Chapter Text
“This is Stain,” Pidge starts before the door has even closed behind Keith and Lance. The rest of the team, including Regris, is already standing around the bridge’s central dais. Pidge is pointing at a starmap, at a specific, otherwise boring star. “Regris says it’s got a fairly similar setup to some of the other prison planets we’ve run into, and the data from the Rizom and Garndi support that. The difference, though, is that this one gets deliveries on a semi-regular schedule, and only from the Rizom and its escort. If the logs from the Rizom Keith managed to get are anything, they’re expecting it back in about two quintants, with its haul of one single prisoner.”
All eyes in the room turn to Regris. He shuffles in place, looking confused. “How am I so valuable that they’d do an entire run just to deliver me?”
“Because you know where it is, you revealed yourself to be a Blade, and they pretty obviously want no one to figure out what’s going on there, or who’s trapped there.”
Keith half tunes it out as Pidge runs through the basic process of how she’s sure Stain is where it is. It’s probably interesting math, but he’s distracted by Lance standing next to him. The other is trying to pay attention to Pidge, but keeps glancing over at Keith with a giddy smile before schooling his face back into serious mode. Lance is also standing… close. Not quite enough to touch, but enough Keith can feel his presence next to him. It’s… odd isn’t quite the right word. Neither is new, they’ve stood closer than this before (hell, Keith has fallen asleep on him multiple times in the past few months), but maybe the context is making it feel new. Like Lance means something with it.
Keith suddenly realizes that Lance does mean something with it. That was the entire point of their conversation in the training room. Lance wants to keep standing next to him, wants to be in his space and be close enough to reach out for a reassuring touch or just because he wants to. And now it’s real and in front of him and Keith isn’t quite sure what to do with it. But it feels…nice.
The next time Lance glances at him, Keith leans in a little more while keeping his eyes on Pidge, shoulders touching. Lance can’t quite school his face back to normal this time. Shiro is blinking at them from across the dais, mouth open to say something as Pidge winds down, but Keith beats him to it. “So, if the Rizom and its escort are supposed to be the only ships that know where Stain is, I’ve got an idea.”
Shiro huffs, glaring at Keith. No one else seems to notice, since Allura is instantly asking “What is it?”
“We’ve got the Garndi attached to our bow right now, and I can think of a few people in Rogue Group that have a vested interest in getting prisoners out, especially a certain first mate on the Blackbird…”
Hunk is nodding. “You want the Garndi to go in like it just got attacked, with Rogue Group behind it, and a team on the Garndi ready to take the prison.”
“Exactly. And the team should be me and the Whispers.”
Coran frowns. “That’d leave us down Voltron.”
“Not if Shiro’s piloting.”
That freezes the other Paladins. Regris looks between them in confusion. Lance’s shoulder is tense against Keith’s. Kuro is clamoring in the back of Keith’s head. “Keith…”
“Look,” Keith starts. He pulls away from Lance, crossing his arms and looking between the others. “I’m very aware of what happened last time. But our only real option for getting people into the base is Blades, and I think it has to be the Whispers. Given what we know about this place so far it’s important to the war effort somehow. We haven’t seen a druid since Hell, and that’s starting to scare me. If Haggar pulled them back to protect important assets, then where else would one be but a planet like this? Plus, if Sam is there, Zarkon has to know at this point how important he is. And before you say you didn’t see one, Regris, you definitely didn’t get a full tour.
“I think it’s better safe than sorry, especially when there’s something very important right under our noses. And said very important thing is unlikely to immediately trust a galra, even one he just saw shoot a bunch of sentries. We should make sure Sam’s got someone he knows on the ground. That’ll also, hopefully, enable the rest of the prisoners to trust us faster. Pidge is needed in Voltron no matter what, so she can’t be down there. Sending Matt or Shiro is an option, but we don’t know what kind of security measures they’re going to throw at the Garndi before they let it land. It’s simply a safer bet to have me be the face on the ground.”
“Especially if there is a druid,” Lance mutters. “But, Keith, all that is reliant on the fact that you can swap places with Shiro.”
