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As Color Fades Away

Chapter Seventy-Two

Something was wrong.

Pidge frantically ran her hands over the datapad on the side of the cryo-pod, trying to make some sense of the numbers and Altean words all while attempting to ignore the red light blinking and the way she could still see Keith twitching inside, brow furrowed and in clear pain although he had gone unconscious after a soundless scream. She wasn't sure if that was bad or good. Probably bad. Very bad.

She'd had concerns that since the pod was prepped for an alien creature completely unlike their own biology the pod's calibration might be off, but she hadn't had much of an option. Keith either got in a pod or he died.

But she was starting to fear that she was killing him right now.

The pod should have iced over, hiding its occupant from view until the healing process moved along. Keith should have been comfortably suspended in an icy gel, his brain function halted by the deep freeze and completely at ease.

Clearly that was not the case.

She didn't think it was the adrenaline shot. Lance, their number one pod user, had gone into them in all manners; unconscious, wide awake and panicked – which she was glad she had not had to witness – and it was unlikely Coran adjusted the pod each time based on brain activity levels.

No, it had to do with body composition but she had no fucking clue what she was doing.

They called her a genius but right now she felt like the universe's biggest idiot.

None of it made any sense. She'd helped Coran before and knew how to initiate the sequence to start the pod, which she had done, but the settings leading up to that point? A big fat nothing.

God, she was going to kill Keith.

Tears stung her eyes and she hurriedly blinked them away before they could track down her face, which was aching even more with every breath and she hadn't dared look to see what the damage was. Based on the blood she could still taste every time she licked her lip it would not be pretty.

She cast her eyes about the infirmary again seeking some type of answer. An instruction manual maybe, somehow written in English or at least binary.

But nothing of the sort appeared.

Just the usual setup of the infirmary; exam table, cot, rows of cryo-pods, the medicine cabinet she'd already been in and the small storage room.

None of that was usef—

The pods.

A quick glance revealed that the pod Keith was ensconced in was not the one he'd been in a few days ago nor the one Lance had used.

Which meant…

She flew to the pod Keith had previously used, fighting the urge to worry her lip as the machine slowly powered on. A glance over her shoulder showed Keith still shaking in his, the cryo still not yet sealing him in.

"Hurry up," she snarled at the system. "Goddamnit hurry the fuck up!"

She only resisted kicking it because her body was one giant ball of hurt and she knew doing so wouldn't actually speed it up.

Finally the panel glowed teal and Pidge pulled up the last diagnostic run window, knowing that translation at least thanks to all of the hacking she'd done of Galra systems, learning both the Altean and Galra equivalent.

She almost cried as it pulled up the previous settings. She still had no idea what each box meant but her eyes raked over the numbers, memorizing the sequence, in a matter of seconds. She raced as quick as she could back to Keith, hands shaking as she inputted the new numbers over the previous ones.

There were still some differences as she couldn't check every box, the system already engaged, but seven out of nine was better odds than before. She pressed the submit option, reprogramming the calibration of the pod, and prayed.

A tick later she saw Keith's movements still, his face slacken, and then frost stole over the cover of the glass and turned its contents dark. The blinking red light vanished and a steady teal indicator took its place.

Pidge's legs gave way beneath her in relief.

Thank God. It had worked.

She pressed her forehead against the cool metal of the pod, the touch both soothing and painful.

She allowed herself a minute, counting down each tick as she took in breaths and held them, trying to get her racing heart and trembling under control. Her hands fumbled into her armor pocket to pull out Matt's glasses, always a comfort.

They came apart in her hands, glass shattering away with a crinkle, the frames dented and one of the temples broken off. She shouldn't have expected anything less. She'd just been in an explosion after all and the heat alone would have been enough to destroy the lenses, let alone the force.

A broken sob was torn from her throat as she hunched over what remained of them. They were just glasses, but they were so much more than that.

She gave herself the last twenty ticks of her minute to mourn, to remember and to remind herself that they may be broken but she was still alive and it was she who was going to find her family, not a pair of glasses, before pushing the destroyed memory back into her pocket.

And when those moments were over she painfully pulled herself up and wiped her hand across her stinging eyes.

It was time to fight.

She looked to Keith, hidden now, but safe. Healing.

"You're gonna be okay," she promised him.

