bluemantics

[bluemantics]

JULANCE DAY 15: QUINTESSENCE

“Oh my stars! Oh my stars!”

Lance’s eyes blink open slowly. They feel heavier than they’ve ever felt before, like he’d just slept for a thousand years. Even focusing his sight takes a great amount of effort from him. Above, Allura is hunched over him with her helmet pulled off. She looks practically angelic. Her blue markings and eyes glow against the red lights of the lion’s interior, reflected by the water beading across her cheeks. White hair spills over her shoulders. It’s messier than Lance can ever remember seeing it.

Oddly enough, her hands rest on his chest.

“You look beautiful, like this,” he manages, wondering why the words come out so slurred.

For a beat, she stares at him. Then, she gasps, and her breathing shakes. Lance watches in fascination as tears flow down her cheeks.

This might be the hardest Lance has ever seen a person cry. Allura’s sobs are guttural, ripping from her chest and tumbling into the space between them. Lance isn’t sure what to do, for once. He’s always considered himself an expert in handling others’ emotions. Piecing together the rational “why-what-response” comes second nature. But in this moment, he draws a blank. His whole mind is blank, actually.

Wait. What’s going on?

Allura’s hands are balled in fists against his chest plate as he tries to remember. A flash. A desperate chance to save her. Pure, raw energy. Then…? Nothing.

There’s a deleted portion between bright light and waking up to this. He has to know.

“What happened,” he whispers weakly as Allura pulls off his helmet. The words are flat, lacking his normal curiosity. Does he really want to know?

“You—“ Allura chokes. She coughs, her throat clearly blocked by mucus from her tears. One of her hands violently rubs away the tear tracks from her cheeks. “You were.” Allura can’t finish the sentence.

The urge to know becomes all-consuming, suddenly. What was he? What did Lance McClain become, in that blank area in his mind? His hands tingle, he now realizes. They’re the only part of his body he can really feel, sharp and needling. The rest of him is numb.

Trembling, Lance reaches down and yanks off his gantlets. Then, his gloves.

A spiderweb of faint lines greets him across his hands. He marvels at them, unable to process what he’s seeing. It looks almost like those cut logs he saw in nature museums as a kid, the ones with blackened patterns signaling where lightning felled them.

Suddenly, the pieces click into place. This is the fallout of a storm.

“Okay,” he murmurs aloud. “Okay. I get it.”

Allura’s hand reaches for his and squeezes it, desperation and fear and loneliness shining in her eyes. All at once, Lance feels deeply sorry for her in a way that aches in his chest. Allura has lost everything and received infinite responsibility for the universe as recompense. Having to drag Lance up from the ground could not have been an easy task, mentally or physically. He traces a gentle pattern with his thumb into the back of her hand.

“You did good,” he tells her.

“Never do that again,” Allura begs, her grip tight. “I have already let enough people sacrifice themselves for me. You don’t get to add yourself to the list.”

“No regrets.” Lance meets her gaze steadily despite the way his bones feel like liquid and his heartbeat echoes in his ears.

“You fool.”

Maybe Lance is a fool. He’s glad to be one, though, looking at Allura and seeing her breaths between her cries.

He lets his eyes fall closed again. For once in his long, insofar mediocre existence, Lance was enough to save something precious. A hero.

Lance smiles as he slips into sleep, sending Red the order to fly.

[bluemantics]

JULANCE DAY 14: POTENTIAL

Everything happens so quickly after Naxzaela.

Without any serious interrogation efforts, Lotor is accepted onto team Voltron. He pretends to be gracious and generous, but Lance can recognize his sleazy character from a million miles away. Having a good read on people is something he prides himself on, and he knows in his heart of hearts that this Lotor guy? Total bad luck.

When he tries to voice as much to Allura, he’s shut down, hard.

“Can’t we allow people to grow, to change?” she tells him, grabbing at his shoulder armor. It silences Lance quickly, and he can’t find the energy to fight it any further. Well, at least she learned something from the whole Galra Keith incident. Sucks that it extended to Lotor, though Lance supposes that might be an over correction.

His blood practically vibrates with his unvoiced opinions. Still, he shuts his damn mouth, sidelined even further as he watches their princess schmooze with the greasy purple prince. Lance really thought they had something going, a solid friendship. Now, it feels as if his only companion is Coran. And the older Altean has been somewhat subdued in wake of being freed from the Voltron Show parasite.

So, Lance is often alone. Especially in disagreements.

Another thing: Zarkon is dead. It should feel incredible, like a great victory and an end to the devastation. In his place, though, there are thousands of others desperate to replace him, including the witch Haggar. Take out one hydra head, fifty more ugly purple ones spring from its neck.

Lotor announces that a coronation is to occur, and that he must go. Lance, Hunk, and Pidge express concerns, but Lance is aware that he’s the loudest. He raises his voice a little as he tells Lotor the dangers, skirting on his mistrust. It’s impossible to miss the cold gleam in his eyes as he sneers down his nose at the red paladin. However, it’s Shiro who speaks up.

“I told you to stay out of this!”

Once again, Lance feels a heavy castle door slam down right in front of him, essentially forcing the matter. Bitterness creeps up like a familiar, ugly taste in his mouth. The potential energy in his limbs continues to grow and press against his body, begging to be let free. Lance refuses to let it out. He’s been able to tamp his emotions this far, and he won’t fold now. With his head held high, he carries on.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t work for much longer. It’s Pidge’s voice who snarks in his head when it all goes to shit: then, after the buildup of pressure, it all goes ‘kablooey.’ Granted, she’d been describing a gaseous container, but same difference.

Allura and Lance are at the training deck, tag-teaming a few bots. Lance stays behind her, aiming sharp bullets from his shiny red rifle while she takes out kneecaps and elbows. It’s the first alone time they’ve had together in weeks. He’s clumsier than normal, frustrated by his poor performance, his distance from his team, Shiro’s harsh tone. The emotions of the recent days are catching up to him, tearing apart his normally collected facade. Allura notices his missteps and shoots him a concerned look out of the side of her eye.

Lance snaps. He charges the bots, bringing his rifle over his head and letting the charge pulse out of his chest and into his arms, through his fingertips. A burst of red light sears his vision. He cuts through two bots like putty.

Cuts?

“End simulation!” Allura yells, and Lance barely pays attention to the training bots as they sink to their clanking knees. No, his gaze is fixed on his hands, awed at the bright red sword resting in them. It’s tall, with razor sharp edges and a sturdy pommel that fits perfectly in his grip.

“I haven't seen that for ten thousand years,” Allura reverently says, her hand reaching over to gently skirt over the blade. “It's an Altean broadsword - my father used one just like it." Lately, she’s gotten worse at hiding her feelings. Her memories and despair are plain on her face.

“Is having three bayard forms… normal?” Lance questions, nervous.

“I don’t believe anything about Voltron has normal limits,” Allura admits. She withdraws her hand suddenly from the sword and curls it into a gentle fist. “Coran might be able to show you the basic forms, but I’m afraid I never trained intensively with the sword. It’s a shame Keith isn’t here.”

Lance has to laugh at that, even if the sound of it comes out falsely. “Yeah. It is.”

He deactivates his bayard and resolves to tell no one. The princess is too occupied to spread the word, and he doesn’t need this additional reminder of Keith’s absence. Red rumbles in his mind, reminding him through vague pulses that she will be furious if he does not act, let out the anger and the stress in any manner. She hisses that he cannot accept himself if he doesn’t take ownership of this sword and what it means.

But Lance isn’t used to jumping heart-first, anymore. He hasn’t operated that way for a while.

That doesn’t work for me, Red, he explains mentally.

Another pulse shoots back that it could, if he’d just let it out. Released the pressure. There are great heights he can soar to, if he takes advantage of the passion that cries to be expressed. Images slide through his mind and quicken his heart. Keith, angry and loud, holding his fury like fire in his hands and forming a sword with it. Keith, teeth bared and hands high, channeling passion into every strike. Keith is everywhere and his feelings are everywhere and his happiness and his rage and his agony and they all explode out into firelight—

“I’m not him!” Lance shoves up a mind wall to stop Red from continuing her barrage. He pinches his nose, an ache developing behind his forehead. It takes a few beats to slow his breathing and relax all the tense muscles that sprang to action with the visions.

“I’m not him.”

The red bayard in his hand taunts him all the same.

[bluemantics]

JULANCE DAY 12: UNDERCOVER

These days, it feels like Lance is constantly pretending. To the team, he’s the same old Lance from before Keith’s stint in leadership. He cracks inappropriate jokes, welcomes any chance he can get in the spotlight. Any distraction.

It’s a thin veneer. In reality, he’s never felt more detached from the team. After Keith left, Lance began to notice some… changes in the newly-returned Shiro. Which, of course, would be reasonable. If not for the strange way he’d been acting.

Before, Lance never disagreed with Shiro. Ever. Shiro was a shining beacon of intellect and wisdom to rookie Lance, above all criticism. Now that he feels brave enough to enter leader discussions, though, he tries to give his two cents on strategy. He’s really become fond of sitting at the small table with Allura and Keith or swiping quickly over star charts while they listened to his ideas. For all his flaws as a leader, when Keith leaned forward and unblinkingly watched Lance, he really knew how to make him feel heard.

It doesn’t go that way with Shiro.

“Lance, why are you here?”

The simple utterance knocks a crack in his newly-forged armor. He clears his throat. “As red paladin, I usually helped out during pre-battle discussions with Allura and Keith.”

Allura nods, pleasantly gesturing for Lance to join them at the table. Reluctantly, the red paladin sits by her, keeping a careful eye on Shiro. “Lance has truly stepped up in your absence alongside Keith in a way we couldn’t have ever predicted. Keith and I trusted his counsel often, and usually that resulted in great success.”

“Wow. Thanks, Princess,” Lance replies honestly. Warmth blooms behind his ribs, relieved to have some support.

“Alright,” Shiro agrees, hands stiff on the table.

The meeting is a disaster. Shiro shares a plan that Lance really can’t get behind, with formations that place them inside civilian centers rather than at the edges of them. He listens thoughtfully as the older man explains his rationale: Galra troops have been known to invade from all angles, and according to Shiro, it’s simpler if they form a circle and let the Galra come to them at the center. Politely, Lance shares a gentle objection; he’s concerned that the civilians won’t all be able to evacuate in time, and that the formation will cause increased public damage.

“Soldier, I don’t recall asking for your approval.”

His words are sharp. They leave no room for doubt. And yet, Lance can’t help but pushing, confused at the strangeness of his words.

“I just think—“

“You’re not the person we turn to for thinking, are you?”

It’s colder than Lance has ever heard Shiro. Wrong. His gut twists, rejection stinging like a physical blow. Even Allura looks aghast.

“Sorry, Shiro.” He plasters on a respectful expression and slightly inclines his head.

He doesn’t return to leadership meetings after. Lance isn’t like Keith, stubborn and demanding in face of dismissal. Especially not from Shiro, the man from his posters, who made him believe in heroes.