Shiro’s words are slow. “Kuro did shift focus to me for a few minutes when we were pulling you three out of the Rizom. We didn’t keep it up for very long, and you were um, already in pretty bad shape, so we don’t really know what sort of effect that had on you.”
“So let’s try it right now.”
There’s silence for a moment, then five voices trying to talk over each other at once. Shiro stays silent, though, gazing at Keith with a contemplative look. Keith meets his brother’s eyes. Kuro.
Are you sure?
We’re going to need to try again sooner or later.
Kuro hesitates for a moment more. Very well. But I reserve the right to abort if you show signs of being about to collapse again. This operation has a very tight time window, and we can’t afford you being out of commission for a week again.
Deal.
The process is oddly slow. He can feel Kuro’s emotions and words dimming in the back of his head, like the light in the Castle’s bridge fading--wait hang on. His vision is swimming. Biting back a noise he closes his eyes against the dizziness and spotty vision, the most severe case of vertigo he’s ever experienced. Someone is calling his name. Who? Doesn’t matter. “Give me… a minute…” he grits out. There’s a hand pressed to his left temple. His own hand? Maybe sitting down would be a good idea. There’s a hand pressed to his back. Lance. Somehow he manages to open his eyes. The team’s concerned faces are behind Lance, who has a hand on his shoulder now. “I think I’ll be okay,” Keith manages, trying for reassuring. He doesn’t do a very good job, judging by the looks on the others’ faces. “I need to sit down for a minute though.”
Lance steers him over to the Red Paladin’s chair, since it’s closest. “Well, I didn’t have to catch you before you broke your face on the floor this time.”
“Barely,” Coran grouses. The altean is standing in front of him, peering in the way they’ve come to learn means the use of quintessence abilities. “You seem… fine? Strangely dim, but not dangerously so.”
“Kuro says be careful,” Shiro adds. He comes over and pats Keith on the shoulder. “I think we’ve proved this will work, but please let me know if you start feeling like you’re about to keel over again. I’d rather take the risk and have me on the Garndi than you completely out of commission.”
“Sure.”
They spend the next few hours planning, consulting with Krolia and arranging a pickup for her and the Whispers, contacting Olia and getting her to corral a selection of Rogue Group who could serve as prisoner transports and pirates. Keith doesn’t quite mean to spend the entire time stuck in the Red Paladin chair, but Lance doesn’t seem like he wants to let Keith up. Every time he moves like he’s about to stand, Lance is staring at him, or Shiro is, and Keith decides that maybe he’ll avoid the argument and simply stay in the chair. Though as time goes on, he becomes thankful for the excuse to stay in the chair. He’s… tired. Allura wraps them up once Pidge starts swaying on her feet. Keith yawns and leans back in the chair. He’s vaguely aware of Shiro and Lance having some sort of argument with their eyebrows. Regris, Hunk, and Coran have already left, off to do some final checks on the Garndi before the Whispers take ownership. Allura takes one look at whatever Shiro and Lance are doing and places a gentle hand on Pidge’s back to guide her out. “May I recommend everyone eat some dinner before they go to bed?” she throws over her shoulder.
Somehow this is what solves the eyebrow argument. Lance turns and offers a hand to him. Keith takes it, hauling himself out of the entirely-too-comfortable chair. He hides another yawn behind his hand. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. It’s just been a long day.”
Shiro steps up next to them, ruffling Keith’s hair gently. Keith lets him, for once. It feels nice. Hm, maybe he’s sleepier than he thought. “So, now can I say it?”
Keith and Lance blink at him. “Say what?”
Shiro waves a hand between the two of them. “You two?”
“Wh--oh.” Lance stiffens a little next to him, then takes a deliberate breath and grips Keith’s hand tighter. Keith feels his face burning. He can’t seem to meet Shiro’s eyes, the embarrassment a little too much to bear. Instead he ducks his head and glances over at Lance, who seems to be doing the same thing. Keith simultaneously misses the comfort of Kuro in the back of his head, and doesn’t miss the expectant excitement he’s sure the Black Lion would be projecting at him. “Yes,” Keith forces out. Lance awards him a smile.