She wanted to say she'd be here when he got out. She wanted to be the first to hug him, so tight maybe he'd have to go back in for broken ribs, and tell him thank you for what he'd done.

But she couldn't.

She had no idea what awaited her out there.

She didn't know if she was going to make it back.

Her heart clenched at the idea of Keith waking up, maybe a day later, maybe a week, and finding himself all alone. He'd leave the infirmary and find all of them, broken bodies and blood and death.

He could be the only survivor.

She could have just made him carry that unintentional burden.

She could fix it. She could stay here, wait.

But she couldn't do that.

She was a fighter. Not a bystander. She needed to get out there, to help her team.

Her team who probably thought she and Keith were already dead.

The thought froze her.

She hadn't even given such an idea a look but…

But how would it seem to the others? To see the ship explode? For them to not respond? To realize the entire thing was a trap, a diversion?

The others thought they were dead.

Pidge's legs threatened to go out on her again.

She couldn't even begin to describe the hollow ache that took up residence in her chest then; the utter horror and despair and grief that they must be feeling.

She had to get to them.

She had to let them know they were all ri—they are alive.

That they hadn't just lost part of their family.

But…

It did have an advantage.

If the Paladins thought they were dead… then Haggar did too.

A sharp grin turned up her lips and she picked up her bayard.

That bitch wasn't going to know what hit her.

xxx

Shiro was both grateful and admittedly terrified when his trek about the castle looking for Lance and Hunk came to an abrupt end as he felt dark magic and heard the crackling of power inside the kitchen of all places.

There was no other sound though. No screams. No crying. Not even words.

Shiro hated that he wished it had been so. At least then he'd have had some confirmation that Lance and Hunk were alive. That they were engaging with Haggar.

This dark nothingness? It was making every hair on him stand straight up.

His prosthetic whirred to life and the resulting drain made him stumble, barely catching himself on the hallway wall as the world tipped alarmingly.

He left a bloodied handprint behind.

Shiro knew he didn't have much left. The fight with Haggar had carried on too long and although none of her hits had been fatal they had not been scratches either.

That, and the anger that had been pushing him through was fading and taking up root was an all encompassing grief.

Keith. Pidge. Now Allura.

Dead.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

All he could do was try and protect those that remained. It was the only thing keeping him going. Save Lance. Save Hunk.

Kill Haggar.

Charcoal eyes burned beyond hatred. She was the reason his family was dead. She was the reason they were hurt. She was the reason any of them had gotten involved in this war to begin with because of what she'd done to him.

She was the reason he had been forced to kill.

Well.

His prosthetic glowed violent purple.

She would get to see her handiwork first hand.

Haggar was not leaving this ship alive.

Shiro welcomed the rekindling of the anger, letting it spur him the last few feet towards the kitchen where he could feel the power and see some type of flickering light coming from within.

This was it.

Still, he knew he could not recklessly charge in as much as he wanted to. He was at a severe disadvantage in both stamina and weapon against Haggar. In hindsight maybe he should have grabbed Coran's blaster but his aim was pretty shit anyway so he supposed it didn't matter.

Keeping his back against the wall, Shiro carefully peeked his head around the doorframe.

The sight was not one he was expecting.

His eyes were drawn immediately to the flickering light, set up nearly in the middle of the kitchen, and made up of both harsh black tendrils and a flurry of softer colors, each wrapped about the individual creating them.

"Lance!" he gasped before he could stop himself.

But there was no acknowledgement to his outburst and Shiro realized that neither Lance or the witch could hear him.

Haggar and Lance were both kneeling, Haggar's turned in towards Lance and one of her hands splayed across his forehead. Dark power crackled there and beneath her hand Shiro could make out blood all down Lance's face; a mixture of red and purple, yet his expression was for the most part calm, despite the fact his eyes were wide open and glowing a bright blue that was flowing into the colors that surrounded him.

Haggar's though…

Haggar's face was twisted in a scowl, brow furrowed. As he watched she shuddered, face wrenching just a bit more and Shiro felt a vindictive sort of glee.

Shiro stepped fully into the kitchen, intending to make his way to the pair, but froze midstep.

Because no longer hidden behind the wall he spotted Hunk.

And Hunk…

"Fuck," Shiro swore and he stumbled to the large boy's side, dropping to his knees next to the still form. Blood splatter jumped up at the impact to hit both his knees and land more on Hunk's already stained armor.