Then comes The Voltron Show. In all his memory, Lance cannot remember hating a stage as much as he hates this one. Traveling across the galaxy, riding on their universe-saving fame while doing nothing for it, he feels like an utter joke. Because he is one. Loverboy Lance! Come see him spin and flirt and drink up attention like it’s ambrosia, powerful enough to save him until it burns him up from the inside out, makes him golden and rotten just for you! It’s all so fake that it makes him actually vomit, one night.

An alien had asked for his signature. Lance scribbled it with a paintbrush they handed him, but in reality, he was entirely not there. His hands tingled and his body and brain almost felt as if they were splitting apart, as though he’d watched the scene from above.

“Thank you so much for all you do!” the alien chirped.

What does he do? Lance doesn’t strategize, doesn’t even fire so much as a warning shot, lately. He’s just a face. A symbol, and a boring one at that.

He smiles, thanks them, and rushes back to his bathroom to grab at his toilet. At 17, Lance would have killed to have this much fame. Convinced that fame was an achievement, he sought it desperately, believing that being known meant he was worthy.

Now, a year later, he’s all too aware of how cheap fame can be. Fame means nothing after seeing blood and heartbreak and war. Being known by millions is worth so much less when the people who matter people aren’t looking.

Hunk and Pidge don’t note his change in mood. It’s not their faults, really. Coran is running them all ragged with routine prep, and Hunk and Pidge have the extra awful task of coordinating special effects. They’re both practically dead on their feet whenever they cross paths with Lance.

Therefore, it’s no surprise that he gets closer with Allura. Who else does he have? Both of them are distantly moored without ports. Coran is far too distracted to notice her, and Lance… he’s missing some people, too. They discuss everything with each other. Lance missed having someone to confide in, but Allura is perfect for the job, kind and judgmental in an easy balance. Allura admits that she hates playing Keith, how she just wants to be herself. Lance has to agree— it’s incredibly awkward to witness her trying to play a part so obviously at odds with her and with Keith alike. She’s become a facsimile of herself. It’s a sentiment Lance can relate to, and he shares as much, relieved at her understanding.

Show after show after show. Faux grin after false flirtation after ostentatious lies. Lance plays his part and plays it well.

He wonders if Keith is making a difference with the Blade. Finally, he went somewhere Lance couldn’t chase him to. Bitterly, Lance wonders if that was the point, and tries to put him out of his mind entirely.

As far as anyone watching in the universe will know, Lance is doing wonderfully. He’s Loverboy Lance! Flashy. Dazzling. Shiny.

Unrecognizable.

[bluemantics]

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[bluemantics]

JULANCE DAY 10: BROADSWORD

SCHWING.

Lance pants heavily as he dodges, narrowly avoiding Keith’s knife as it sails over his hand. Now crouched low to the ground, he balances with his hands behind his back and kicks out at Keith’s knees.

Sparring with Keith has become something of a regular occurrence since his ascent to black paladin. While Shiro used to be the go-to hand-to-hand guy, Keith now lacks a decent sparring partner. Pidge, of course, chooses not to learn his techniques. Hunk, meanwhile, likes the comfort that distance affords him. Besides, if anyone did get close to him, Lance knows his strong-as-hell best friend could just pick them up and throw them like a frisbee.

He’s learned that fact from experience. Lance will never sneak up on Hunk while he’s cooking ever again.

Allura also prefers sparring with the gladiator and Coran over the other paladins. She claims that Alteans have a particular strength that might be unfair for the paladins to get subjected to. Which, probably fair.

So Lance had to step in and volunteer his poor, beautiful body to be beaten to a pulp by their glorious leader. Not that he entirely minds much. Sometimes, it’s really, really fun, learning forms from Keith and watching him in his element. They both sheath their bayards in their belts, grab training knives, and race to attack one another in a halfhearted attempt to get the advantage. Lance loves improving and impressing Keith, finally receiving awareness from his “rival” after all these years of relative insignificance. As a teacher, Keith’s orange-red fire dulls down into an encouraging hearth, illuminating the best parts of Lance as well as himself.

Also, his hands feel annoyingly good when they adjust his stance. And sometimes Lance gets to see his shirt ride up, while sweat traces the lines of Keith’s jaw and stomach, sticking his hair to his forehead in a way that makes Lance want to grab him and— objectively, it’s a nice view.

Objectively.

“Urgh,” Keith huffs, jumping up and once again bringing his knife down toward Lance. Luckily, Lance is starting to recognize his patterns— when Keith is going to slice his innards, he tenses his shoulders slightly. He’s already reacting, forearm deftly connecting with Keith’s elbow to push it away from his delicate brains. Then, he swipes up with his other hand, also holding a knife of its own.

“That was a good one,” Keith manages between his exerted breathing.

For a moment, Lance freezes, a smile blooming on his face. “Really?”

Keith levels him a flat look and knocks him on his ass, training knife pushed to the side of his neck. “And you just died.”

“Come on!” Lance groans, throwing his knife to the side. “That’s unfair!”

Keith rolls his eyes, and oh, his entire weight is over Lance, his head is hovering far too close to Lance’s face, and maybe Lance has a thing for knives, or maybe just Keith holding knives— wow his breath is warm and so are his legs— snap out of it—

“So, what, the enemy compliments you and you just stop fighting?” Keith raises an unimpressed eyebrow, withdrawing the knife to Lance’s acute relief. “That feels wrong.”

“Well, maybe the Galra soldier is being nice, Keith! Ever thought of that?” Lance shifts under Keith’s hold, and for a beat, Keith freezes, awkwardly looking at their position on the floor. Lance holds his breath, waiting for him to say something. Or do something. Instead, disappointingly, he rolls off of Lance entirely.

Well, it was nice while it lasted. Lance pushes himself up to sit upright by Keith, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. Sheathing his knife, Keith continues.

“You’ll never get better at hand-to-hand and close combat if you keep acting like you’re fighting me instead of a Galra soldier,” he points out. Hair drips sweat into his eyes as he sits casually across from Lance, one leg bent upward and the other outstretched. He looks like a model, all stretched out under the harsh training lights.

An annoying voice that sounds like Hunk speaks in his head. Nah, dude. He’s nasty and sweaty. You’re just a loser.

Shut up, Brain Hunk. Keith is hot, and Lance is a loser. Two things can be true.

“Y’know, I don’t even understand why I’m doing this,” Lance protests. He glares at the training knife lying a few feet away from them. “I’m shit at this stuff.”

“So get better,” Keith shoots back instantly.

“But why?”

“Because we’re down on close-range fighting experience,” Keith explains, voice gaining an edge. “More Galra can get through our first line, now. And they can get to you.”

Lance frowns, still unsure. “On the off chance a Galra fighter does get to me, you’ll still be there! You save my ass all the time. It’s fine.”

Keith, suddenly, looks inexplicably mad, eyes narrowed to slits and arms rigid. “That’s not fair, Lance.”

“Besides,” Lance continues, not entirely aware of where he’s going. “I’m always fine in the end! I figure it out.”

“No,” Keith cuts him off sharply. “You can’t rely on me to protect you, or your luck, or whatever you want to call it. That’s not okay.”

Lance opens his mouth to speak again, but is cowed to silence as Keith raises a hand in a silencing motion.

“Lance, I can’t be worrying about you constantly while we fight anymore. There’s so much I already need to focus on while we’re on the ground. Civilians. Enemies. Our whole team. I need the assurance that you can hold your own.”

“So don’t worry about me,” Lance points out, thinking that he sounds reasonable, honestly. “Like I said, I’ll be fine! And if I’m not, just stick me in a pod!”

“I don’t want to have to do that!” Keith snaps, balling his fists. He leans into Lance’s space, leaving himself jagged and exposed. “You are th— my right hand, and without you in commission… I don’t know what I’d do. I can’t be in that position. So stop fucking around and train with me, okay?”

There’s a heavy, uncomfortable pause as Lance watches Keith regain his bearings. Already, he can tell sharing that much of his feelings had been difficult for the black paladin. Silently outstretching an arm, Lance places his hand on Keith’s knee.

“Fine,” he acquiesces. “I’ll do your stupid sparring.“

Keith meets his eyes, and Lance’s breath stutters at the haunted, tired look in Keith’s expression. It’s easy to forget, occasionally, the weight that Keith carries. It looks like five people, but also, an entire universe, an indescribable number of souls and families. Still, Lance knows that their five make up the toughest burden upon Keith, who is utterly alone without them. Who has already been left behind by Shiro, and likely, his parents. Though Lance doesn’t know the details.

Lance squeezes his knee one more time before removing his hand. “I promise. I’ll be better.”

“Thanks,” Keith mutters, hiding his face again by looking off to the side. He pulls himself to his feet, grabs the towel he’d brought, and walks out the door without further addressing Lance. That suits Lance fine; he needs time to think.

Subconsciously, he pulls out his bayard and stares absently at its red markings. He wonders what it must actually feel like to carry the responsibility of Voltron. As right hand, he’s gotten glimpses of it, peeks into the tribulations and trials that lie at the helm. However, he can’t imagine what it must be like for Keith. Lance knows what caring for a family entails. Keith is still figuring that out, trying to determine what boundaries to set, what rules to enforce, what tasks to delegate. Guilt strikes Lance as he realizes that he hasn’t been making it easier for him on the battlefield.

He wishes, briefly, that he could take some of Keith’s load. Hold it, if just for a second, while the other paladin gets his bearings.

Suddenly, his bayard flickers in his hands, almost quick enough to be unnoticeable. Lance blinks, but sure enough, it stays in its deactivated form under his fingertips. He shakes it, to no response.

Strange. Lance must be more exhausted than he thought from helping Coran sort library tablets last night. He almost could have sworn he saw an extended version of Keith’s red bayard sword. Shaking his head, Lance attaches the bayard back to his belt.

Man, he has to get Keith off his mind, or he’ll go crazy. Heaving himself to his feet, he grabs his water pouch and takes a swig from it, resolving to take a shower.

A sword?

Ridiculous. He’s nowhere near ready to fight on Keith’s level.

It would be fun, though.

[bluemantics]

JULANCE DAY 11: STORMS

There’s a storm on the horizon. Lance can feel it deep in the marrow of his bones, that slight crackling of energy signifying a downpour. He loves the feeling right before a storm, the humidity and charge and anticipation of it all. Over the course of this war, he’s learned that he thrives in that spot, the fear and panic associated with a before moment.

When the team turns to him, right as they’re about to enter a battle, and asks, Lance, what do we do?

Somehow, he almost always has an answer. He’ll relay his formation to Keith and watch as the black paladin takes the violent, sudden plunge. It’s breathtaking to witness the lightning finally break, wind curling in spirals and lifting them higher than Lance ever thought possible. Battle becomes less of a tornado and more of a precision shot. Keith and Lance have become less rivals and more teammates. Friends, even, especially under the cover of late nights.

