Chapter Text
Lance forgot how to breathe.
While Kolivan maintained a video call with Allura and Shiro standing at his side to report, update, whatever,..but Lance forgot how to breathe.
They had been operating under this new formation for a few months now: Allura with Blue, Shiro back with Black…everyone knew the drill
“But are you certain?” Shiro interrupted for the second time, cutting into the report Kolivan had been delivering in his usual concise, efficient manner.
Everyone was scattered throughout the shared control room in varying states and positions of shock—and how could they not be? Barely half an hour had passed since they returned to the Castle of Lions after a grueling battle against the Galra Empire. Just another day at the office, someone else might’ve said.
A quick shower that was more of a decontamination blast, comfortable clothes, and a snack resembling an energy bar were all they had time for before being summoned to where the leader of The Blade of Marmora skipped all pleasantries and went straight to the point:
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Planets secured
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Alliances on standby
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Keith reported as KIA
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Sectors stocked with wartime supplies
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Collaborations with new organizations, motivated by the revolution sparked by the rise and growth of Voltron..
Keith reported as KIA.
KIA.
Killed In Action.
Like...dead in combat.
Pidge froze in place for several long seconds, and Hunk nearly dislocated his neck with how fast and abruptly he turned toward the screen. Allura and Coran went pale, and Shiro looked as if he’d just taken a hit straight to the gut, leaving him without enough air to ask—demand—clarification on that third point.
And Lance?
For a long moment, Lance forgot how to breathe properly. His legs lost all strength, forcing him to sit—to collapse into a chair as his mind tried to process what Kolivan had just said, to make sense of it… and utterly failed.
Keith KIA?
No. That wasn’t possible.
It had to be a mistake. It must be. Lance was sure of it.
“We are certain,” Kolivan said calmly, though there was a hint of irritation in his voice as he continued. “He disobeyed our orders by prioritizing the rescue of two recruits assigned with him. One managed to return alive, but Keith and the other perished when the cockpit of the escape capsule they were piloting exploded. The details of the mission are being transcribed into a report as we speak.”
Lance couldn’t remember the rest of the call. The sound faded into a dull buzz in the background only matched by the aggressive, rapid typing with which Pidge now assaulted her keyboard.
It was a mistake. Lance was sure of it.
He wanted to believe it was a mistake.
He didn’t want to read the report, but deep down he knew that if he wanted to confirm it was all an error, he had to.
And yet, the mere thought of being unable to find a flaw or omission in the damn reports sent by the Blade about that mission terrified him. Because then he’d have to accept it as fact—and he wasn’t ready.
They always talked about being the hope of the universe. Soldiers. Galactic wars. But hearing that Keith—the gruff, insecure (and cute) guy with whom he’d shared a self-imposed rivalry, a friendship, someone he’d spoken to just days ago—could simply be gone… someone he’d never see again, never hear—
No.
He couldn’t even imagine it.
He couldn’t.
He didn’t want to.
Keith was alive… right?
......
Meanwhile, somewhere quiet in the universe, a train traveled through the cosmos along silver rails, with a calm that was almost offensive to all the wars and conflicts raging across the stars.
“No, March, you can’t take pictures of him. He’s a patient. Wait until he’s conscious, and then you can ask.”
“Himeko’s right. No. This can’t be a before-and-after situation.”
“I really wish one of you had said all this...back when she decided to take a picture of me while I was asleep.”
“Oh, please. As if that actually bothered you. I told you I could delete it, Caelus—but you insisted you looked magnificent.”
“I didn’t insist. I merely stated a fact, didn’t I, Dan Heng?”
The lively conversation continued among the Astral Express crew in front of a regeneration capsule provided by Miss Herta—meant to stabilize emergency patients long enough to reach the station for a more thorough examination and determine whether the spacewreck survivor, wrapped in flames and ashes, had any chance of survival at all.