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As Color Fades Away

Chapter Fifty-Four

"Coran?" Lance murmured, his head resting comfortably on Coran's chest where they'd been for the last several dobashes in companionable silence.

"Yes, my boy?"

"I can't feel my legs."

Coran chuckled at that, the movement sending Lance shaking too. "I cannot feel mine either. I think perhaps that is the universe's way of saying we should get up, hm?"

The two managed to disentangle themselves and Coran rose to his full height, offering Lance a hand and pulled him to his own feet with ease. Lance wobbled for a second as pins and needles raced down his limbs while Coran, after a single shake, seemed to be good as new.

"We have some still before dinner," Coran said. "I'm going to go see how Numbers One and Five are fairing on the shields. Numbers Two and Four are in the kitchen if you might perhaps like to join them, or if you'd like you can rest here and I'll be certain to rouse you for the meal."

"I think I'll go to the kitchen," Lance said slowly, realizing this was the first time he was making a decision on all his own as to what to do with his time since he'd returned. And he had chosen to engage with company rather than remaining alone, and one that would have him walking through the castle hallways by himself.

He hated that he felt such a small thrill at the idea of it because really, it wasn't that special. But in a way it was. He was being left to his own devices and he felt capable of such. He didn't feel like he was going to have a panic attack in the hallway or freeze up from a flashback brought on some sight or sound.

A small smile settled on his face. He was getting better. He was. A few days ago he had been so convinced, so certain that he was going to remain in that terrified, pathetic state for forever and now… now he felt ready to at least try anything. And if walking by himself to the kitchen was what that meant right now he would do it.

Small steps. Lots of them.

"Righty-o then," Coran beamed. "I'll see you for dinner at six sharp." He clapped a hand on Lance's back, firm but not so hard that Lance would stumble on still shaky legs, and followed it up with a tender squeeze.

"Bye," Lance said softly as Coran headed out the far lounge door.

He remained standing in the room for a moment, taking one deep inhale and another. Just as he was about to take a step though he glanced down and his eyes widened.

Coran had not replaced the bandages.

He hurriedly tugged his hoodie sleeve down to cover the large burn scar, stomach still twisting at the sight, but his hand was bare for all the world to see. He pulled more on the large sleeve, easing it somewhat over his hand so that only his fingers remained but as soon as he shifted he knew it would rise back up.

What did he do?

He stood there, heart beating out a timpani, and legs shaking again.

"You can do this," he whispered aloud, trying to bolster himself. Hunk and Coran had been more than clear about how they and the others saw the scars. And he had managed to look at the burn scar once already today and talk about it.

"You're brave."

The words seemed to echo about the empty room and Lance repeated them. "You're brave. You… you can do this."

He ever so slowly brought his left hand up to eye level, the bandages beginning to turn a dirty white from all of the activity they'd been put through.

He swallowed. Could he do this?

Yes. The answer thrummed through him and before he could hesitate a moment longer Lance brought his hand to his face, trying not to wince at the proximity, and then bit at the underside of his wrist where the bandage wrap was tucked.

He freed a piece and managed to flip it around his wrist so it dangled downwards. His right hand was still all but useless, but he used it to pin the dangling bandage against his chest and then he rotated his left hand in opposite circles.

His breath was too loud in the quiet, turning into harsh pants as he willingly, purposefully, set to revealing the scar. Not even a minute later the bandages hung loose and with one tip of his hand he knew they would slide right over his fingers.

Squeezing his eyes shut he did just that.

His right hand wormed its way inside the hoodie pocket, brushing over velveteen fur and floppy ears and he repeated the motion and let the plush ground him.

"Okay," he breathed. "I'm okay. Estoy bien. Puedo hacer esto. Mira. Estás bien."

Lance took his own advice and hesitantly opened his eyes to look at his visible left hand. The scar was nearly identical to the one he had already seen on his right and he flexed his fingers, watching as it seemed to ripple as tendons pulled.

He hesitantly flipped it around to look at the palm, the mark there more white than pink and defined with clear lines showing where he'd yanked against the knife that had impaled him.

Shuddering out a breath Lance pulled his right hand free and held both palm up in front of him. Both trembled.

Bravery. Courage. Strength. That's what they told him these marks represented. Lance stared at them, trying to see it. He hadn't felt those things. He'd only felt scared when he realized what was about to happen. Fear had turned to pain and it had been so intense he had blacked out before they'd revived him.