Shiro had never been squeamish but his stomach heaved.

There was so much blood.

"Hunk, buddy," he reached out his shaking flesh hand, pressing it against the dark neck.

He was trembling too much to see if there was a pulse.

Shiro forced himself to take a deep breath and tried again, praying with all he had.

Hunk's life beat beneath his fingers, slow and shallow but still there.

He took in the saturated towels pressed up against Hunk's side, the helmet with a bloodied handprint too small to be Hunk's smeared on it, his bayard next to him and all of it compounded by the metallic scent of blood and death that lurked. Hunk had been like this for a while, he surmised. Bleeding out on the floor with Lance desperately attending to him and no one answering their calls for help.

Shiro's stomach turned and this time he couldn't hold it in and added its own contents to the already ravaged floor.

The action cleared his head though and some of the sick fear was pushed back. Hunk was alive, he reminded himself. He ignored the 'for now' that lingered.

He could still save him.

He just had to make sure Haggar wouldn't get in the way.

"I'll be right back, buddy," he murmured, pressing his hand against Hunk's head. "Hang on for me, all right?"

Hunk of course did not reply.

Shiro pulled himself back to standing and reactivated his prosthetic.

Time to kill the witch.

It was not honorable to engage an oblivious opponent.

Shiro did not care.

Haggar deserved death.

He would kill her.

He would kill her and she would never hurt his family again.

Well, what was left of them.

With a ragged scream he slashed his arm down at Haggar's head—

—and was blasted backwards by the black light, striking the far kitchen wall with a grunt.

He sat at the base of the wall, winded, and skin prickling with remnants of Haggar's magic.

Apparently he was not killing her.

Not yet at least.

He looked at Lance then, still frozen in whatever magic he and Haggar had gotten caught up in, blood soaked and ripped clothing telling only part of a story of what had happened in this fight.

Would Lance be the one to kill Haggar?

Shiro hoped not.

He didn't want Lance's heart to be hurt any more than it already had.

But as his gaze tracked past Lance to land on the inert form of a large Galran, he had a sinking feeling it already had been.

He did not need to get up and check. He intrinsically knew that the commander was dead, the large pool of purple blood and the fact the Galran appeared to be missing a good chunk of his torso from this angle lending proof.

Had Lance been the one to kill him? Had Hunk?

He should have never sent them away.

They should have stuck together. They'd played right into Haggar's hands and he had been so blinded by grief, so determined to keep Lance out of the fighting, that he had instead sent him right into the thick of it.

What had he done?

There was no use wondering what ifs right now. Right now he had to save what little family of his remained.

Shiro shakily stood, blood rushing to his head and sending him staggering as vertigo kicked in. He stubbornly grit his teeth and pushed forward, angling towards the kitchen drawers for more towels.

He briefly entertained the idea of cauterizing Hunk's side, staring down at his inactive prosthetic. It would stop the blood flow, keep what remained inside.

The shock from the pain could also kill him.

Hunk was in no condition to suffer that kind of brutality disguised as healing.

He needed a pod.

Shiro knew he could carry Hunk when he was at full strength.

But he was not at full strength.

He wasn't even at a quarter of it.

He also could not leave Lance behind with Haggar. He had no idea what was going to happen when the barrier fell away but he would not leave Lance on his own against the Druid.

Not happening.

He commandeered the rest of the towels that had been left behind in the open drawer, heart clenching at the sight of the blood splatter that covered some of them and the handle of the drawer.

Lance.

He looked back at where Lance was kneeling, slender form trembling slightly.

Shiro could picture the desperate struggle to open the drawer, hands slick with blood and no doubt beyond injured given what he'd seen of the Galran commander's particular brand of cruelty. Scared and alone and trying to save his dying friend while in so, so much pain himself.

It wasn't fair.

None of this was.

But Shiro would make sure that those that remained walked away from this. They would live.

And then…

Then he was taking them home.

Voltron was over now. Two fifths of the team was dead. Their princess was gone.

The war for them was over.

He would not force them to fight any longer. He would return, for whatever little he was capable of. But Lance and Hunk?

They were going back to Earth. They would be safe there. The Galra weren't likely to reach Earth in their lifetime, Earth set so far back in the system it barely registered as a blip.

And if the Galra did come…

At least they'd have had a chance to be with their families. To be as innocent as they could be in the face of the horror they'd been a part of.

