A/N:

This chapter was intense to write. But don't worry, because-

Oh, riiight. I can't say anything.

Spoilers.

Shattered glass. Lifeless eyes. Splatters of blood across snow white hair. Lance couldn't understand what his eyes were telling him. He stood, paralyzed, in the bridge of the Castle of Lions, a place that in itself evoked a jargon of emotions from him. But the fact that he was somehow in a ship that had been destroyed months ago was not what shocked him. No, the bodies accredited to his current state. Unable to move, Lance gaped at the sight before him. Romelle, her body twisted unnaturally, lay limply on the floor. Coran's corpse lay several feet away from her, not a hint of the mischievous and playful expression he always wore on his void, blank face. Lance's breath hitched, and his body began to tremble. Memories of Coran acting goofy or genuinely consoling him flashed through Lance's mind, quickly followed by those of Romelle laughing brightly or asking incredulous and insatiably curious questions. The sight of the two of them, Coran with a blaster mark through his heart and Romelle with blood soaking her robes, filled him with inexplicable nausea and mourning, but he knew that there was more waiting for him. More sights to shred his heart. He couldn't bring himself to look past the bodies of the two Alteans. Couldn't compute whose body lay near the door. But a nagging, desperate, and horrifying numbness compelled his feet to move and his eyes to look. To see her. Allura, vivacious, intelligent, brave Allura, hands still clutching her bayard, collapsed against the door frame.

Her eyes closed.

Her lips parted, as if still trying to gasp for another breath.

Please, Lance begged in his head, please, just breathe.

He anticipated a shuddering of her shoulders, a fluttering of her eyelids as she regained consciousness, or a moan from the pain. He wanted her to feel her injuries, the blaster wounds on her torso, the bruises on her cheeks, the gash on her forehead. Because if she could feel them, if she felt their sting, then she'd still be alive. She'd still see him. She'd huff out his name in her wonderful voice, give him a soft look. Or maybe a harsh look. In the end, he didn't care if she'd hate him, he just wanted her to be alive.

She didn't move.

She didn't breathe.

And Lance knew she never would again.

He wanted to collapse in that moment, to sob over her body, mourning her, Coran, and Romelle. But he couldn't. Something, some unseen force, was pulling his forward. It dragged him past his Princess's body, and through deserted and destroyed hallways. The evidence of battle and the consequences of violence surrounded him as he walked. Faceless soldiers littered the floors, the marks of blasts and blood scarred the walls and floors, and debris covered large sections of the halls. It wasn't long until his eyes caught on an yellow helmet next to a shattered pair of glasses, both discarded next to a spray of dust. Lance refused to assume anything. He couldn't handle the implications the simple sight implied. Hunk was fine. He was making dinner somewhere, or maybe fixing an engine. Pidge was alright. She was just working on a crazy new computer program, and she'd accidently stepped on her glasses in her unobservant rush. Lance didn't dare let his thoughts wander any further. As his feet carried on, his eyes unfocused and his mind dazed, Lance became aware of the distant sounds of blasters and explosions. Tremors rocked the halls as he drew nearer to the conflict, and dust from the grieving castle rained on his head like tears. Flexing his jaw and clenching his teeth, Lance finally made it to the shuttle bay, where a battle of mass destruction raged. Lance had been in the heat of many battles that resembled the one before him, but none of them were like this. His friends-his family-never perished from the previous battles. Every time he felt the pressure and adrenaline of the war zone, he always felt a surreal guarantee that they would all survive, that they were invincible. But what he had seen in the bridge and in the halls proved him so, so wrong. Shiro and Keith stood against twenty soldiers, with Pidge and Hunk nowhere in sight. Lance prayed that they were rigging some piece of godlike technology to debilitate the remaining opponents, instead of entertaining the other, much worse option. From his vantage point, Lance could see a soldier behind Shiro begin to aim. Without thinking, his legs moved before he could stop them. "Shiro!" His voice ripped through his throat, leaving his vocal cords raw. In that split second, Shiro glanced up, a small glimmer of relief flickering across his face, just before the soldier shot him in the back. Time slowed. Shiro was falling, his face overcome by a look of confusion and surprise. Lance was still calling his name. Shiro's frame hit the floor with a sickening thud, and suddenly, the world returned to breakneck pace. With sorrow clawing at him, Lance darted to Shiro, and a second of guilt gripped him, just before he grabbed Shiro's sword and began to swing it at any living thing nearby.

"What are you doing here?" Keith growled, fury and hatred resounding in his voice.