Weak. Weak, weak weak.

But…

He flexed his left hand again, watching the scar ripple on the back. After that. He had screamed, yes. And cried. But he had not once pled for mercy. Not when he'd been shot at point blank range. Not when they'd ripped into him without restraint. Not even when they had used a pain enhancer.

He had kept his head high, his eyes straight. He had not begged. He had not betrayed his family. Not once. He had endured it all.

A sob worked its way up his throat and he let it, left hand clutching the base of his right wrist and holding his hands against him, curling over them.

He remembered thinking, when he could not stand after they'd let him down, that he was weak. That that had been his defining moment and his inability to stand had shown his true colors.

But that wasn't true at all.

No one could have stood after that, let alone walked. Not on feet sliced open to the bone. Not with shot up legs and even more holes through his chest and stomach. Not with bleeding, weeping hands and constant burning shocks that made his throat constrict and breath disappear.

Theodek had demanded the impossible.

He was not weak.

He shuddered.

He had to say it. Say it.

"I'm not weak," he whispered.

He was strong.

"I'm…" he swallowed thickly. "I'm strong. And b-brave."

He looked back at his hands, eyes tracing the ruined flesh. He had sworn to do, to give, anything to protect his family and the universe. These marks were a testament to that.

He had gotten them because he had tried to escape. Tried. He had failed. But he had tried and that was what he needed to focus on. He hadn't waited helplessly in his cell or given in to their demands. He had fought back in the only way he could. He had given it his best shot and he had gotten so, so close.

Even Shiro… even Shiro hadn't gotten out without help. He drew in a ragged breath. Shiro had had assistance in his escape. Shiro hadn't been near suffering from a stab wound or a broken wrist. Shiro hadn't been a high-ranking prisoner like a Paladin of Voltron with the security and resources to match. Shiro had even had a weapon, forced as it was, at his disposal while Lance had had nothing.

He needed to stop comparing himself to Shiro's situation. They were nothing alike and he couldn't look down upon himself for the fact that Shiro had made it out and he hadn't.

He had tried. He had almost succeeded with the odds stacked as they had been.

And all he had accomplished… he didn't do that because he was weak and pathetic. He'd gotten as far as he did because he had been brave, even if he hadn't felt like it at the time.

Lance took one more deep breath and straightened to his full height, feeling taller than he had in a long, long while.

He left the hoodie sleeves bunched at his wrists, hands on full display. No more hiding. No more being scared. Not over this. Not of marks on his own body.

He lifted his left hand and pressed it to his neck, bandages rough under his fingertips. Maybe… maybe not that one yet. That one was connected to too many memories. The Kri Za Kri, stumbling about blinded while Theodek and Haggar laughed, the drowning – he shivered at the thought – and then punishment upon punishment for no reason other than he wouldn't give them what they wanted.

No. Not yet. And that wasn't him being weak either. He nodded to himself. He needed to give himself time. What was the saying, time heals all wounds? Maybe not completely, maybe not ever, but it sure could help. He had to give himself that.

He had been with the Galrans for… five days, he thought Haggar had said. Five days had transformed him into a shaking, sobbing, terrified mess and he had only been actively trying to really get better for just over a day. And he had already come so, so far.

He hadn't let the Galrans or Haggar win then. He wouldn't let them win now.

Head held high he finally left the lounge, gait steady beneath him and his arms swinging lightly at his sides. Coran had said Hunk and Keith were in the kitchen. Maybe… maybe he could get Hunk to let him have a small bowl of gamibolap while he waited for dinner since he'd missed lunch. And if not, he could see what the two of them were cooking and maybe he'd even ask for a sample. He felt like right now he would be able to actually eat it.

His determined stride took him right into the kitchen where Keith was standing behind the counter, whatever he was working on obscured by the ledge and looking slightly overwhelmed, and Hunk… Hunk was nowhere to be seen.

Keith lifted his head up as soon as Lance entered the room, socked feet soft but apparently not soft enough on the metal floors, and the smaller boy shot him a hesitant smile, the gesture replacing the previous downturn of his lips. "Hi."

"Hi," Lance repeated, his steps slowing but he forced himself forward towards Keith who had been… strangely nice to him since he awoke. Mostly. But even in his anger Lance recognized the concern behind the words.