The liminal space nighttime affords breaks new grounds for them. As they do paperwork and review reports, their exhaustion lowers their walls, opens their conversations up in front of dark, star-studded windows. On lighter days, they laugh over memories like Keith trying to fight the Arusians or their awful pool attempt. Other times, they bare their hearts more meaningfully. Lance opens up about his family, missing his siblings and his parents, wondering if the war has changed him beyond recognizability. Keith first shares his lack of family back on Earth in very short detail. Most of the team knows the basics; Keith finding out about his alien heritage exposed some of the less-fine details. Then, however, he delves into more.

Keith isn’t a storyteller. His words are blunt, simple, and honest. Still, Lance has always had a vivid imagination, and Lance can picture it all as Keith describes it (and then some).

A young boy, with only a father, both living out of a somewhat-ramshackle desert home. Eating quick microwaveable foods, but thinking they were “awesome,” because your dad said the other firefighters ate them too. Being somewhat of a loner at school, too shy to talk to the other kids, and maybe too odd to be approached.

Getting pulled out of class. Learning about the fire that killed him.

“And Allura tells me I’m the guardian of fire, when we find the lions,” Keith remarks with a bitter laugh. “I was 17, and even then, I knew that was fucked up.”

It sticks with Lance, makes him hurt. Every ounce of his effort goes into holding himself back from wrapping Keith tight in his arms and forcing him to stay, to feel comfort for once.

They find solace in one another, in the blanket-fort security only late hours can provide.

“You were strong anyways, red.”

“Did we have another option?”

Lance thought things were going well, for them. Keith and Lance, side by side, chasing greatness together like a story out of his favorite childhood movies.

And then he senses it: the storm. It comes on slowly, a few warnings happening in a row right before the flood. He should’ve known better than to feel settled in a war, alongside a partner known to run at the start of a drizzle.

First: the injury.

“Lance, Lance, Lance,” Hunk’s voice shrieks over the comms. They’re on the ground on a horrible planet, one made of desert sand colored bright orange. Over and over, they have to wipe their visors as they engage Galra forces, clearing dust and debris. It’s so hot that Lance can barely breathe between his shots.

“What, buddy?” Lance shouts back, alarmed at the fear in his voice. Hunk’s consistent phobias haven’t vanished, but he has become more sturdy with time. It takes more than a small incident to shake him, now.

“It’s Keith!” Hunk continues as Lance kicks away a sentry and clubs another. “He’s hurt!”

The world stops. The universe stops. For barely a second, Lance lets the words sink in, lets the reality crash over him. He wants nothing more than to run right to wherever Keith is and grab him, drag him to Red, and zip back to the castle. Or to scream his lungs out.

Then, he feels a tugging on his arm, and looks slightly downward. Pidge is there, eyes wide and worried, and fuck, Keith is down. He has to make the calls. Lance can’t just rush toward him with fury and fear.

“Keep going, Pidge,” Lance orders, patting her shoulder and sending her off. She nods sharply, a calculating but rage-filled expression overtaking her features as she spins back in the fray. To hunk, he continues, “Get Keith back to the castle and hand him off to Coran! We clean up here, we get out, and he’ll be fine. Damage assessment?”

Hunk, loyal and kind, ignores the way his voice breaks on the last phrase. “Long slashing wound to lateral thorax!”

Lance quells the flash of emotion that threatens to consume him. “Go, Hunk!”

“Roger.”

And Lance hates himself as the comms isolate to Pidge and Allura’s cross battle talk. He should be there, by Keith. He wishes he was there. Realistically, though, he knows he made the logical, correct call— Hunk is much stronger than him anyways, and Keith won’t be alone. Lance trusts Hunk with every fiber of his being.

That still doesn’t stop him from cutting through Galra soldiers like his life depends on it, anger and frustration channeled into expert shooting.

They clean up. Everyone gathers by Keith’s pod to wish him good luck on healing, but they trickle out after a few minutes. Healing pods have become routine after their months of fighting. Keith especially is no stranger to them.

Lance only steps away for ten minutes, to take a fast shower. He returns to wait by Keith’s pod for the remaining four hours, an Altean library tablet propped on his knee. It’s better than watching Keith, too still and too pale. When the pod finally opens, he jumps to his feet to support Keith. He’s grateful they’re alone, at first.

“Let me,” he demands, supporting Keith’s back and shoulders with an arm looping around him. Keith, for once, accepts the help and lets Lance lead him out of the pod with trembling legs. He feels cold to the touch, but he can stand. Thank God.

“Lance?” Keith blinks, clearly still out of it. Lance clasps his free hand in Keith’s.

“I’m here, samurai.”

“Aren’t you always?” Keith snorts. It stirs up warm feelings in Lance, so at odds with Keith’s state.

“Shut up,” Lance mutters, because he’s although he matured, he hasn’t really changed.

“I was so useless,” Keith groans out of nowhere. The statement makes Lance freeze, a deep frown taking over his features.

“You weren’t. We all get hurt.” Keith just huffs in his hold, shakes his head.

“I wouldn’t have made that call. You did good. Better, than I would.”

A pang threatens to bowl Lance over. He stays standing, steady, if only for Keith.

“We don’t know that.”

“We do, though.”

Maybe Lance should have seen the sparks even back then. Perhaps he was willingly blind. Instead of continuing the conversation, though, he instructed Keith to get rest.

“You’ll make more sense in the morning, Kogane.”

Second: the unthinkable.

Shiro is back. He’s alive. The whole team rejoices, eyes bright, relief and love palpable. Pidge practically climbs all over Shiro, desperate to learn what happened to him. Hunk is beaming. Coran claps a hand over his heart. Allura is practically giddy.

Keith? He’s quiet. Keith engages briefly with Shiro, overwhelmed and happy and desperate to see him again. Then, after their reunion, he retreats slightly. Lance isn’t sure what occurred between the brothers, and isn’t able to hide his shock at the brevity of their conversation.

“Don’t you want to chat with Shiro more? He’s back, man!” Lance prods Keith with his finger while they sit at the edge of the room.

“I don’t want him to ask about my leading,” Keith responds shortly. He’s staring at Shiro from the walls, expression unreadable.

“What are you talking about? We did great.” Lance pushes his shoulder gently with his fist.

“I’m not looking for your input, Lance,” Keith snaps.

Which, ouch.

“That’s not what these past few weeks have shown,” Lance shoots back, pissed off at the quick dismissal.

“Stop getting in my business.” Keith stands abruptly and makes his way toward the doors, every line of his body sharp and tense. The shadow he leaves behind threatens to envelope Lance, a cloud of invisible smoke.

He supposes these kinds of conversations are strictly reserved for twilight.

Lastly: Lance.

It’s his fault. Of course it is! Every problem Lance has woven himself into has been with his speedy tongue, too energetic and fast-paced, speaking before he can fathom the consequences.

But he’d just been so used to talking to Keith. Sure, there’d been that one dismissal earlier. Still, though, he feels he can tell Keith anything. This is the man who learned every member of Lance’s family over reports, for goodness’s sake. So he approaches the black paladin with his insecurities.

Six paladins, five lions. Lance is hardly the best at combat or mechanics. If he has to step down, he’ll be fine.

Keith reassures him with some strange platitudes (who says “leave the math to Pidge” as a means of reassurance?) and Lance is grateful for the effort. Keith’s hand on his shoulder is unusual, while not unwelcome.

The strangeness of it all doesn’t leave him. Later that night, he tries to sleep, and can’t seem to fall fully into it. He’s restless with the day’s hubbub.

Suddenly, he hears something in the hall: soft tapping, a light grunt. Awareness crawls through his body in a sudden wave of cold air. He draws himself up to a seated position in the dark, bare feet touching the ground as he hears the tapping grow louder, then quieter.

Then it vanishes entirely.

Lance knows what direction those footsteps came from. Only two rooms lie at the end of the hall: Pidge’s and Keith’s. Pidge rarely moved once she found a perch for the night. That leaves one troubled leader, who Lance knows like the back of his hand. His decision isn’t fully thought out before he throws his robe on and runs down the hallway, chasing after those footsteps.

“Oh no you don’t,” Lance grumbles under his breath, turning brightly lit corridors and ignoring how the light burns his dark-adjusted eyes. It doesn’t take long to arrive at his destination: the emergency pods. Ten line the wall, but only one has a duffel bag and a dumbass beside it.

“Oh no you don’t!” Lance repeats, loudly. He jabs an accusatory finger and Keith’s owlishly blinking face. “You can’t leave us in the middle of the night!”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Keith hisses back. He’s dressed in his plainclothes and has one leg half in the pod already, a hand pushing up the door.

“Stay!” Lance practically explodes.

“I can’t. You said it yourself. We have an extra paladin, and I’m pretty much useless, now,” Keith explains. His words sound clinical leaving his mouth, stirring Lance’s blood further.

“I didn’t mean that you had to leave! I mean I’d step back!” Lance yells, volume increasing. “Don’t just run away! Shiro just returned, man.”

“And he’ll be safer with you than with me,” Keith argues. “I’m bad luck. You know that.”

“Not to me,” Lance says, raw and exposed and hurting once more. “Please don’t. I can’t. You’re our leader.”

Perhaps that was the wrong thing to say. Lance knew Keith had always struggled to accept his leadership, even as he shone in the role.

“Goodbye, Lance. Take care of the team.”

He slides into the pod and shuts the door, taking Lance’s breathing with him. Keith has always hidden from the watchful eye of a surge, when he senses one coming. Lance wishes he could scream, as the clouds open up above him and unleash torrents upon his body. He wishes he could beat his fists against the pod door and curse it and make it stop its flight path. He wishes he could pull Keith out of the pod and wrap him in his arms. He wishes he could run to his side, throw caution to the wind.

Instead, he lets the rumble of thunder still his motion. Keith runs, and Lance stays, awaiting the hurricane he has brought upon them.

Because Lance McClain has always thrived in the moments before.

[bluemantics]

JULANCE DAY 10: BROADSWORD

SCHWING.

Lance pants heavily as he dodges, narrowly avoiding Keith’s knife as it sails over his hand. Now crouched low to the ground, he balances with his hands behind his back and kicks out at Keith’s knees.

Sparring with Keith has become something of a regular occurrence since his ascent to black paladin. While Shiro used to be the go-to hand-to-hand guy, Keith now lacks a decent sparring partner. Pidge, of course, chooses not to learn his techniques. Hunk, meanwhile, likes the comfort that distance affords him. Besides, if anyone did get close to him, Lance knows his strong-as-hell best friend could just pick them up and throw them like a frisbee.

He’s learned that fact from experience. Lance will never sneak up on Hunk while he’s cooking ever again.

Allura also prefers sparring with the gladiator and Coran over the other paladins. She claims that Alteans have a particular strength that might be unfair for the paladins to get subjected to. Which, probably fair.

So Lance had to step in and volunteer his poor, beautiful body to be beaten to a pulp by their glorious leader. Not that he entirely minds much. Sometimes, it’s really, really fun, learning forms from Keith and watching him in his element. They both sheath their bayards in their belts, grab training knives, and race to attack one another in a halfhearted attempt to get the advantage. Lance loves improving and impressing Keith, finally receiving awareness from his “rival” after all these years of relative insignificance. As a teacher, Keith’s orange-red fire dulls down into an encouraging hearth, illuminating the best parts of Lance as well as himself.