Shiro owed them at least that much.

But first he had to save their lives. Starting with Hunk.

Shiro made his way back to the Yellow Paladin, who had not so much as twitched while he'd been gone. Hunk was lying on his stomach, revealing the back of his armor to be charred and cracked and the black of his undersuit not protected by it to be warped in such a way that Shiro knew it had adhered to his skin with heat, just as Keith's had done but a few days ago.

But that was not the worst of Hunk's injuries by far. That likely belonged to the cause of the blood that had seeped out from below him. Shiro couldn't see what the wound was thanks to the bloodied towels piled up against Hunk's side, but he was guessing some sort of stomach wound, lent credence by the trickle of blood that had dribbled from Hunk's mouth.

Internal bleeding.

Hunk really didn't have much time.

The best thing to do would be to try and seal as much of the wound as possible to prevent any further blood loss, Shiro decided. Hunk was already looking beyond pale and if he lost much more Shiro wasn't sure if getting him to the pods would make a difference.

He set down his pile of towels on a clean spot of the floor and made his way to Hunk, grasping him by his shoulders.

"Sorry, buddy," he said quietly. "Bear with me for just a tick."

And in as smooth a movement as Shiro could manage he rotated Hunk onto his back via his uninjured side and away from the blood puddle.

Hunk didn't make a sound despite the fact such a movement had to have hurt.

And oh.

It was bad.

It was very, very bad.

The towels had remained plastered to Hunk's side but the wound extended far, far past that, a gaping line spreading across Hunk's stomach and past his navel.

He'd nearly been cut halfway through.

Shiro knew it was only Hunk's insane stamina and size that had even let him come this far. Had such a wound been dealt to any of the smaller Paladins…

They would already be dead.

Shiro grabbed a wad of towels and layered them across the gash, trying hard not to look as red and pink glistened in the depths.

And now came the hard part. But he had to apply pressure, had to clot the wound as much as he could to keep what little blood remained inside.

"I'm so sorry," Shiro whispered.

And he pushed down.

Hunk jerked below him, dulled honey eyes flying open and a high keen torn from bloodied lips.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Shiro repeated, hating how relieved he was to see Hunk in pain.

It meant Hunk was alive.

Meant there was still fight in him.

Hunk's eyes rolled into the back of his head a moment later, but it was enough to calm Shiro's racing heart.

Hunk was going to live.

He was going to make sure of it.

Shiro piled on more towels all across Hunk's stomach and padded on his side, squelching the bloodied ones against the wound. Not sanitary but they were hopefully congealing somewhat at this point.

While he was doing that Shiro was trying to remember all the first aid he'd learned about trauma. Shock was a severe risk, he knew. You were supposed to keep the victim warm. He cast his eyes about the kitchen for something to be used as a blanket as he'd pretty much decimated their towel supply.

They landed on a folded yellow hooded sweatshirt set aside on the far counter.

Without a moment of hesitation Shiro got up and retrieved it, shaking out the material as wide as it would go and draping it atop Hunk and tucking the loose arm sleeves about his shoulders.

What else?

Elevate the feet to return blood back to the heart. Shiro collected the alien oatmeal container that had been left out and rolled it under Hunk's feet, propping them up about half a foot.

That done he knelt back down next to Hunk and took one of the blood-stained gloved hands in his own, squeezing it tight.

"You're gonna be okay," he murmured. "Just hold on for a little longer."

He looked over to where Haggar and Lance continued to sit.

They had not moved but in the few minutes he'd been concentrating on Hunk the lighting about them had. The colors were stronger now and a blue glow had completely enveloped all of Lance.

And Haggar's hand, the one pressed against Lance's face.

It was turning black.

There was a change in the air, the oppressive dark magic losing ground and taking its place was what Shiro could only really describe as love, fierce and protective.

"Lance," he breathed.

He was doing it.

He and the Lions were fighting against Haggar.

And they were winning.

Haggar's entire hand was blackened now, twisted and deformed like a wraith. Her face was pinched even further and the black lightning around her was flickering.

Shiro gave Hunk's hand one last squeeze and stood up, arm glowing at his side.

Something was about to happen. He could feel it.

Lance shifted ever so slightly, sitting just a little taller, while Haggar recoiled back, mouth opening in a silent scream.

The colors pushed harder against what little remained of the black lightning.

And then the barrier exploded.