It was nothing like the sometimes too sharp comments that cut as surely as Keith's sword. The annoyance or frustration that normally tainted Keith's tone when he was dealing with Lance had been absent and instead he had sounded… kinder. Nicer.

Was it pity? Lance wasn't sure, but he didn't think so. Pity would be apologies left and right and sad eyes and clucked tongues. Keith was still being himself just… gentler. A little more awkward and unsure. It wasn't a look Lance was familiar with in the brash and hot-headed Red Paladin but it… it wasn't wrong.

And he felt the fluttering of hope in his chest that maybe, maybe Keith didn't really dislike him after all.

Maybe then could actually be real friends.

"Where's Hunk?" he found himself asking, stopping a few feet from the counter.

"He went off to the storeroom looking for some carrot-thing he swore he saw," Keith said. "Insisted we needed it." Under his breath he added, "What we really need is a mop" and Lance's curiosity was peaked.

He inched a little closer, the work area still blocked by the high ledge that separated the kitchen counter from the island and stools. "What are you making?"

"A mess," Keith said bluntly. "We were aiming for something that might be potato stew," Keith added, nose wrinkling. "They don't look like any potatoes I've ever seen though."

He held up an item that looked more like a piece of coral than anything in a vivid neon green that could have rivaled the food goo. "They're awful to peel," Keith groused, setting it back on the counter.

Lance carefully shifted himself around the island, keeping a few feet from Keith but able to see what the two had been working on now and his eyes widened at the sheer mess that was revealed. Green shreds were everywhere – and he meant everywhere – and overlaying those were canisters of spices and a pile of another type of vegetable that appeared to have been attempted to be cut and given up on as numerous knives were sticking out of them.

Something had spilled and was running along the length of the counter while a pot on the stove bubbled near over and a bag of Altean flour had tipped and was coating another section in pale blue dust.

"Hunk is not going to be happy," Lance deadpanned even as his mouth was curling into something resembling a smirk.

"This is not all my fault," Keith protested, leaning backwards to turn the heat down on the stove. He pointed one of the coral plants at Lance and waved it. "Hunk did it too!"

Lance hummed in the back of his throat. He knew firsthand that Hunk was indeed a messy cook, but this was pretty impressive even for him.

Keith just sighed. "Do you know if we have a mop or something in here?" He righted the bag of flour. "Or maybe a space vacuum? I tried to ask Hunk but he said the carrots were more important."

"That's Hunk for you," Lance said, surprising himself with how easily the conversation was coming. Talking about Hunk though was easy. Other stuff… not so much. But this was good. This was… this was nice.

"If I'd ever left a kitchen like this," Keith muttered with a shake of his head, picking up some of the shaved peels from the counter and tossing them in the sink.

"A kitchen?" Lance repeated the odd phrase.

And to his alarm Keith's eyes widened and he got that deer-in-the-headlights look that Lance was honestly not certain he'd ever seen on him before and he hurriedly glanced away.

"It's nothing," Keith said, sweeping another handful of peels into the sink. "A kitchen, the kitchen. Whatever. Anyways, you going to help me clean up?"

Lance nodded, a sense of unease still lingering but he wasn't sure what to do about it. "Sure," he said instead and began to also pick up some of the radioactive peels with his left hand.

"Just throw them in the sink," Keith instructed. He eyed the pile of matching vegetables he and Hunk had managed earlier. "I think we might have enough," he said. "If we can figure out how to chop up those ones," he nodded at the dark purple vegetables that had stolen all of the knives.

"Did you try asking nicely?" Lance teased, delighting in the smile he could feel and hear. It was just like with Pidge and Hunk last night, except with Keith. And it didn't feel weird at all.

It felt better, actually. Because this time the warmth filling up his chest was all his own and the smile that danced across his face was genuine and everything felt right. He liked this feeling. Even as he caught sight of his hand and the mottled skin across it he tossed the peels into the sink everything still felt right. He felt calm. Safe. Happy.

And maybe this was what he needed when talking with Keith, this easy camaraderie that he had with Hunk and Pidge. Not the constant bitter feeling of envy at how good Keith was at everything and that voice that told him he would never measure up. That he would never be good enough. That the only way Keith would ever even look his way was if he could best him at something.