Also, his hands feel annoyingly good when they adjust his stance. And sometimes Lance gets to see his shirt ride up, while sweat traces the lines of Keith’s jaw and stomach, sticking his hair to his forehead in a way that makes Lance want to grab him and— objectively, it’s a nice view.

Objectively.

“Urgh,” Keith huffs, jumping up and once again bringing his knife down toward Lance. Luckily, Lance is starting to recognize his patterns— when Keith is going to slice his innards, he tenses his shoulders slightly. He’s already reacting, forearm deftly connecting with Keith’s elbow to push it away from his delicate brains. Then, he swipes up with his other hand, also holding a knife of its own.

“That was a good one,” Keith manages between his exerted breathing.

For a moment, Lance freezes, a smile blooming on his face. “Really?”

Keith levels him a flat look and knocks him on his ass, training knife pushed to the side of his neck. “And you just died.”

“Come on!” Lance groans, throwing his knife to the side. “That’s unfair!”

Keith rolls his eyes, and oh, his entire weight is over Lance, his head is hovering far too close to Lance’s face, and maybe Lance has a thing for knives, or maybe just Keith holding knives— wow his breath is warm and so are his legs— snap out of it—

“So, what, the enemy compliments you and you just stop fighting?” Keith raises an unimpressed eyebrow, withdrawing the knife to Lance’s acute relief. “That feels wrong.”

“Well, maybe the Galra soldier is being nice, Keith! Ever thought of that?” Lance shifts under Keith’s hold, and for a beat, Keith freezes, awkwardly looking at their position on the floor. Lance holds his breath, waiting for him to say something. Or do something. Instead, disappointingly, he rolls off of Lance entirely.

Well, it was nice while it lasted. Lance pushes himself up to sit upright by Keith, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. Sheathing his knife, Keith continues.

“You’ll never get better at hand-to-hand and close combat if you keep acting like you’re fighting me instead of a Galra soldier,” he points out. Hair drips sweat into his eyes as he sits casually across from Lance, one leg bent upward and the other outstretched. He looks like a model, all stretched out under the harsh training lights.

An annoying voice that sounds like Hunk speaks in his head. Nah, dude. He’s nasty and sweaty. You’re just a loser.

Shut up, Brain Hunk. Keith is hot, and Lance is a loser. Two things can be true.

“Y’know, I don’t even understand why I’m doing this,” Lance protests. He glares at the training knife lying a few feet away from them. “I’m shit at this stuff.”

“So get better,” Keith shoots back instantly.

“But why?”

“Because we’re down on close-range fighting experience,” Keith explains, voice gaining an edge. “More Galra can get through our first line, now. And they can get to you.”

Lance frowns, still unsure. “On the off chance a Galra fighter does get to me, you’ll still be there! You save my ass all the time. It’s fine.”

Keith, suddenly, looks inexplicably mad, eyes narrowed to slits and arms rigid. “That’s not fair, Lance.”

“Besides,” Lance continues, not entirely aware of where he’s going. “I’m always fine in the end! I figure it out.”

“No,” Keith cuts him off sharply. “You can’t rely on me to protect you, or your luck, or whatever you want to call it. That’s not okay.”

Lance opens his mouth to speak again, but is cowed to silence as Keith raises a hand in a silencing motion.

“Lance, I can’t be worrying about you constantly while we fight anymore. There’s so much I already need to focus on while we’re on the ground. Civilians. Enemies. Our whole team. I need the assurance that you can hold your own.”

“So don’t worry about me,” Lance points out, thinking that he sounds reasonable, honestly. “Like I said, I’ll be fine! And if I’m not, just stick me in a pod!”

“I don’t want to have to do that!” Keith snaps, balling his fists. He leans into Lance’s space, leaving himself jagged and exposed. “You are th— my right hand, and without you in commission… I don’t know what I’d do. I can’t be in that position. So stop fucking around and train with me, okay?”

There’s a heavy, uncomfortable pause as Lance watches Keith regain his bearings. Already, he can tell sharing that much of his feelings had been difficult for the black paladin. Silently outstretching an arm, Lance places his hand on Keith’s knee.

“Fine,” he acquiesces. “I’ll do your stupid sparring.“

Keith meets his eyes, and Lance’s breath stutters at the haunted, tired look in Keith’s expression. It’s easy to forget, occasionally, the weight that Keith carries. It looks like five people, but also, an entire universe, an indescribable number of souls and families. Still, Lance knows that their five make up the toughest burden upon Keith, who is utterly alone without them. Who has already been left behind by Shiro, and likely, his parents. Though Lance doesn’t know the details.

Lance squeezes his knee one more time before removing his hand. “I promise. I’ll be better.”

“Thanks,” Keith mutters, hiding his face again by looking off to the side. He pulls himself to his feet, grabs the towel he’d brought, and walks out the door without further addressing Lance. That suits Lance fine; he needs time to think.

Subconsciously, he pulls out his bayard and stares absently at its red markings. He wonders what it must actually feel like to carry the responsibility of Voltron. As right hand, he’s gotten glimpses of it, peeks into the tribulations and trials that lie at the helm. However, he can’t imagine what it must be like for Keith. Lance knows what caring for a family entails. Keith is still figuring that out, trying to determine what boundaries to set, what rules to enforce, what tasks to delegate. Guilt strikes Lance as he realizes that he hasn’t been making it easier for him on the battlefield.

He wishes, briefly, that he could take some of Keith’s load. Hold it, if just for a second, while the other paladin gets his bearings.

Suddenly, his bayard flickers in his hands, almost quick enough to be unnoticeable. Lance blinks, but sure enough, it stays in its deactivated form under his fingertips. He shakes it, to no response.

Strange. Lance must be more exhausted than he thought from helping Coran sort library tablets last night. He almost could have sworn he saw an extended version of Keith’s red bayard sword. Shaking his head, Lance attaches the bayard back to his belt.

Man, he has to get Keith off his mind, or he’ll go crazy. Heaving himself to his feet, he grabs his water pouch and takes a swig from it, resolving to take a shower.

A sword?

Ridiculous. He’s nowhere near ready to fight on Keith’s level.

It would be fun, though.

[bluemantics]

JULANCE DAY 10: BROADSWORD

SCHWING.

Lance pants heavily as he dodges, narrowly avoiding Keith’s knife as it sails over his hand. Now crouched low to the ground, he balances with his hands behind his back and kicks out at Keith’s knees.

Sparring with Keith has become something of a regular occurrence since his ascent to black paladin. While Shiro used to be the go-to hand-to-hand guy, Keith now lacks a decent sparring partner. Pidge, of course, chooses not to learn his techniques. Hunk, meanwhile, likes the comfort that distance affords him. Besides, if anyone did get close to him, Lance knows his strong-as-hell best friend could just pick them up and throw them like a frisbee.

He’s learned that fact from experience. Lance will never sneak up on Hunk while he’s cooking ever again.

Allura also prefers sparring with the gladiator and Coran over the other paladins. She claims that Alteans have a particular strength that might be unfair for the paladins to get subjected to. Which, probably fair.

So Lance had to step in and volunteer his poor, beautiful body to be beaten to a pulp by their glorious leader. Not that he entirely minds much. Sometimes, it’s really, really fun, learning forms from Keith and watching him in his element. They both sheath their bayards in their belts, grab training knives, and race to attack one another in a halfhearted attempt to get the advantage. Lance loves improving and impressing Keith, finally receiving awareness from his “rival” after all these years of relative insignificance. As a teacher, Keith’s orange-red fire dulls down into an encouraging hearth, illuminating the best parts of Lance as well as himself.

Also, his hands feel annoyingly good when they adjust his stance. And sometimes Lance gets to see his shirt ride up, while sweat traces the lines of Keith’s jaw and stomach, sticking his hair to his forehead in a way that makes Lance want to grab him and— objectively, it’s a nice view.

Objectively.

“Urgh,” Keith huffs, jumping up and once again bringing his knife down toward Lance. Luckily, Lance is starting to recognize his patterns— when Keith is going to slice his innards, he tenses his shoulders slightly. He’s already reacting, forearm deftly connecting with Keith’s elbow to push it away from his delicate brains. Then, he swipes up with his other hand, also holding a knife of its own.

“That was a good one,” Keith manages between his exerted breathing.

For a moment, Lance freezes, a smile blooming on his face. “Really?”

Keith levels him a flat look and knocks him on his ass, training knife pushed to the side of his neck. “And you just died.”

“Come on!” Lance groans, throwing his knife to the side. “That’s unfair!”

Keith rolls his eyes, and oh, his entire weight is over Lance, his head is hovering far too close to Lance’s face, and maybe Lance has a thing for knives, or maybe just Keith holding knives— wow his breath is warm and so are his legs— snap out of it—

“So, what, the enemy compliments you and you just stop fighting?” Keith raises an unimpressed eyebrow, withdrawing the knife to Lance’s acute relief. “That feels wrong.”

“Well, maybe the Galra soldier is being nice, Keith! Ever thought of that?” Lance shifts under Keith’s hold, and for a beat, Keith freezes, awkwardly looking at their position on the floor. Lance holds his breath, waiting for him to say something. Or do something. Instead, disappointingly, he rolls off of Lance entirely.

Well, it was nice while it lasted. Lance pushes himself up to sit upright by Keith, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. Sheathing his knife, Keith continues.

“You’ll never get better at hand-to-hand and close combat if you keep acting like you’re fighting me instead of a Galra soldier,” he points out. Hair drips sweat into his eyes as he sits casually across from Lance, one leg bent upward and the other outstretched. He looks like a model, all stretched out under the harsh training lights.

An annoying voice that sounds like Hunk speaks in his head. Nah, dude. He’s nasty and sweaty. You’re just a loser.

Shut up, Brain Hunk. Keith is hot, and Lance is a loser. Two things can be true.

“Y’know, I don’t even understand why I’m doing this,” Lance protests. He glares at the training knife lying a few feet away from them. “I’m shit at this stuff.”

“So get better,” Keith shoots back instantly.

“But why?”

“Because we’re down on close-range fighting experience,” Keith explains, voice gaining an edge. “More Galra can get through our first line, now. And they can get to you.”

Lance frowns, still unsure. “On the off chance a Galra fighter does get to me, you’ll still be there! You save my ass all the time. It’s fine.”

Keith, suddenly, looks inexplicably mad, eyes narrowed to slits and arms rigid. “That’s not fair, Lance.”

“Besides,” Lance continues, not entirely aware of where he’s going. “I’m always fine in the end! I figure it out.”

“No,” Keith cuts him off sharply. “You can’t rely on me to protect you, or your luck, or whatever you want to call it. That’s not okay.”

Lance opens his mouth to speak again, but is cowed to silence as Keith raises a hand in a silencing motion.

“Lance, I can’t be worrying about you constantly while we fight anymore. There’s so much I already need to focus on while we’re on the ground. Civilians. Enemies. Our whole team. I need the assurance that you can hold your own.”

