face and the firelight is hidden behind closed eyes. He has no tears left to cry, no will to fight the truth, or fight fate that binds him to the end at the hand of the aliens.

The monster behind him watches in delight, tasting the air, savouring the sweetness of utter despair.
It flexes its claws and digs deep into the wound that pours with so much heartbreak and worthlessness that it can't help but gorge on the feast before it. {They always shove you to the side, always cast you away without a second thought. They don't listen to what you say, they don't bother wasting breath to tell you to shut up. And when they do think they can trust you, when they ask things of you, they're never happy.
{They blame everything on you. The bomb, the fighting, the childish bickering when all you're trying to do is make them understand us.
{But they don't trust you. They couldn't trust you to search for scrap by yourself, that they even had to send Keith to this backwater planet to watch over—}

"Keith."
{Wha—}
"Keith."

The name stirs Lance from his pit of never-ending darkness. A light, a life line, handed to him by the monster who had dug too deep, too quickly and found the last ember of hope. The words breathed life to the ember, a spark, a flame.

The monster reared back from the light, feeling its hold on its prey slipping. {No Lance, he hates you, they all—}

"Keith's here. I called out to him, I spoke to him before they took me. He's still on Torous. He didn't leave me. He should be coming to find me."

{But you're just a place holder—}

"It doesn't matter if I'm a place holder," the boy said with drive, a steady tone in his voice as he opened his eyes and fixed them on his companion. He didn't see its darkness; he didn't feel its talons. It doesn't know that this creature is not on his side, but that doesn't matter because Keith is coming.

"They haven't replaced me yet. They still need me to fly Blue and I will. I'll fight alongside them until they ask me to step down, but until then, I am a paladin of Voltron and I will fight those that threaten others." He turned on his side, back to the fire, back to his kidnappers. "And that includes them."

Lance's determination drowns out the monster. It calls from deep inside him, stalking back and forth in front of him, but the Blue Paladin doesn't focus on the mewling as he tries to formulate a plan in his head. He can reach his blaster, but there's no hope of taking out all the aliens with it.

Even if taking down Ovule delays the other's approach through the thought of self-preservations, Lance's legs are bound, and taking his scope off his enemies to blast at his legs will allow them to jump him, and probably kill him.

Besides, he has no idea if he can even walk, or if these seven are the only aliens, or if there are more in the tunnels. And, if Lance actually manages to take out his wards, get to the surface without getting lost, how is he able to find Keith, who may have left him. No, he wouldn't, Lance tells himself, turning from the darkness before it can find a foothold in his unconscious.

It has, in the form of the black cat that pads the ground beside him, but it is weak in the face of Lance's perseverance. If a direct attack is sure to fail, then gaining that trust with the boy is important. It's the gateway into his mind and eventually, his heart.

{We'll have to move first if we're to get out of here,} it says, pretending to stand beside the boy. {Move slow. Aim before you draw your blaster and fire the second you have the shot.}

"Ovule is our target," Lance agrees. But before he can even reach for his Bayard, he has to shift himself into position without the aliens noticing him. Their watchful glances have reduced with his quiet, and even when he rolls onto his back, no heads turn in his direction.

An argument has erupted between two aliens and now they stand, knives out, barking insult to one another and orders of silence to the whining of a creature Lance can't see. Another Kokachet to kill perhaps. Lance feels pity for it, but he can't spare a thought as he forces himself to sit up.

The cut on his arm doesn't need pressure anymore and although the biting sting of fresh air is pulling incessant noises from his lips, it doesn't look as bad as he thought it would. Five minutes in the healing pod would heal it right up.

Lance doesn't even bother to watch the Aliens as he sits himself up, panting silently as his gut screams in protest. The throb returned with full force, and although Lance's mouth watered terribly, he wasn't sick. That had to count for something.

Hands in his lap, positioned as if he was holding his blaster, Lance regarded his legs bonds. He couldn't shoot them first, but he couldn't shoot through them to get to Ovule. They were too heavy duty for one shot, needing perhaps a double dozen to break through their power structure.

"What I would give for a sword right about now," Lance muttered, heart in his throat as he lines empty hands up with the back of Ovule's head.

{Focus Lance. You only have one chance at this}

It's a game once more. If being invisible was Lance's ability then he'd be the best at it. His movements, slow and precise, hold their aim as he puts himself into position. He can ignore everything around him; his breathing, his pain, his slow methodical heartbeat as he lines up the back of the crocodile's head with his imaginary barrel.

{Careful,} the voice warns. It stands beside Lance, the black feathers masking the blood beneath, turning its thirsty gaze from the pain to the Aliens that are about to fall, particularly to Ovule who remains with his back to them, oblivious to the Blue Paladin's planning. {He hurt us before Osito, he'll hurt us again.}

"We have to do this."
{Then make sure you kill him. If not, he'll kill us.}