Maybe Keith hadn't wanted that though. He hadn't wanted a rival and Lance had to face it, he had been a terrible one. He egged Keith on with the hope that he might finally win at some challenge only to feel worse every time Keith bested him and that sick, dark feeling had grown. He had just wanted, did want, to be Keith's friend.

And he could be that now, if Keith would let him.

He knew, and it wasn't Haggar's poison or his own self-doubts talking, that he would never be as good at Keith. Not in swordplay or tactics. Not in piloting. Not in all of the things he had constantly saw as the only strengths that existed.

And that was okay. Because his strengths… they weren't any of those. According to Allura, his quintessence link with Blue showed that his lie in his compassion. His kindness. His laughter. His ability to adapt and bring people together. The heart, Blue had said, and he smiled as even just repeating the words made him feel warm inside.

Keith brought him back from his musings. "They're vegetables, Lance. They can't hear us."

Lance nodded, unable to shake the growing smile that Blue's memory had conjured. "You're right. They definitely aren't corn-like enough to have ears."

Keith just stared. "...What?"

Lance surprised himself at the light laugh that passed through his lips and it only grew as Keith smiled back at him although he still looked beyond confused.

"Really?" he asked. "Potatoes have eyes, corn has ears? Why you're not supposed to share a secret in the kitchen?" Keith looked at him blankly. Lance just laughed and shook his head. "It's something… something my mamá would tell us all the time," and he pushed past the pang of homesickness that came to his thoughts. "I think it was mostly to keep us from trying to sneak food before meals, but it worked. We were so afraid the vegetables would tattle on us."

"That is ridiculous," Keith said, but there was no actual bite to the words and he looked like he was trying to suppress a smile of his own.

"And yet very effective. I remember this one time Geoffrey—" Lance broke himself off. Keith never seemed to care about when Lance would talk about his family, often giving at best an eye roll and at worst leaving the room.

But this time Keith nodded at him – and was that guilt flashing in his eyes? – and prompted, "Geoffrey, he's your younger brother, right?" Lance nodded, surprised Keith knew that. Had he been listening all this time? "What did he do?"

Lance's smile morphed to a grin and he let it. "Well, it all started when mamá bought galletas – cookies – and those were a big treat." He picked up some more peels as he spoke and Keith grabbed a dishcloth to start wiping up some of the spilled broth.

"We were all allowed just one, but Geoff wanted more. So, he had this grand idea that if he got rid of all the potatoes they couldn't see what he was up to. Nevermind all of us nosy siblings."

Keith snorted and Lance turned to look at the other boy. But his eyes widened as Keith's hand was descending on the sink handle, dirty dishcloth in hand to rinse it.

His words froze in his throat as Keith turned the water on and it burst out of the faucet with a whoosh and slammed into the metal sink.

And he knew it was just a sink in the kitchen. He knew that. But that didn't seem to matter as the water hissed and he found himself stumbling backwards as the faucet morphed into a jet and the noise was suddenly echoing all around him, terrible and churning and he went down, legs sending him sprawling.

Something struck his shoulder and he flinched violently away from it, only to hit something else in the movement. They were walls. Walls that he was being tossed about as water filled his lungs and he couldn't find the surface.

He was going to drown.

He choked, feeling his lungs seizing. Something – water, it had to be – wet his cheek and he whimpered. No. No no no no no. Something else touched his shoulder and he jerked away, trying to keep his lips clamped shut to keep the air in.

There was yelling and shouting and he recoiled at it, left hand going to his neck with a silent plea forming. Please no. Not again.

It was becoming too much. He was growing lightheaded and his lungs were just about to give out. He was going to inhale water any second now. And then he would drown and Theodek would be there and he'd send him back in over and over and he'd just keep drowning.

He whimpered as his body gave up its fight and he had no choice but to suck in a breath. But instead of water filling him he took in a whiff of something absolutely rancid and his eyes – he had no idea when he'd closed them – flew open and he coughed instead.

He kept coughing, gagging, really, and hands were on his back then, rubbing while the shouting voice was there but it was softer, gentler.

"Come on Lance, breathe damnit, you're okay, come on." The words were slowly filtering in over his gasps and Lance clung to them. His hands stretched out and encountered rough cloth and he clutched it as best he could, fingers trembling.

"It's okay, that's it, you've got it. In and out, keep going, that's it."