“So don’t worry about me,” Lance points out, thinking that he sounds reasonable, honestly. “Like I said, I’ll be fine! And if I’m not, just stick me in a pod!”

“I don’t want to have to do that!” Keith snaps, balling his fists. He leans into Lance’s space, leaving himself jagged and exposed. “You are th— my right hand, and without you in commission… I don’t know what I’d do. I can’t be in that position. So stop fucking around and train with me, okay?”

There’s a heavy, uncomfortable pause as Lance watches Keith regain his bearings. Already, he can tell sharing that much of his feelings had been difficult for the black paladin. Silently outstretching an arm, Lance places his hand on Keith’s knee.

“Fine,” he acquiesces. “I’ll do your stupid sparring.“

Keith meets his eyes, and Lance’s breath stutters at the haunted, tired look in Keith’s expression. It’s easy to forget, occasionally, the weight that Keith carries. It looks like five people, but also, an entire universe, an indescribable number of souls and families. Still, Lance knows that their five make up the toughest burden upon Keith, who is utterly alone without them. Who has already been left behind by Shiro, and likely, his parents. Though Lance doesn’t know the details.

Lance squeezes his knee one more time before removing his hand. “I promise. I’ll be better.”

“Thanks,” Keith mutters, hiding his face again by looking off to the side. He pulls himself to his feet, grabs the towel he’d brought, and walks out the door without further addressing Lance. That suits Lance fine; he needs time to think.

Subconsciously, he pulls out his bayard and stares absently at its red markings. He wonders what it must actually feel like to carry the responsibility of Voltron. As right hand, he’s gotten glimpses of it, peeks into the tribulations and trials that lie at the helm. However, he can’t imagine what it must be like for Keith. Lance knows what caring for a family entails. Keith is still figuring that out, trying to determine what boundaries to set, what rules to enforce, what tasks to delegate. Guilt strikes Lance as he realizes that he hasn’t been making it easier for him on the battlefield.

He wishes, briefly, that he could take some of Keith’s load. Hold it, if just for a second, while the other paladin gets his bearings.

Suddenly, his bayard flickers in his hands, almost quick enough to be unnoticeable. Lance blinks, but sure enough, it stays in its deactivated form under his fingertips. He shakes it, to no response.

Strange. Lance must be more exhausted than he thought from helping Coran sort library tablets last night. He almost could have sworn he saw an extended version of Keith’s red bayard sword. Shaking his head, Lance attaches the bayard back to his belt.

Man, he has to get Keith off his mind, or he’ll go crazy. Heaving himself to his feet, he grabs his water pouch and takes a swig from it, resolving to take a shower.

A sword?

Ridiculous. He’s nowhere near ready to fight on Keith’s level.

It would be fun, though.

[bluemantics]

JULANCE DAY 9: STAR OF THE SHOW

Out of nowhere, Keith Kogane is the star of the show.

Who’s Lance kidding, really? He’s always been the star, in his eyes. Blindingly hurtling light-years out of reach, oblivious to the childlike hands outstretched toward his back. In fact, maybe he was always destined to be the largest, brightest star in their small Voltron galaxy.

As much as he tries to resist the pull, Lance can’t help but fall in his orbit. The fall, though, is dramatic, noisy, and sharp. Keith, Lance realizes, did not mean to burn so loudly that he’d be at the center of things. His distress causes him to lash out in coils of fire, unused to his new position and scared by his own responsibility. It sets the others off balance as they frantically try to respond and repeatedly fail. Instead of their steady, surefire paths, the paladins are now all set on wobbly spirals.

Lance watches this pain, watches Keith try to bark orders with dark rings under his eyes, watches Hunk panic when things slip even slightly, watches Allura narrow her eyes thoughtfully at Blue, watches Pidge agonize over unsolvable problems, watches, watches, watches. He was a fool, he decides, looking at the red bayard in his hands. Lance believed that Keith desired success and, in that process, somehow stole it from Lance. Now, watching all the pieces of the team spinning out of whack, he knows better.

Over the years, Lance considered himself adaptable. Like water, he could fit in any situation, weave himself naturally around the rocks and crags that threatened to stop him. Obstacles merely slowed him where they would halt others. As circumstances arose, Lance would let them go and redirect his response.

Keith is different. He responds to roadblocks with full force ahead. And, unlike Lance, he dreads those futures where he will have to respond. He reacts before they can happen, if possible.

Change might happen to Lance, but Keith makes his own change.

When Shiro vanished, Keith lost all control and was forced to take control at the same time. To wrangle the aftermath of chaos, Keith has to find a new approach. He can’t keep rushing in, blade drawn, fire at his feet.

So Lance stops resisting his magnetism and dives straight in. He takes Shiro’s advice, supporting Keith instead of mocking him. The first few times he sees Keith’s perplexed, dumbfounded expression, it takes a great effort not to make fun of it. Strangely, though, Lance finds he likes that look. It’s almost cute, in a Keith sort of way.

And, when he disagrees with Keith, he brings it up. He never used to weigh in on strategy. Shiro was so experienced that he’d never thought to question his choices— which, in hindsight, may not have been the best policy. In any case, he’s hyper-aware of Keith’s inexperience. Keith was never one to formulate plans; when he wasn’t following orders, he bulldozed his way through. Now, though, he has no choice but to stand by the team and explain tactical decisions. Lance, desperate to bolster Keith’s leadership, looks for holes and fills them. If there’s one good thing this whole ordeal has brought them, it’s that Lance finds out he really enjoys strategy. A lot more than he enjoys blindly following commands. He even finds himself to be good at it.

Maybe great.

It’s still a shock to his system when Keith compliments his planning for the first time, eyes sparkling with relief and pride after a battle as he tells Lance, “we did it.”

And they did. Lance plotted, Keith executed and lined everyone up, and they won. It’s the first time after Shiro’s disappearance that Lance sees actual ease in Keith’s frame. His wild, flashing warning signals dim to a soft white light.

A hopeful smile graces Lance’s face, too.

Hunk notices the change in Lance. He raises an eyebrow after Lance agrees with Keith not once, not twice, but three times during a team meeting. Their seating arrangement is new, too: Lance sits just right of Keith at the head of the table.

Lance shrugs helplessly back. Hunk rolls his eyes, grins, and pretends like nothing had ever happened.

Occasionally, Lance will slip. He’ll get so frustrated when Keith doesn’t see his vision, and starts challenging him beyond what is necessarily desired or needed. They don’t just stop fighting when they switch lions. Fighting with Keith, whether with words or sparring, never fails to kick his adrenaline up a notch and boost his drive. He knows it does the same for Keith, who always smiles lopsidedly when he wins a match. Another expression Lance used to hate and now can’t bring himself to mind. Lance loves that he can bring out Keith’s confidence and reflect the shine from his already present brilliance.

More often than not, though, they make a good team.

Maybe, eventually, a great one.

[bluemantics]

HELLO FRIENDS! Bluemantics world domination has expanded to Instagram. @/bluemanticss (note the extra ‘s’). Also including a link below to my account

World domination will, however, stop at Twitter. Do not make me return there.

I’ll probably be posting writing there and silly stories! Also an excuse to interact more with people who only have Instagram.

PROFILE

[bluemantics]

JULANCE DAY 9: STAR OF THE SHOW

Out of nowhere, Keith Kogane is the star of the show.

Who’s Lance kidding, really? He’s always been the star, in his eyes. Blindingly hurtling light-years out of reach, oblivious to the childlike hands outstretched toward his back. In fact, maybe he was always destined to be the largest, brightest star in their small Voltron galaxy.

As much as he tries to resist the pull, Lance can’t help but fall in his orbit. The fall, though, is dramatic, noisy, and sharp. Keith, Lance realizes, did not mean to burn so loudly that he’d be at the center of things. His distress causes him to lash out in coils of fire, unused to his new position and scared by his own responsibility. It sets the others off balance as they frantically try to respond and repeatedly fail. Instead of their steady, surefire paths, the paladins are now all set on wobbly spirals.

Lance watches this pain, watches Keith try to bark orders with dark rings under his eyes, watches Hunk panic when things slip even slightly, watches Allura narrow her eyes thoughtfully at Blue, watches Pidge agonize over unsolvable problems, watches, watches, watches. He was a fool, he decides, looking at the red bayard in his hands. Lance believed that Keith desired success and, in that process, somehow stole it from Lance. Now, watching all the pieces of the team spinning out of whack, he knows better.

Over the years, Lance considered himself adaptable. Like water, he could fit in any situation, weave himself naturally around the rocks and crags that threatened to stop him. Obstacles merely slowed him where they would halt others. As circumstances arose, Lance would let them go and redirect his response.

Keith is different. He responds to roadblocks with full force ahead. And, unlike Lance, he dreads those futures where he will have to respond. He reacts before they can happen, if possible.

Change might happen to Lance, but Keith makes his own change.

When Shiro vanished, Keith lost all control and was forced to take control at the same time. To wrangle the aftermath of chaos, Keith has to find a new approach. He can’t keep rushing in, blade drawn, fire at his feet.

So Lance stops resisting his magnetism and dives straight in. He takes Shiro’s advice, supporting Keith instead of mocking him. The first few times he sees Keith’s perplexed, dumbfounded expression, it takes a great effort not to make fun of it. Strangely, though, Lance finds he likes that look. It’s almost cute, in a Keith sort of way.

And, when he disagrees with Keith, he brings it up. He never used to weigh in on strategy. Shiro was so experienced that he’d never thought to question his choices— which, in hindsight, may not have been the best policy. In any case, he’s hyper-aware of Keith’s inexperience. Keith was never one to formulate plans; when he wasn’t following orders, he bulldozed his way through. Now, though, he has no choice but to stand by the team and explain tactical decisions. Lance, desperate to bolster Keith’s leadership, looks for holes and fills them. If there’s one good thing this whole ordeal has brought them, it’s that Lance finds out he really enjoys strategy. A lot more than he enjoys blindly following commands. He even finds himself to be good at it.

Maybe great.

It’s still a shock to his system when Keith compliments his planning for the first time, eyes sparkling with relief and pride after a battle as he tells Lance, “we did it.”

And they did. Lance plotted, Keith executed and lined everyone up, and they won. It’s the first time after Shiro’s disappearance that Lance sees actual ease in Keith’s frame. His wild, flashing warning signals dim to a soft white light.

A hopeful smile graces Lance’s face, too.

Hunk notices the change in Lance. He raises an eyebrow after Lance agrees with Keith not once, not twice, but three times during a team meeting. Their seating arrangement is new, too: Lance sits just right of Keith at the head of the table.

Lance shrugs helplessly back. Hunk rolls his eyes, grins, and pretends like nothing had ever happened.

Occasionally, Lance will slip. He’ll get so frustrated when Keith doesn’t see his vision, and starts challenging him beyond what is necessarily desired or needed. They don’t just stop fighting when they switch lions. Fighting with Keith, whether with words or sparring, never fails to kick his adrenaline up a notch and boost his drive. He knows it does the same for Keith, who always smiles lopsidedly when he wins a match. Another expression Lance used to hate and now can’t bring himself to mind. Lance loves that he can bring out Keith’s confidence and reflect the shine from his already present brilliance.