"I'm here to help," Lance replied, fear and terror pulling at his arms, fighting him for control of the blade he wielded.

"Now you want to help? You weren't there when we really needed you, and you've always been a burden. Get out," Keith snarled as he decapitated three enemies in one swipe of his sword.

Lance couldn't take any more. This was too much. He was too weak. Keith was right, if he stayed, he'd end up doing more damage than he already had.

Coran.

Romelle.

Allura.

Hunk.

Pidge.

And now Shiro.

Lance willed himself to give in, to cave to the misery and agony, but just as he started to lower his weapon, a force that felt very much outside of himself injected into his bloodstream a dose of intense anger. And irritation.

"Yeah, right Mullet. There's no way I'm leaving now. Even if I can just save your sorry hide, I will."

Keith grunted in annoyance, but Lance wasn't going to stop in his attacks. He dodged, weaved, parried, and sliced, until there was only one opponent left. That opponent happened to be fighting Keith. And in the moment Lance turned to face them, he witnessed as Keith received a fatal blow. Just as Keith's knees buckled from under him, he managed to stab upward, delivering a mortal wound to his opponent's stomach.

"Keith!" Lance yelped, dashing toward him.

"Don't touch me," Keith snapped, managing to be uncooperative even in his dying moments.

"Hold still," Lance ordered, fumbling for something, anything to shove into Keith's wound to stop the blossom of blood that soaked through his armor.

"Lance," Shiro's voice coughed, causing Lance to whip around.

He was amazed that Shiro was still alive. Then again, this was Shiro. He and death seemed to be avoiding each other.

"Shiro!" Lance breathed, torn between aiding his two friends.

"Lance, there are more soldiers coming," Shiro warned, referring to the fast approaching clank of dozens of pairs of armor rattling together.

"I can get you out of here, don't worry," Lance tried to force a reassuring look on his face, but he was certain that he looked anxiety ridden instead.

"It would take too long," Shiro told him, coughing red.

"No, it wouldn't, I can do it," Lance rambled, eyes wide and chest heaving.

"No, you can't," Shiro replied, any last piece of faith that he might have held for Lance vanishing.

"But-"

"Just go, Lance. Save yourself. The Universe might still need you," Shiro urged, his voice raspy and his breathing shallow.

"I sincerely doubt that," Lance answered, still stuck in the space between Keith and Shiro.

When he glanced at Keith, his eyes met a scowl, and when he turned back to Shiro, he only saw sheer disappointment. Crushed by the fact that he let down the man he respected most, Lance lowered head and squeezed his eyes shut. The pounding of soldiers boots became louder by the second, and Lance knew he couldn't procrastinate much longer. Think, idiot, think. How can we get out of this?

"Just take the Red Lion, and go," Shiro's voice sliced through Lance's attempts to strategize.

Lance's head jerked upward. Wait a second. Wait a quiznaking second. Lance couldn't believe it. This was all a simulation? How dare they? How dare they show him his friends perish? How dare they mess with his mind and his emotions like this. Pure, unadulterated fury ripped through him, and he couldn't contain how vehemently his body shook as he yelled, "No! No matter how many times you make me see the worst things imaginable, I will not activate the Red Lion for you!"

Keith's head sagged, exhaustion pulling on his eyelids like two aggravating kids. He hadn't slept since they'd encountered Destra, two weeks ago. They'd searched fervently for any trace of Rask Xeris, but even with Pidge's phenomenal hacking skills, they'd found nothing. The trail had gone cold, and Keith feared that they'd never find Lance. The trickling of doubt shot spikes of panic and depression through him, but he couldn't even address the feelings properly in his sleep-deprived state. Slumping forward in defeat, Keith was on the brink of leaning off of his pilot's seat.

"Keith!" Pidge's voice cracked across the intercoms, affectively startling him so much that he did, in fact, fall out of his chair.

"What is it?" He wondered groggily, hoping that she actually had important news and that he didn't embarrass himself for nothing. Propping an arm on his console, he looked up at where Pidge's face was displayed across his screens, excitement sparkling in her eyes.

"The Red Lion sent us a signal! We have her coordinates!" She announced, practically jumping in her ecstasy.

"What?! Are you serious?" Keith sprang back into his seat, more alert than ever.

"I wouldn't joke about something like this," She responded, too overjoyed to be offended.

"Then what are we waiting for?" Keith wondered, a hopeful smile spreading across his features for the first time since Lance's disappearance.

"Voltron, let's move out."