The owner of the words sounded scared and that alone made it hard for Lance to place who it was. Things were starting to come back into focus and he eyed the red coat he was holding onto, tracing it up to see…

"K-Keith?" he managed, voice pathetically small.

"Yeah, it's me. Just keep… keep breathing, all right? It's okay."

Lance obeyed, shuddering out each breath and pressing his bowed head against Keith while warm hands continued to rub circles on his back.

He felt his cheeks darken with shame as reality trickled back in. He'd just been trying to tell himself that he wasn't weak and yet here he was, frightened by a kitchen sink.

When he finally felt that he had enough air to try speaking again he raised his head and forced his fingers to drop Keith's jacket and he felt Keith's hands leave his back. He straightened up to find himself wedged against one of the counters and Keith kneeling in front of him and looking as worried as Lance had ever seen him.

"Lo siento," he mumbled, averting his eyes.

"No," Keith snapped and Lance shrank at it. "No," he repeated, softer. "I'm the one who should be apologizing. I didn't even think about the water and…" Keith's voice broke off into a sob and Lance jerked his eyes back around. "I'm sorry Lance. For… for everything. For this and for being a jerk and for not listening to you and… and…"

And oh Dios, was Keith about to cry? This close Lance could see the sheen to the purple orbs.

"Keith," he whispered, hating how his weak his voice still sounded.

"I'm sorry," Keith repeated and tears were spilling down his cheeks now. "I'm so sorry."

"Keith, no," Lance protested, guilt swelling and making his stomach roll. He was making Keith cry. Keith was crying. "It's… it's not your fault. It's mine—"

"Don't you dare say that," and there was a bite to the tone. Hands came up to clamp down on Lance's shoulders with almost bruising intensity and Keith shook him slightly. Lance was too shocked to be anything else. "Stop apologizing. Just… just stop."

"Keith—"

"Listen," Keith's hands tightened and Lance couldn't help the slight wince. Keith pulled back as though he'd burned him, horror crossing his face. He glanced at his hands and then to Lance and heaved out another sob, pulling his hands back to him. It was so reminiscent of Pidge just hours ago and Lance knew he needed to do something.

And, apparently, something ended up being a hug.

He closed the distance between the two of them, wrapping his arms tentatively about Keith's back. He wasn't entirely sure what he was doing but this felt right. And a second later Keith's arms came up to rest around him and then tightened so Lance was pressed almost uncomfortably against him.

Lance didn't mind though. This grip, while tight, was nothing like Theodek's bruising hold or Haggar's possessive one. It felt, he thought, desperate. And he hugged back just as hard.

"I'm sorry," Keith whispered, voice somewhat muffled by Lance's shoulder. "For… for everything. For hurting you. For… for being such a lousy friend. I didn't… I didn't mean to. I just…" His hands shook and he dug his fingers more into the thick yellow hoodie. "I'm sorry. I'm no good at this."

Lance remained silent, shoulders trembling, and Keith continued, desperate to make Lance understand. "I don't understand how to be a good friend," Keith said softly. "I… I have trouble trusting people and letting them in because… because it only hurts more when they leave. Everyone always leaves. But…" he swallowed thickly. "But that was wrong. I knew that once you were… were gone. I was scared, Lance. Scared that I'd never see you again and you… you were there thinking that I hated you—"

"Keith," Lance cut in, and while his voice was teary it was firm. "I've never hated you."

Keith released Lance from his grip, felt Lance do the same, and he sat up to meet the dark ocean eyes. There was no lie in them.

"What?" Keith repeated, dumbly. Shiro had told him Lance would say that but hearing it, actually hearing it, was something else entirely.

"I've never hated you," Lance said quietly, averting his eyes to look at his hands, which Keith also noticed for the first time were free of any coverings. He looked back up to Lance's downed face so as not to stare.

"I… I was so jealous of you, Keith," Lance continued softly. "Everyone at the Garrison… they always talked about how amazing you were, how talented. And when you left and I got bumped up… I was told all the time to be more like you. The Garrison went from the best pilot since Shiro to… to me. A cargo pilot who barely got into the program at all. Someone so forgettable that you didn't even recognize me." He let out a soft, sad laugh.

Keith felt his stomach twist uncomfortably. He had assumed Lance had been an engineer, he remembered, when the boy had gone to introduce himself on the night they rescued Shiro. He knew they would have had some classes together, even though Keith was a year ahead in the program. He should have recognized him.