More often than not, though, they make a good team.

Maybe, eventually, a great one.

[bluemantics]

on the subject of allura: i know people were upset that she was called a princess when she was technically queen. but the way i see it was that she kept her title for the following reasons:

1. to honor her parents. taking on the title of queen would officialize her father's death. while she was able to let him go in s1, she clearly did not want to make bold statements about her place in the universe caused by his absence.

2. there can be no ceremony or coronation in the eyes of her people, since her people are gone. it would have felt inauthentic to allura to declare herself queen without the very people who give purpose to her crown.

3. to seem less threatening in the eyes of the public. a queen can be intimidating, but a princess: is charitable, diplomatic, and sociable. even though allura possessed the strength of a queen, she did know how to catch foreign officials off guard.

anyways i love my girl so bad. warrior princess allura!

[bluemantics]

JULANCE DAY 8: ANXIETY

“You keep saying that. What do you mean he’s just gone?”

“We don’t exactly know how to explain it—“

“Try. Again.”

“Keith, please take a moment to slow down.”

“He can’t be gone again.”

“You know I would do anything to find him—“

“Really? Because you seem all-too eager to try your hand at his fucking lion.”

Lance isn’t sure what happened. One moment, they were five, and the next, they were four. Voltron without Shiro was a chicken running around with its head cut off, somewhere stuck between life and death. Shiro was the logical tie between Keith and Allura; their stubbornness was eased by his practical, wise decision-making. Now, though….

“So you would have us aimlessly wander the universe?”

“Yes! Because he’s our leader.”

“You’re just desperate to claim his spot!”

Well, they’d never exactly gotten along. Lance remembers how terrified and bitter Allura had been after they learned of Keith’s heritage. Galran DNA made no difference to Lance, but that was easy for him to say. He hadn’t been conquered and left an orphan by their genocidal forces. For Allura, acceptance took more time, and even now their wounds hadn’t entirely healed after their clashes.

“I have the qualities of a leader.”

“Why are you so desperate to replace him?”

“It’s been several quintants!”

“That’s less than a week!”

Every day had been like this. It shot Lance’s nerves, putting him on edge constantly. Hunk and Pidge just ignored it now, both fleeing from the scene as soon as their fiery teammates raised their voices. Coran tried to intervene twice, only to later give up both times as Allura and Keith inevitably drowned him out.

In the privacy of his head, Lance can admit he really misses Shiro. His disappearance left a hole in the team, one that burrowed its way into his chest, expanding into a void-like, nauseating fear instinct. These fights aren’t helping, either. Each word spoken in anger only heightens his over-awareness, making his hair stand on end more and his eye twitch.

“Well, the universe may not have that long!”

“Oh, so if the princess demands it, the lion is hers—“

“Don’t be crass—“

Lance’s stomach is rolling. His hands open and close, clench and unclench. He’s not even sure if he’s breathing.

“You don’t even care if he’s dead, Allura. You don’t care at all.”

“Well, at least I care about the universe! You’d murder us all just to save your friend.”

“My brother!”

“Stop!”

Two sets of eyes stare at Lance. Likely because that outburst came from him. Sorting himself out, he realizes his shoulders have tightened and his hands are hovering over his ears. Keith and Allura both are frozen, watching as he slowly pulls himself together and clasps his hands in front of him. Now, under the full weight of Keith and Allura’s gazes, he swallows.

Man, even though they’re his teammates, being under the full scrutiny of their rage is very intimidating. Under his gloves, he’s sure his knuckles are white.

“Just… take a moment, okay?” Lance continues, a drop of sweat tracing down his shoulder blade beneath his undersuit. Keith and Allura are both still poised for a fight, but they don’t interrupt him, which might be a good sign, even if they’re merely shocked. He can work with this. “You’re both right.”

“She’s—“

“He won’t—“

“Guys!” Lance barks. Their jaws click closed. “Just listen! We have to save the universe and we have to find Shiro. Both of those things are top priority.” He tightens his muscles so he doesn’t shake, unused to speaking up on serious Voltron plans. Normally, these conversations would be between Allura, Shiro, and Keith. This is rocky, uneven terrain he doesn’t know how to walk.

“But we can’t find Shiro without Voltron,” Lance continued, ignoring the way Keith’s frown deepens. “And we can’t save the universe without Voltron. So, we have to start there, Keith.”

He shoots Keith a sympathetic look. They might not be the best of friends, but he recognizes how devastating this is. Keith looks blown back, ignoring Allura’s relieved smile in favor of scowling at Lance. His glower, in turn, sets Lance further on edge.

“We start with Black,” Allura affirms. There’s a sparkle in her eye, a hope that Lance already can sense will maybe run awry. Still, he chooses not to comment. The lions will do that for him.

His eyes turn to Keith, who has crossed arms and fury painted across his entire body.

“Let’s go to her,” Lance agrees, resolute.

They gather in Black’s hangar a few hours later, after pulling Hunk, Coran, and Pidge away from a project. Not a single person (besides Coran) seems to be relaxed. Keith is off to the side, brooding against a wall. Pidge and Hunk stick close to Lance, both awkwardly looking between Allura and Keith. Allura, meanwhile, stands before Black, smiling nervously. Her hands are outstretched and she is dressed in pink-accented armor that Lance has rarely seen before.

She calls out to Black, speaks of leadership and hope and passion. Her words touch on their battle and her determination. Then, they take on a solemn tone as she reminisces (she wants to make her father proud. To be the first Altean leader of Voltron. To renew her people’s strength). Though he is clearly still uncomfortable, even Keith seems to soften at that. Barely.

After she finishes her beseeching, the whole room holds its breath. No one can look away from Black. Lance finds himself praying that she does accept Allura, makes this easy on all of them.

Black stays silent and dark. Allura huffs, stomping her foot lightly on the floor. “We need you! The universe needs you!” Frustration becomes total surprise as the lion actually responds to her.

Only, she doesn’t. Black’s massive, broad head slowly sweeps the room, impassively gliding over Allura. It blinks in the direction Lance, Hunk, and Pidge are standing. Then, it stops, her target finally in sight.

Glowing, massive lights stare Keith Kogane down. He gapes up at her with his mouth hanging open, arms uncrossing.

“No,” he whispers, just loud enough for Lance to hear. “He didn’t mean that.”

A proud, mournful roar echoes in the team’s heads, and they all flinch— even Allura, Lance notices.

“Please,” Keith says, and Lance isn’t even sure what he’s begging for, but suddenly, Lance is begging too. Because this isn’t the easy slot-in of Allura he’d pictured. Keith shuffled, which means that another place is empty, and more change is bound to happen, and his heart quickens and his fingertips press into his palms and his brows knit and he knows he should be paying attention when suddenly—

Suddenly, Blue is there. She purrs in his mind, pressing loving warmth into his temples and wrapping a soft wave around his heart. He gasps for breath.

Thank you, he thinks, relief welcome.

Then, he frowns.

Her responding image… sea breeze catching in sails, waters receding to the larger oceans… it sounds like goodbye.

There is no scenario where Lance is alright with this. No situation where he leaves Blue happily, doesn’t feel agony at her absence. However, she refuses to listen to his inner panic, ebbing away with only a trace of a hum left behind.

Before he can react outwardly, his head pulses with raw, unfiltered heat and energy. He grabs at his head, unable to react as Hunk and Pidge face him with alarmed looks. A roar greets him, proud and strong, winding flame through his body and sending spikes of emotion and excitement.

Lance’s head whips up to see Keith, pained and hunched, staring back at him. Allura, frowning, looks absently at a wall where Lance knows—

“What just happened?” Pidge demands, shaking Lance’s arm with a sharp voice.

Shiro’s voice rings in his memory, a haunting chime. I think you’ll both be leaders.

He watches numbly as Keith storms out of the hangar, turning his back to Lance.

“Well,” Lance manages. “Nothing is ever going to be the same.”

[bluemantics]

JULANCE DAY 7: PILOT

Boy, things aren’t going well.

“Lance, on your left!”

Forearms aching, Lance swings Blue sideways and grunts as her shoulder takes the impact. Well, better than her head. He shoots off an ice blast and continues to push through the unending fleet of Galra fighters. The exertion of his movements has him panting, but he can’t falter. Inside a floating Galra base, Pidge is retrieving a key piece of information about the location of a crucial Galran engineering facility. Keith is defending her as they weave through what Lance knows to be repetitive, sterile hallways. But he can’t afford to think about them now. What they need is total focus on his part, eyes trained on the enemy, hands flying over controls. In any case, their communication is cut off until mission completion, so his worrying won’t subside by pinging Keith and demanding an update.

On the outside, it’s Shiro, Lance, and Hunk’s jobs to distract part of the fighting force to space. Sentries and soldiers alike charge him in different shaped crafts. Mindless, he takes them down one by one, trying not to linger too long on the knots in his chest at the way they swarm.

“I can’t get them off me!” Hunk’s wail draws Lance’s attention briefly to his dash, where video comms show his best friend shaking with a terrified expression. While Hunk was occasionally known to exaggerate, Lance recognized a real distress call when he saw it.

“I’m coming, buddy!” He shouted, viciously pushing off the next sentry drone and spurring off toward where his sensors detected Hunk.

He’d been right to move quickly. Yellow was swiping and shooting wildly as a butt-ton of small, suction-like Galran ships tried to stick to her. If past inventions could be trusted as reference, Lance was sure that any of them sticking would likely cause a minor explosion.

“Shit,” he huffed, sweat beading into his eyes. Ignoring the discomfort, he launched toward his friend and began tearing through the little explosive drones.

One attached to Yellow’s foreleg joint at the same time as another attached to Blue’s body. Both paladins winced as the lions rocked with the slight force, then continued to fire off counterattacks with more precision. Luckily, their patterns weren’t impossible to learn, and eventually they were replaced by run-of-the-mill laser fire.

“Thanks, Lance!” Hunk breathed heavily as he spoke, weakly shooting Lance a semi-relieved smile as they continued their earlier formation.

“Don’t mention it,” Lance grinned.

Right as Lance was about to merge with the fray, Shiro’s video stream replaced Hunk’s. He looked little better than the younger paladins; his body was tense as he continued to shoot off sharp, minute attacks.

“Lance!” he shouted, purple light flashing across his cabin. “Keith just commed in. He and Pidge are ready for pickup and you’re on it!”

Instantly, ice flooded Lance’s veins, and he twitched subconsciously in his seat.

“But I thought that was your job?” he protested, eyes darting over to Shiro’s and returning to his battle.

“You’re closer, and I can’t shake these bandits! I think they have orders to surround Black specifically, maybe because of Zarkon.”

Normally, Lance thought it was super cool when Shiro used military slang. Right now, though, he really wished those “bandits” would fuck off. During Allura’s briefing, they’d agreed Shiro would do this job for a very specific reason.