“Finally,” Shiro bursts out, arms pumping above his head before they come down around their shoulders.
Lance squeaks as they’re pulled into a bear hug, then laughs. Keith lets himself turn a little boneless, squeezed against his brother’s shoulder. “Jeez, Shiro,” Lance snickers, “I didn’t know you felt that strongly about this.”
“You have no idea.”
“Do you and Hunk have ‘Keith-and-Lance-can’t-get-their-shit-together-venting’ tea dates?”
“What would you do if I said yes to that?”
Lance groans. “Please don’t.”
Shiro cackles. Keith feels a wide smile spreading across his face. Why was he ever afraid of this? “Alright, ‘kashi,” he grumbles, pushing away. “Enough. Before you start asking questions we literally only agreed to this twenty minutes before Pidge called us all up here.”
“Alright, alright.” Shiro lets them go with a smile. “I think I’m technically supposed to shovel talk you or something, Lance--”
“Shiro!” Keith groans, face in his hands.
“--but not only have we been through enough that I would totally trust you with my little sibling, but I think you’d be facing down several pissed-off Lions.”
“Oh holy stars,” Keith mutters into his hands.
Lance looks like he can’t quite decide between amusement and terror at that last image. “Don’t worry, with Keith by my side I want for nothing.”
Shiro blinks at Lance in slight astonishment. Keith resists the urge to sink into the floor. “Kuro, please get me out of here.”
The Lion, of course, does not get him out of there. But Keith’s pretty sure he’s chuckling.
“Oi.”
Keith looks up as Shiro’s prosthetic hand claps down on his shoulder. “What?”
“How you feeling?”
Keith shrugs. He slips into Japanese, since Shiro has. “Not quite awake, but I think the jump will take care of that. Little weird to be back in my Blade uniform, but it’s also kinda nice. What about you?”
“I’m good,” Shiro says. Keith raises an eyebrow. “Okay, that wasn’t convincing, was it.”
“Nope.”
He sighs. “It’s been… a very long time since I flew.”
“Takashi, if anyone’s going to be fine, it’s you. You probably won’t even have to handle the full meld.”
“I know! It’s just…”
“Yeah. First time back is a lot.”
Keith stares down at his crossed arms. Shiro’s hand squeezes his shoulder. “Point taken.”
“I didn’t mean to--”
“I know. It’s just some… much needed perspective. Plus, I’ve got the best people possible at my back.”
“And you’re not actually the mission commander, so that’s a little less you have to deal with than normal.”
“Yeah.”
The two of them stare up at the Black Lion. He’s settled in his usual loaf, tail flicking slowly behind him as he watches the stars outside. It’s strangely peaceful, for the final moments before a battle. Keith leans a little into Shiro’s side. Shiro squeezes his shoulder again.
“Keithva!” a voice calls, breaking their peace. “Time to go!”
“Alright, Sasa!”
Keith starts turning. He pauses when he sees Shiro’s fist held out. “Stay safe,” Shiro says with a half smile.
Keith knocks his armored fist against Shiro’s. “You too.”
The beep of the hyperspace alert pings through the bridge. Krolia reaches forward, pulling the lever back that drops them out. Next to her, Keith stares at the sensor board, ignoring how the stars stream back to pinpricks of light. Bersaan inhales slowly behind him. “That’s a fun planet.”
There’s two stars, with a gas giant that is far closer than it should be. It looks heavy enough that one wrong move will ignite it, making a trinary star system for an astronomically-brief moment. There’s a few scattered rocky planets around, and no sign of where the Imperial prison planet is supposed to be.
“Is Rogue Group on--” Krolia cuts herself off as a laser blast flies past the viewscreen. “Yep, there they are.”
Keith’s grip tightens. The Garndi is bigger than most things he’s flown, not nearly as maneuverable as what he’s used to and already heavily damaged from attempting to face down a Lion. Krolia seems to be handling it okay, but despite this arrangement being the logical decision he still itches to have his hands on those controls, to be in control. “Raykob, let’s get this show on the road.”