"And so I thought… I thought the only way someone as great as you'd ever respect someone like me was if… if I made myself bigger than I was. So I marked you as my rival because a rival is someone you look at as an equal."

Lance finally lifted his head and met Keith's eyes. "But you didn't want that, did you? I just… I wanted to be your friend and I messed up and I made you not like me instead."

"That's not true," the words spilled out. "I mean, yeah, you did do things that I thought were annoying and petty and stupid." Lance looked away and Keith hurried on before he could stick his foot any more in his mouth. "But you weren't doing them to be mean or cause trouble. You… you were trying to make us laugh. And smile. And… and remind us that there's than just fighting and a war out there."

Keith placed one of his hands atop Lance's folded ones. "I'm still learning," he said quietly. "I don't understand being a part of a family. Not like this. Other than my dad," he swallowed thickly, "the only person who… who ever cared about me before was Shiro. And it's hard to go from that to… to all of this. All of these people who care and actually mean it. I'm not used to that. I…"

He took a deep breath. Now or never. "My dad died when I was seven. Cancer. I never knew my mom and so I ended up in the foster system and… it was not a good place. Not for me. I bounced around a lot, got labeled as violent and troubled and had some…" he tried to suppress the shudder, keeping his eyes glued to their layered hands. "Some not so nice experiences."

"I'm sorry," Lance murmured. "I… I had no idea."

"I don't talk about it. Ever," Keith said in answer. "But it got better. I met Shiro and he got me enrolled in the Garrison early. Shiro, he always saw the best in me. Told me to never give up on my dreams. He thinks I'll make this great leader and I try, but… but I really have no idea what I'm doing. I thought when I made comments about your piloting or fighting or whatever I was being a leader and trying to improve you, but I wasn't. I was only being a bully." He shook his head. "And I'm, so, so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. Or make you feel like you weren't good enough to be a Paladin. I've never thought that."

"Really?" Lance's voice was small and unsure as though he was afraid to believe and Keith hated it.

"Really," he said firmly. "And I'm learning now that we all have different strengths and contribute in our own ways to the team. And Lance," his hand tightened over the scarred ones. "When you were gone… we fell apart. We only managed to come back together as well as we did because of you. You hold this team together. You remind us, remind me, that all those planets we save aren't just numbers and stats but people and why what we do is so important. That we're important. We're people too and sometimes… sometimes I forget that with what Voltron represents to the universe."

Lance's gaze had slowly drawn back up as Keith spoke and blue and purple met with a degree of understanding and compassion that almost made Keith forget how to breathe.

"So I guess what I'm trying to say is… is," he stumbled, "that when you were gone it made me realize how much I actually care. About you. About the rest of our team. And I don't deserve your forgiveness for how I've acted in the past, but if you'll give me another chance I… I'd really like to be your friend."

Lance smiled then and Keith was struck by just how right it looked on his face and how it made him want to smile too out of the pure happiness that radiated from Lance's. "I think we've been through too much to just be friends," Lance told him, eyes soft. "So… how about you be my brother instead?"

"Brother?" Keith repeated, chest tightening.

"Yeah," Lance smiled at him. "You're a part of my family, Keith. And… and I know we'll still probably fight. All siblings do. But… but just know that no matter what I'll always love you and—"

Lance's words were cut off as Keith launched himself forward and enveloped Lance in a hug, trying to stifle his tears against the overlarge hoodie. A brother. A family. He'd had plenty of foster ones before, but the word hadn't meant anything. Then he'd had Shiro and Shiro was his family then, his brother, and he had assumed that would be the end of it. But he'd been wrong. He had a family, a great one, right here.

And of course Lance would be the one to make him see it.

Lance couldn't wipe the warm smile off his face as he looked down at the dark head pressed into his shoulder. Everything felt right again. It felt better than right, actually. Because he and Keith had reached an understanding, a friendship deeper than Lance had thought possible with his deemed rival.

And, although he hated that apparently it had taken him being kidnapped and tortured for Keith to come around, at least he had. At least there was some silver lining to all of what he had endured. But it wasn't just with Keith either. He felt closer to all of his family now in a way that he never had before, even Hunk.

And even more than that, Lance realized, he himself had changed in some ways for the better. The self-doubt and loathing at himself he'd been crushing himself beneath had lifted. By sharing those fears, those dark parts of him and learning that no one else saw him that way, no one else thought he was weak or useless, had let him draw a full breath he hadn't known he was holding.