“This is going to be extremely challenging and time-sensitive, so listen to what I’m about to tell you.”

Bingo. Extremely challenging. Time sensitive. Not exactly words you’d associate with a cargo pilot masquerading as a soldier. Lance felt every one of his inhales rattle against his armor as the gravity of his situation sank in. A line of sweat traced between his ear and his eye, snaking down to his jaw.

“You have to go right to the programmed site on the Galra cruiser. Weave in past the cannons, exactly in the discussed ‘sweet spot’ where they can’t hit you.”

Awesome. Difficulty number one: narrow spaces with precision control.

“If you’re too early, then small aircraft will be deployed to your location. Too late, and you’ll miss Keith and Pidge entirely.”

Difficulty two: not getting shot at or leaving behind his friend and his… rival? Teammate? Somewhat awkward almost-friend? Whatever.

“Are you sure you can’t do this?” Lance managed, weaving and darting away from the battle zone so he could get in position.

“It has to be you,” Shiro informed him, dark gaze steady as it alighted on Lance. “I believe in you, pilot.”

His heart practically beat its way out of his chest at the acknowledgement. Okay, fuck. Guess he was doing this.

“Roger,” he signed off, shutting down their private comm line. If he thought he had to focus before, now he was focused tenfold. A counter popped up on his dash, ticking down from one minute— the pickup time.

He sucked in a slow, mindful breath. Suspended for just a moment in dark space, he let the sparks below fade away, let the sounds dull. Gently, he let his eyelids fall, and he tried to picture Veradero Beach. Crashing, reliable waves, keeping a steady beat even in the worst of the heat and the storms. Grounding sand covering his feet.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Lance rolled out his shoulders, flexed out his arms from elbow to fingertip, and snapped open his eyes.

Let’s go, fighter pilot.

Briefly ignoring the counter, he leaned forward into his controls, pushing Blue faster and faster to the belly of the beast. He refused to let his nerves surface for even a moment; a second of slipping would cost everything. As he approached cannon one, Shiro’s words echoed in his mind

I believe in you.

Weave, slide, and boom— he made it past one.

Only one more.

He held himself up, hands clenched as the ocean crashed like a drumbeat in the depths of his memories.

Weave, slide, swish— second cannon done.

Now, facing the trapdoor exit with only five seconds left on his clicker (which flashed an unhelpful bright red warning), he slotted Blue’s jaws in a seal over the opening.

The countdown wound out. Three, two, one.

All at once, the trapdoor slid open. Lance braced himself as he heard clanking from below, followed by a shout, then footsteps. Suddenly, fear choked Lance’s chest and stalled his movements.

Did a Galra soldier follow Keith and Pidge into the lion? Or worse, did one manage to take them down and run in past their unconscious bodies?

“Lance!” Keith. That was Keith, undoubtedly. Acting on instinct, Lance shoved the lion jaws closed and pulled back from the cruiser, rocketing away from the Galra ship as fast as he could.

Blue purred in his mind, conjuring images of Keith and Pidge slumped together in her below deck. Alone, thank God, and seemingly uninjured. Just exhausted. Lance replied with his thanks, and numbly reached for the comm line with Shiro.

“Package secured,” he said, pins and needles pricking across his skin as the adrenaline began to pulse off his body. His hands vibrated against the steering.

“See? I told you,” Shiro replied through a knowing grin. He opened up a comm line between the three lions, ordering them to return to the castle and announcing the mission as complete.

Silently, Lance obeyed, relief coursing through him and finally enabling him to relax. A switch flipped in his body at the familiar “complete” signal, relaxing all his muscles at once.

“I’m a fighter pilot,” he muttered to himself, pulling off his helmet as the castle came into view.

When he lifted his hand to wipe sweat off his lip, he realized he was smiling.

[bluemantics]

JULANCE DAY 7: PILOT

Boy, things aren’t going well.

“Lance, on your left!”

Forearms aching, Lance swings Blue sideways and grunts as her shoulder takes the impact. Well, better than her head. He shoots off an ice blast and continues to push through the unending fleet of Galra fighters. The exertion of his movements has him panting, but he can’t falter. Inside a floating Galra base, Pidge is retrieving a key piece of information about the location of a crucial Galran engineering facility. Keith is defending her as they weave through what Lance knows to be repetitive, sterile hallways. But he can’t afford to think about them now. What they need is total focus on his part, eyes trained on the enemy, hands flying over controls. In any case, their communication is cut off until mission completion, so his worrying won’t subside by pinging Keith and demanding an update.

On the outside, it’s Shiro, Lance, and Hunk’s jobs to distract part of the fighting force to space. Sentries and soldiers alike charge him in different shaped crafts. Mindless, he takes them down one by one, trying not to linger too long on the knots in his chest at the way they swarm.

“I can’t get them off me!” Hunk’s wail draws Lance’s attention briefly to his dash, where video comms show his best friend shaking with a terrified expression. While Hunk was occasionally known to exaggerate, Lance recognized a real distress call when he saw it.

“I’m coming, buddy!” He shouted, viciously pushing off the next sentry drone and spurring off toward where his sensors detected Hunk.

He’d been right to move quickly. Yellow was swiping and shooting wildly as a butt-ton of small, suction-like Galran ships tried to stick to her. If past inventions could be trusted as reference, Lance was sure that any of them sticking would likely cause a minor explosion.

“Shit,” he huffed, sweat beading into his eyes. Ignoring the discomfort, he launched toward his friend and began tearing through the little explosive drones.

One attached to Yellow’s foreleg joint at the same time as another attached to Blue’s body. Both paladins winced as the lions rocked with the slight force, then continued to fire off counterattacks with more precision. Luckily, their patterns weren’t impossible to learn, and eventually they were replaced by run-of-the-mill laser fire.

“Thanks, Lance!” Hunk breathed heavily as he spoke, weakly shooting Lance a semi-relieved smile as they continued their earlier formation.

“Don’t mention it,” Lance grinned.

Right as Lance was about to merge with the fray, Shiro’s video stream replaced Hunk’s. He looked little better than the younger paladins; his body was tense as he continued to shoot off sharp, minute attacks.

“Lance!” he shouted, purple light flashing across his cabin. “Keith just commed in. He and Pidge are ready for pickup and you’re on it!”

Instantly, ice flooded Lance’s veins, and he twitched subconsciously in his seat.

“But I thought that was your job?” he protested, eyes darting over to Shiro’s and returning to his battle.

“You’re closer, and I can’t shake these bandits! I think they have orders to surround Black specifically, maybe because of Zarkon.”

Normally, Lance thought it was super cool when Shiro used military slang. Right now, though, he really wished those “bandits” would fuck off. During Allura’s briefing, they’d agreed Shiro would do this job for a very specific reason.

“This is going to be extremely challenging and time-sensitive, so listen to what I’m about to tell you.”

Bingo. Extremely challenging. Time sensitive. Not exactly words you’d associate with a cargo pilot masquerading as a soldier. Lance felt every one of his inhales rattle against his armor as the gravity of his situation sank in. A line of sweat traced between his ear and his eye, snaking down to his jaw.

“You have to go right to the programmed site on the Galra cruiser. Weave in past the cannons, exactly in the discussed ‘sweet spot’ where they can’t hit you.”

Awesome. Difficulty number one: narrow spaces with precision control.

“If you’re too early, then small aircraft will be deployed to your location. Too late, and you’ll miss Keith and Pidge entirely.”

Difficulty two: not getting shot at or leaving behind his friend and his… rival? Teammate? Somewhat awkward almost-friend? Whatever.

“Are you sure you can’t do this?” Lance managed, weaving and darting away from the battle zone so he could get in position.

“It has to be you,” Shiro informed him, dark gaze steady as it alighted on Lance. “I believe in you, pilot.”

His heart practically beat its way out of his chest at the acknowledgement. Okay, fuck. Guess he was doing this.

“Roger,” he signed off, shutting down their private comm line. If he thought he had to focus before, now he was focused tenfold. A counter popped up on his dash, ticking down from one minute— the pickup time.

He sucked in a slow, mindful breath. Suspended for just a moment in dark space, he let the sparks below fade away, let the sounds dull. Gently, he let his eyelids fall, and he tried to picture Veradero Beach. Crashing, reliable waves, keeping a steady beat even in the worst of the heat and the storms. Grounding sand covering his feet.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Lance rolled out his shoulders, flexed out his arms from elbow to fingertip, and snapped open his eyes.

Let’s go, fighter pilot.

Briefly ignoring the counter, he leaned forward into his controls, pushing Blue faster and faster to the belly of the beast. He refused to let his nerves surface for even a moment; a second of slipping would cost everything. As he approached cannon one, Shiro’s words echoed in his mind

I believe in you.

Weave, slide, and boom— he made it past one.

Only one more.

He held himself up, hands clenched as the ocean crashed like a drumbeat in the depths of his memories.

Weave, slide, swish— second cannon done.

Now, facing the trapdoor exit with only five seconds left on his clicker (which flashed an unhelpful bright red warning), he slotted Blue’s jaws in a seal over the opening.

The countdown wound out. Three, two, one.

All at once, the trapdoor slid open. Lance braced himself as he heard clanking from below, followed by a shout, then footsteps. Suddenly, fear choked Lance’s chest and stalled his movements.

Did a Galra soldier follow Keith and Pidge into the lion? Or worse, did one manage to take them down and run in past their unconscious bodies?

“Lance!” Keith. That was Keith, undoubtedly. Acting on instinct, Lance shoved the lion jaws closed and pulled back from the cruiser, rocketing away from the Galra ship as fast as he could.

Blue purred in his mind, conjuring images of Keith and Pidge slumped together in her below deck. Alone, thank God, and seemingly uninjured. Just exhausted. Lance replied with his thanks, and numbly reached for the comm line with Shiro.

“Package secured,” he said, pins and needles pricking across his skin as the adrenaline began to pulse off his body. His hands vibrated against the steering.

“See? I told you,” Shiro replied through a knowing grin. He opened up a comm line between the three lions, ordering them to return to the castle and announcing the mission as complete.

Silently, Lance obeyed, relief coursing through him and finally enabling him to relax. A switch flipped in his body at the familiar “complete” signal, relaxing all his muscles at once.

“I’m a fighter pilot,” he muttered to himself, pulling off his helmet as the castle came into view.

When he lifted his hand to wipe sweat off his lip, he realized he was smiling.

[bluemantics]

JULANCE DAY 6: ALTEAN

Coran loved to rope Lance into chores. At first, Lance assumed it was due to the fact that he was too slow to notice what he was being dragged into. By the time he realized what Coran was asking, Pidge, Hunk, and Keith had already muttered weak excuses and dashed off, leaving Lance blinking aimlessly in their wake. Before he could even say “quiznak,” Coran would spirit him off to hold tools while he fixed the engine or wipe down the healing pods.

It was annoying, sure, but Lance didn’t really mind it as much as the others seemed to. He wasn’t a training junkie like Keith and Shiro or a nerd like Hunk and Pidge, so a lot of his free time was spent staring at walls while the others did productive work. At least he could help somehow, during his downtime.