Raykob nods and turns in her chair toward the comm board. “This is the Garndi, requesting help. I repeat, this is the Garndi, requesting help. We are being attacked by pirates. I repeat, this is the Garndi, requesting help. This is the Garndi, requesting help.”
Keith tunes out Raykob’s voice, focusing on the transports of Rogue Group behind them. A ship tagged Spectrum zooms by the port window, firing low-power shots at the Garndi’ s sensor array. Mosov calmly fires back with the few working cannons still on the ship. She aims close, but not close enough to actually hit. Keith’s still waiting for the moment she actually hits someone. “Castle’s here,” he announces. Krolia acknowledges with a grunt, aiming the Garndi toward one of the gas giant’s moons. Keith taps a few buttons on his gauntlet computer, opening his comm to the main Coalition frequency. “All ships, Stain’s deployed fighters from a moon around the gas giant that isn’t where we’re going. Someone needs to check that out before we bomb it.”
There’s a chorus of copy-thats from Rogue Group, while Allura volunteers to do the flyover. Bersaan snorts. “Of course they wouldn’t keep the fighters where the prisoners could access them.”
“We didn’t have much of a choice,” Raykob is pleading into the comm. “We already had the jump programmed into the navicomp.” And oh how Keith wishes that had been true. It would have saved Pidge a lot of trouble. “Please, just--”
The ship shakes. Keith catches himself before he slams face-first into the controls even with the magnetic restraints keeping him down. Krolia lurches forward next to him, accidentally shoving one of the controls and causing the Garndi to spiral downward. “Hey!” Raykob yelps, “What the kap are you doing?!” The ship lurches again. Keith hears mocking laughter over the Imperial side of the comm and turns as best he can to look at Raykob, mouthing what? He’s sure that no one in Rogue Group has hit them that badly.
A very loud ominous creak echoes through the bridge. Then everything shakes again, and Keith swears he feels something snap. “Oh fuck,” Krolia hisses, eyes wide. She lets go of the engine controls and starts frantically pressing buttons.
“Stop shooting at us!”
Keith snaps around to look at the viewports just as another blast from one of Stain’s cannons slams directly into the Garndi. “Keith?” someone on the Coalition comm is calling, but Keith’s not entirely sure what to say.
“That ship is already heavily damaged,” comes a voice over the Imperial comm, “and the rebels are using you as a shield. If I’m going to prevent them from releasing my prisoners, I’d rather do it far away from here.”
“What about us?”
“Do I seem like I care?”
The Imperial comm disconnects. Raykob starts cursing colorfully. Mosov gives up firing at Coalition ships, hanging onto her seat. Bersaan is clinging to her own seat. “General?”
Krolia’s voice is grim. “We’re still flying half a ship.”
“That is not what I wanted to hear.”
“Well, hang on. Keith, hold that lever and keep us aimed at Stain.”
Keith reaches over. “Been a while since I crashed.”
Krolia doesn’t spare him a glance. Every movement of her fingers is staccato, the pinpricks of a symphony destroyed as she desperately keeps them moving, falling into the gas giant’s gravity well but not fast enough it’s a problem. There’s not enough atmosphere on Stain to cause them problems, but also not enough to slow them down. Keith can almost hear Krolia’s teeth grinding as the ship jerks to port as a maneuvering thruster gives out. Keith pulls the lever back to starboard, then a little more. “See that?”
“Yeah,” Krolia growls, “let’s crash the party.”
The Garndi hits Stain with the boom of crushed ice, the hiss of vaporized water, and the scream of the hangar doors being half-crushed as the nose of the ship jams into them. All five of them are thrown half out of their seats, but Krolia manages to keep her hands on the controls long enough to fire every maneuvering thruster left, slowing them down so they don’t completely crush what they came for. The ship alarms give one last pitiful screech before the last of the emergency power gives out. And then there is silence.
“Keith?” Shiro calls, worry audible.