Learning that the true nature of the Blue Paladin was not someone who excelled at fighting or piloting but was someone there who helped support others, lifted them up and made them all stronger by simply caring had made him reevaluate his entire role in the team and he what he'd found had felt right. It hadn't felt forced like those fake smiles or trying to be someone that he was not.

He was Lance. He was the Blue Paladin. He was a brother, a comforter, a supporter. He was the pilot of the most amazing Lion there was and he was the team's sharpshooter, even if that was going to take a little work. But he had his team – his family – behind him every step of the way supporting him as surely as he wanted to help them.

Haggar might have broken him and made him sink to the lowest depths possible to the point where he honestly hadn't thought he would ever find the surface. But now, here he was. Feeling better, stronger, than he had in a long, long time.

And, to top it all off, getting a hug from Keith. Lance couldn't quite return it, his hands trapped against his knees, and Keith didn't seem to be moving any time soon, so Lance bowed his head, pressing his forehead against the roughness of Keith's jacket shoulder ribbing, and fully relaxed in the embrace.

This was nothing like with Haggar. He was even starting to forget the feel of her cold touch, her long fingers wrapping about, those memories being replaced with Shiro's safety, Hunk's large hands, Pidge's small grasps and Coran's beyond gentle hold. And now, he burrowed his face further into Keith's jacket, he had this.

Haggar had lost. The Galrans had lost. They had tried to take the Black Lion, to break him. But they'd failed. They'd failed because Lance had refused to go down. He might still be out of the fight for a while, but he trusted his family to take up the banner in his place. And he…he would support them as best he could because that was who he was.

And whether it be a kitchen sink or a cup of water or a set of hands gliding through his hair… he wasn't going to lose to them. He was going to stand and fight and show Haggar that he was stronger than even he had thought possible.

He was the Blue Paladin of Voltron. And Paladins of Voltron never gave up.

xxx

Author's Notes:

So… Keith finally talked to Lance. And just like everyone told him, Lance absolutely did not hate him. Instead we get hugs and love and bonding and I'm just going to let them hug it out for a while longer, okay? And I know that that part is what you guys are all probably the most excited about, but I'm over here waving my Lance flag and cheering because he has *finally* gotten to the point where he accepts himself. We had it at the beginning and the end but Lance is not backing down anymore; there will certainly be bumps but he's not going to let fear control him and he's going to do whatever he can to feel better. I'm so proud of him. That trip to the mindscape has really opened a lot of new doors, huh?

Also, I just want to say I'm touched by how many of you expressed fellow love for Coran and his story. *sniffle* And to those I could not respond to, Neleenia's design is based of Esmeralda from The Hunchback of Notre Dame. One of my favorite Disney films. Can't imagine why...

Big Keith-like hugs to all of the lovely reviewers: Serefia, StrawberryFever3, Pfeh, Belletiger BT, hobbes101, wingedflower, WhiteTails, Subtle Shenanigans, Guest, Wolf of the Demise, LishaChan, dani-the-mani, Nellie Bachesneg, Tony WildRiver, Thedevilsangel1, migrane, Demigod whovian, Guest, Midnight 0racle, Lasagna, PaintedWings45, JustADamFrenchFry, Eeveecat1248, geekyglamour413, dragoscilvio, GingerJazzy, JeromeHaddock15, ChocolateMonkey, rwbygirl, SleepDeprivedFemale, guest, Justanangryfangirl, Cindy Mack3, Ginko Kataribe, ShadowWold, Popo-chaaan, Shadow Gray, bigtimedreamer101, WolfMistwood, scones, Bubblekins1010, Guest, imagine forevermore, TheFullmetalBitch and This-Lil'-Fan-Girl!

Small self promo before I skedaddle; posted a new fic called Razzle Dazzle featuring Lance and Lotor (but with elements of the team too and gen/platonic fic, as always) and it's going to be a short, intense five-chapter ride, hopefully finishing before season five (and yes, I have seen the trailer and yes, I'm stoked for Lance yelling out commands, but lord help them if they do not address Kuron...) if you'd like to check it out. Be sure to leave a comment! ;p

On that note, please do also drop me a line here if you enjoyed the chapter. I love hearing from you guys and it truly makes my day. Thanks much!