However, his annoyance faded as their maintenance got increasingly interesting. One particular day involved Coran leading Lance down a hidden series of hallways he’d never explored. At that moment, Lance realized he’d never gotten an official castle tour from Coran beyond their rooms and vital areas. He felt moronic for not exploring it sooner, until the old Altean had dragged him off to a strange passage.

He was in an alien castle, for goodness’s sake. That fact alone was way too exciting and interesting to keep filing away as mundanity.

When they entered the area they’d be working on, Lance felt his eyes bug out of his head. Behind sliding doors was an incredible array of thin tablets, lined up in loopy shelves that almost were arranged randomly throughout the space. Some were within the walls at the edges, while others curved through the space in weaving, silvery lines. Blue light emanated gently from a circular inlay in the ceiling and washed the space in an ocean-like atmosphere. Curiosity seized him almost immediately as he reached over and plucked a thin tablets from the shelf. It was a clear, rectangular piece of glass at first look, but as he waved a hand over the surface, blue holographic Altean letters danced across the space in front of him.

“What is this place?” he asked Coran, swiping through the words he couldn’t read and watching as they scrolled forward.

Coran responded with an Altean word that seemingly had no English or Spanish translation, pulling out some rags and setting up their work area.

“Uh, could you define that?” Lance clarified. Understanding dawned on Coran.

“Well, number three, we would describe this as a breathing, living history of our people, their experiences, and their most precious stories, both real and unreal.”

“A library,” Lance mumbled, wishing desperately that he could understand the words from the tablet. “So each of these tablets are like… books?”

“Precisely! Assuming these ‘books’ contain information, records, and tales,” Coran agreed.

“They do,” Lance confirmed. “There’s probably so much information in here. Not just on the Galra, but also Altean culture and the rest of the universe. How come we haven’t seen this before?”

He looked to Coran, shock hitting him when he saw the normally bubbly man deflate slightly, his gaze traveling up around the beautiful hall.

“Well, my boy, I’m afraid Altean is somewhat of a dying language, now,” Coran explained, voice melancholy. The lines around his eyes seemed to deepen with unspoken memories as he spoke. “There are two speakers of it left in the whole universe now. Three, if you count Zarkon. In fact, what we’re doing today is the first maintenance it has seen in 10,000 deca-phoebs.”

A wave of realization crashed through Lance at once as he recalled the previous tasks they’d accomplished together between missions. While they’d started in the engine room and the kitchen— the most important areas to their mission— they’d lately covered dining halls, a video room, and a holographic projection display center. Now, faced with this library, the truth of it was undeniable.

“We aren’t just fixing up the castle, are we? We’re restoring it. The history.” The thought was warm and cold simultaneously; preservation of such a beautiful place meant it would stay intact, but it also wasn’t truly designed for active use. As if Coran hadn’t expected the paladins to make use of the areas important to Altean culture.

“I would like us to be remembered,” Coran admitted, using a rag to start dusting the shelves. “Even after the war is ancient dust.”

And Lance’s gut clenched. He turned over the tablet in his hands, shutting off the letters and placing it back on its shelf.

Determinedly, he grabbed a rag of his own and began to clean the shelves with newfound vigor.

“I’ll use the library,” he told Coran, heart wrenching in his chest. “So let’s bring it back to working condition.”

Coran laughed. “But you don’t understand Altean! Don’t be silly.”

“I don’t understand Altean yet.”

Coran paused, not looking at Lance. A small smile tugged up his moustache, his face softening ever so slightly. Then, as if nothing had happened, he continued to clean silently.

Disappointment welled up in Lance, weighing down his limbs. He continued to work silently beside Coran, wondering if he’d pushed too far, somehow hurting the other man, his anxiety spiking at the thought.

Finally, after the silence stretched, Coran said, “I would like that very much.”

Lance beamed.

“Thanks for inviting me to fix your home,” Lance managed, trying to calm his nerves.

Coran’s eyes twinkled. “Thank you for caring.”

Later, after a particularly horrible (read: dogshit) mission, Lance sat wearily on the infirmary table with a permanent grimace painted on his features. The sleeve of his undersuit had been ripped away, exposing a nasty shoulder injury that was just left of needing healing pod time. His mind swam, hating the way the bright lights dug into his brain, the way the pain seared in his skin, the way he’d been to slow, the way he’d missed his chance, the way he’d let down—

Coran broke through the agonizing, humming from behind him, beginning to dress his wound suddenly. The sudden cold against his body made him hiss from the surprise.

“Apologies! You knocked yourself quite badly with this one.” Coran wrapped his shoulder with a tight bandage that would keep a cold compress attached to his body. His motions were slow, thoughtful and tender as he patched Lance up.

“Thanks for fixing me,” Lance huffed, throat choked up. Then, he continued in Altean, copying a phrase he’d found in the library tablets. “[You have helped me, I am better than I was yesterday.]” Maybe not a perfect response, but the best he could muster for now. He felt Coran’s movements stall at his shoulder.

“Ah, my boy,” he whispered, eyes brimming with conflicting emotions. “[It appears to go both ways.]”

Lance grinned, his pain forgotten temporarily under the warmth of Coran’s steady hand at his back.

[bluemantics]

JULANCE DAY 6: ALTEAN

Coran loved to rope Lance into chores. At first, Lance assumed it was due to the fact that he was too slow to notice what he was being dragged into. By the time he realized what Coran was asking, Pidge, Hunk, and Keith had already muttered weak excuses and dashed off, leaving Lance blinking aimlessly in their wake. Before he could even say “quiznak,” Coran would spirit him off to hold tools while he fixed the engine or wipe down the healing pods.

It was annoying, sure, but Lance didn’t really mind it as much as the others seemed to. He wasn’t a training junkie like Keith and Shiro or a nerd like Hunk and Pidge, so a lot of his free time was spent staring at walls while the others did productive work. At least he could help somehow, during his downtime.

However, his annoyance faded as their maintenance got increasingly interesting. One particular day involved Coran leading Lance down a hidden series of hallways he’d never explored. At that moment, Lance realized he’d never gotten an official castle tour from Coran beyond their rooms and vital areas. He felt moronic for not exploring it sooner, until the old Altean had dragged him off to a strange passage.

He was in an alien castle, for goodness’s sake. That fact alone was way too exciting and interesting to keep filing away as mundanity.

When they entered the area they’d be working on, Lance felt his eyes bug out of his head. Behind sliding doors was an incredible array of thin tablets, lined up in loopy shelves that almost were arranged randomly throughout the space. Some were within the walls at the edges, while others curved through the space in weaving, silvery lines. Blue light emanated gently from a circular inlay in the ceiling and washed the space in an ocean-like atmosphere. Curiosity seized him almost immediately as he reached over and plucked a thin tablets from the shelf. It was a clear, rectangular piece of glass at first look, but as he waved a hand over the surface, blue holographic Altean letters danced across the space in front of him.

“What is this place?” he asked Coran, swiping through the words he couldn’t read and watching as they scrolled forward.

Coran responded with an Altean word that seemingly had no English or Spanish translation, pulling out some rags and setting up their work area.

“Uh, could you define that?” Lance clarified. Understanding dawned on Coran.

“Well, number three, we would describe this as a breathing, living history of our people, their experiences, and their most precious stories, both real and unreal.”

“A library,” Lance mumbled, wishing desperately that he could understand the words from the tablet. “So each of these tablets are like… books?”

“Precisely! Assuming these ‘books’ contain information, records, and tales,” Coran agreed.

“They do,” Lance confirmed. “There’s probably so much information in here. Not just on the Galra, but also Altean culture and the rest of the universe. How come we haven’t seen this before?”

He looked to Coran, shock hitting him when he saw the normally bubbly man deflate slightly, his gaze traveling up around the beautiful hall.

“Well, my boy, I’m afraid Altean is somewhat of a dying language, now,” Coran explained, voice melancholy. The lines around his eyes seemed to deepen with unspoken memories as he spoke. “There are two speakers of it left in the whole universe now. Three, if you count Zarkon. In fact, what we’re doing today is the first maintenance it has seen in 10,000 deca-phoebs.”

A wave of realization crashed through Lance at once as he recalled the previous tasks they’d accomplished together between missions. While they’d started in the engine room and the kitchen— the most important areas to their mission— they’d lately covered dining halls, a video room, and a holographic projection display center. Now, faced with this library, the truth of it was undeniable.

“We aren’t just fixing up the castle, are we? We’re restoring it. The history.” The thought was warm and cold simultaneously; preservation of such a beautiful place meant it would stay intact, but it also wasn’t truly designed for active use. As if Coran hadn’t expected the paladins to make use of the areas important to Altean culture.

“I would like us to be remembered,” Coran admitted, using a rag to start dusting the shelves. “Even after the war is ancient dust.”

And Lance’s gut clenched. He turned over the tablet in his hands, shutting off the letters and placing it back on its shelf.

Determinedly, he grabbed a rag of his own and began to clean the shelves with newfound vigor.

“I’ll use the library,” he told Coran, heart wrenching in his chest. “So let’s bring it back to working condition.”

Coran laughed. “But you don’t understand Altean! Don’t be silly.”

“I don’t understand Altean yet.”

Coran paused, not looking at Lance. A small smile tugged up his moustache, his face softening ever so slightly. Then, as if nothing had happened, he continued to clean silently.

Disappointment welled up in Lance, weighing down his limbs. He continued to work silently beside Coran, wondering if he’d pushed too far, somehow hurting the other man, his anxiety spiking at the thought.

Finally, after the silence stretched, Coran said, “I would like that very much.”

Lance beamed.

“Thanks for inviting me to fix your home,” Lance managed, trying to calm his nerves.

Coran’s eyes twinkled. “Thank you for caring.”

Later, after a particularly horrible (read: dogshit) mission, Lance sat wearily on the infirmary table with a permanent grimace painted on his features. The sleeve of his undersuit had been ripped away, exposing a nasty shoulder injury that was just left of needing healing pod time. His mind swam, hating the way the bright lights dug into his brain, the way the pain seared in his skin, the way he’d been to slow, the way he’d missed his chance, the way he’d let down—

Coran broke through the agonizing, humming from behind him, beginning to dress his wound suddenly. The sudden cold against his body made him hiss from the surprise.

“Apologies! You knocked yourself quite badly with this one.” Coran wrapped his shoulder with a tight bandage that would keep a cold compress attached to his body. His motions were slow, thoughtful and tender as he patched Lance up.

“Thanks for fixing me,” Lance huffed, throat choked up. Then, he continued in Altean, copying a phrase he’d found in the library tablets. “[You have helped me, I am better than I was yesterday.]” Maybe not a perfect response, but the best he could muster for now. He felt Coran’s movements stall at his shoulder.

“Ah, my boy,” he whispered, eyes brimming with conflicting emotions. “[It appears to go both ways.]”

Lance grinned, his pain forgotten temporarily under the warmth of Coran’s steady hand at his back.