Keith takes a deep breath and leans back, pushing his hair out from his face. His chair is at an odd angle with the way they ended up. The rest of the Whispers are picking themselves up, grumbling but largely unharmed. “Another happy landing,” Keith mutters.
Pidge groans. “Really?”
“At least you’re okay,” Lance sighs.
Keith’s pretty sure Hunk is shaking his head. “You two are ones to talk.”
“I dare you to say ‘Hello there’ to Uncle Sam.”
Keith snorts. “I’m not doing that.”
Allura brings them back on track. “How does it look?”
Keith stands. He wobbles a bit, getting his balance back. “Well, the Garndi’s served its purpose: no one seems to suspect we’re in here. We’ve made it in, and the mag barrier’s kept the air in, despite the violence of our approach. I’ll call you once we’ve found our target. Keep me updated if there’s problems.”
“Copy that. Good luck.”
Keith pants for breath as the last sentry nearby collapses to the deck in pieces. In the background, the intercom blares a lockdown alert. Bersaan sets her cannon down and inspects the barrel. “That was fun.”
Raykob barks a laugh. “Sure was. Hey, Mosov, need any help getting down?”
“I think you have blown up enough you have created a ramp,” Mosov calls. Keith can just barely see her standing from her sniper perch. They’re in the processing area, the second half of the security fortress. This half is essentially one big room, perfect for herding prisoners through to their doom, or setting them up as living shields. Keith’s very glad the Warden didn’t seem to have the creativity to do that. The front half of the fortress has a few new entrances, courtesy of Bersaan’s excitement for something new to blow up, while this half is strewn with rubble and holes in the floor. Mosov picks her way down from the overwatch ‘tower’, more of a pillar built into the side of the room where the Warden or someone else can oversee the proceedings. Raykob is poking at the doors, looking for something, while Bersaan starts reloading the explosive part of her cannon. Krolia picks her way over to him. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
She narrows her eyes, glancing him over. “You sure?”
“Sasa,” he sighs, “you’ve been right next to me practically the entire time.”
“Yeah. That’s how I know you’re slower than normal.”
Keith blinks at her. “That’s not true?”
“Just… keep an eye out, okay? I’d rather you not collapse on me.”
Keith considers, glancing down at himself. “I’ve been a little tired all day, but I thought the battle rush was waking me up.”
Krolia bites her lip. “That’s the first sign of quintessence drain.”
“I’m thinking fine. And fighting fine.”
“Hey, Commander,” Raykob calls, “I’ve got a map.”
The five of them huddle around Raykob, who projects a map from her gauntlet. “I think that’s sentry control,” she points to an offshoot of the security fortress/processing facility with a few blocky, connected rooms, “and maybe the Warden’s office or something. That wing has something labeled ‘incinerator’ and then a big block that this station doesn’t have schematics of. But look what this wing is labeled.”
“‘Prison block’ is pretty obvious.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Keith, why don’t you go with Mosov to sentry control.”
“Shouldn’t Raykob be going that way?”
Krolia cuts him off. “Rakyob needs to go to the prisoners to handle anything they might have on them. Mosov is second best with the sentry systems, so she’s going that way. Bersaan’s going toward the prisoners because that’s probably where most of the sentries are, and I’m going that way because you’re going to sentry control. And I have the command code that we know works.”
“But Sam--” Krolia opens her mouth to forestall his next words, but Keith is suddenly overcome with a wave of dizziness and is unable to get them out. He blinks rapidly, hands out slightly from his sides, trying to force his equilibrium back to normal.
“Keith?”
“I’m okay,” he grumbles. “Just got a little dizzy.” Krolia gives him a look that reads as I told you so. “Fine, I’ll head to sentry control. But as soon as we’ve got the system shut down we’re heading toward the prison block.”
The other three split off through the biggest of the doorways, while Keith and Mosov head for the only one in the west wall. “Commander,” she starts as they step through the door, oddly hesitant. “The General’s concerns do not seem unfounded.”