Haggar was thrown backwards in the blast, hitting the wall with a sickening thud and a wretched scream and falling next to the deceased Galran.

Not dead yet then.

Lance remained sitting but slumped forward with a sharp gasp, right hand splayed on the ground in front of him and the light fading immediately from his form.

"Lance!" Shiro screamed and the dark head jerked up.

"Shiro," came a barely audible breath. Tears welled in ocean eyes. "Sh-Shiro."

Those eyes widened in a panic as they looked beyond him. "Shiro!"

Shiro had only a split second to turn, hearing the harsh whine of a blaster behind him.

Purple seared across his vision as a laser struck his raised Galran arm and he skidded backwards from the force.

Haggar had just shot at him.

Haggar had a gun.

The blaster in the witch's hands dwarfed her, clearly meant for the Galran commander, and she seemed to be barely holding onto it, blackened hand flaking away in pieces and agony clear in her yellow eyes.

The fact she was using such a thing meant that she was out of her own power.

Shiro's grin turned dark.

Game over.

Her life was his.

Haggar fired off a second shot and Shiro deflected it again with his arm, blood thrumming as he moved towards her like a predator stalking prey.

She was the weak one now.

Haggar was panting, her harsh breaths renting the air. Still, she did not look beaten. Her eyes were wild but they were narrowed, calculating.

She wasn't done yet.

But neither was Shiro. And a well placed hand through her chest ought to solve the problem of her continuing to live.

It had for Allura.

He pushed back that image, that despair, and let the anger fuel him.

"Nothing to say?" he goaded, pushing back a third shot. "How does it feel to be the losing one?"

She let out a cruel chuckle. "You are the one who has lost, Shiro. Three already dead. How many more precious family members will you lose?"

She cocked the blaster as Shiro roared out his rage, charging.

"Let's add one more."

And she turned the gun in Lance's direction.

Shiro moved without thinking, throwing his body in the way of the blast and raising his arm to intercept it.

He was only partly successful. The blast struck against his shoulder, pushing through the armor with a burst of hot agony and he screamed, Lance's desperate cry of his name the only thing louder, and he crashed into the ground, rolling and coming to a step a foot from Lance.

Haggar was already fleeing, choosing escape over battle.

Shiro pushed himself up to follow her, to end her, but his arm collapsed below him as his shoulder flared and he couldn't stop the short scream that made its way out of his throat.

God fucking damn it.

She was going to get away.

"Shiro!"

Lance sounded panicked and he felt a hand descend on his good shoulder, trying to forcibly rotate Shiro from where he'd fallen. "Shiro!"

"'m okay," Shiro grunted, needing to reassure Lance of that.

About a minute later he managed to sit up on his own power, coming nearly face to face with Lance. This close he could see the blood and tear streaks that marred his skin, the new tears shining in the dark eyes, the pain and desperation and relief and fear.

"Sh-Shiro," Lance whispered, lip trembling and just like that all of his rage deflated.

Let her run. He would hunt her down. He would make her pay for what she had done.

But right now he had something more important than revenge.

Shiro pulled Lance into a tight hug, not even feeling the pain in his shoulder, clutching the slender frame to him as though it was the only thing keeping him upright.

"I've got you," he murmured, feeling Lance's shoulders shake with sobs. "I've got you."

Next stop was the infirmary. Shiro didn't really know how to use the pods but Coran had to be up and about at this point and he could get them operational for Hunk and Lance.

All was silent then, a moment of something that passed for peace from the hell they had just emerged from.

And then a scream echoed from down the hall.

Shiro's heart stopped.

He knew that voice.

He breathed out, voice shaking with newfound hope and fear.

"Pidge."

xxx

Author's Notes:

True to my word we have checked in with nearly all parties and look at that, someone finally knows that Pidge (at least) is still alive (for now ;p). Hearing her voice as a scream though has to be an odd version of comforting though. Having a lot of fun writing Shiro; he's such a giant ball of grief and anger and pain right now and Haggar is the reason why. That's right Haggar, you better run ;p

If you're in Chicagoland this weekend at Anime Midwest do drop by and say hi and spaz about Voltron with me! Table A6 in the artist alley (front row all the way to the far right).

As always, if you're still here and reading and enjoying the fic, please do drop a comment before you go. Hearing from you guys is the best part of writing for me. Thank you so much!