Keith growls, and only doesn’t snap at her because there’s suddenly sentries shooting at them. He dives under the primary plane of fire, slashing two weapons in half in one swing. He kicks one sentry down, twirls out of the way of a third, and brings his blade through the torso of the second. Mosov fires behind him, hitting the one he’d kicked and turning to another. Keith slams his elbow into a sentry’s wrist joint, stabs its head through, and rakes through its torso while he turns into another sentry. It collapses, a hole through its abdomen. “Look, Mosov, even if there is something up with me right now, it’s not enough to matter when we’re already committed. We’re here to find Sam, and I’m not leaving until we find him.”
Mosov doesn’t continue the line of questioning. She stays one step behind him as they take the single turn in the hallway. There’s another door, this one oddly ornate in the fake-wood it’s made of, instead of standard metal. They glance at each other, then take up positions on either side. “Coalition jamming should be in place,” she murmurs. Keith taps in his (new, fresh, untested, hopefully transmitted here) command code. Thankfully, the doors slide open without issue or fanfare. Mosov dashes into the room. “Clear.”
“Looks like the Warden’s office,” Keith muses, scanning the extravagant desk. “That door must be sentry control.” They perform the same maneuver through the second door, but there’s not even a token guard. Mosov stalks through the room all the same. “You wanna take this while I go scrape the Warden’s computer?” Mosov nods, stepping to a console and tapping in her code. Keith heads back to the Warden’s office, pulling out the chair. He pulls the latest version of Kozur’s data-mining chips out of its clip buried in his braid. His command code works on the computer too, and it’s only a few commands to have everything on it transferring to the chip.
Then he’s very glad he’s already sitting down. The dizziness smashes into his head with no buildup, accompanied this time by spots encroaching on his vision. Even sitting down he has to brace himself on the desk with shaky arms.
Okay, so there might be something wrong.
“Commander?”
Keith blinks the last of the spots away to find Mosov standing at his side, a concerned look on her face. He pulls the chip before he forgets it. “I’m good. Sentries down?”
Mosov very clearly does not believe him. “Mostly. I believe these ones are more autonomous than normal, due to their purpose in this system. They will not have the networked intelligence, but they will not shut down.”
Keith frowns. “Interesting. Let’s go meet up with the others.”
He stands up before Mosov can argue him out of it, stalking through the corridors. They run across several sets of destroyed sentries along with one wall with a hole blown through it, but nothing of concern until they take another turn and Keith spots the back of a sentry down the hall. It starts shooting through what might have once been a doorway. Keith dashes forward. Mosov takes down the one in the lead, while Keith dives under shots from the other ones. He slices straight through the knee joints, uses his momentum to twist upward and stab through the torso of another, and then pushes himself up. He twists to kick another down as another of Mosov’s shots comes through the space his head had just been. The sentry without legs starts trying to grab him, but he stabs backward straight through it’s head and twists to cut the last one in half.
Then he has to blink through another dizzy spell. It’s fine though, he can see the rest of his Whispers around him. When his vision clears, he turns toward Raykob with a smirk. “You missed a few.”
“Fuck you too, Commander,” Raykob rolls her eyes. “It was your job to pick up the stragglers, you’re late.”
“There was something odd about sentry control on this station,” Mosov interrupts. She steps over sentry parts toward where Keith can see Krolia protecting a table. He scans the other side of the room, looking for a familiar face. There’s a surprisingly large number of species represented, everything from a mammoth-like ming farian to a bipedal snail blisix. “General, these sentries were designed to be more autonomous than most.” She pauses. “Ah, mission successful.”
Keith snaps around. Krolia breaks out into a smile. “Get over here. You’ll do a better job getting through to everyone than me.”
Keith finally sees the figure peeking over the table behind Krolia. He’s a little worse for wear, bleeding slightly from a cut on his cheek and far thinner than he should be. There’s streaks of grey in his hair that weren’t there last time Keith saw him. But it’s him, alive and kicking.
Keith moves as fast as he can, unable to hold the sudden energy in him. He stops, pulling his hood down and releasing his mask with a grin.
“Hi, Uncle Sam.”