#ch. when does a comet become a meteor

[tomepact]

whistles.

[ganymedesclock]

We Wayward Stars ch. 1

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Summary: Altea burns, and in the way of burning things, not all of its ashes scatter in the same place. Centuries and galaxies later, the Garrison unearths a massive, unknown machine- and its frozen pilot. Or; a proposed alternate Altean Lance AU. 

           Evacuate. Get to the castle.

           It’s fine advice, for a situation where the world isn’t burning.

           The horizon splits with purple fire, bright enough that it burns afterimages into his eyes. Like thunder. Retaliating crackles of turquoise strafe back towards the ships- like clouds on a stormy day, or an unexpected meteor shower, far too many, clustering the sky, and everything is burning.

           Another shot- it gouges into a nearby fountain, sends a spray of rocks- one of them clips his jaw and he sees bursts of strange color unrelated to laser fire.

           He can’t stand here, or he’s going to die. The realization drags his feet into motion- but he barely makes it a few steps.

           Bodies. Strewn across the path like pieces of rubble. Soldiers- one of them stirs when he approaches.

           “Hey, c’mon, stay with me here,” he wants to sound reassuring. Wise. The things that proper royalty should be, as much as that’s meant for the second child of the king. It comes out as more of a plea than an order. “C’mon… focus, focus on me, you’re awake, you’re okay.”

           She sit up, stands cautiously, with help. “…Prince Lance?”

           “No time for formality, somewhere we’re not getting shot at.” He looks towards the other soldier. As quickly as he can, he looks away. Tries to swallow the rising lump in his throat. “Can you walk?”

           “…Yes. I think so.”

           “Great. That’s great. Just- easy does it.” He focuses on leaning into her side- on being a good crutch. It helps him take his mind off the other body- they have to step over it-him, even like… that…

           Don’t think about it.

           They find the city’s inner wall, as much of it is left- its barrier generators have failed, but the masonry itself is holding up to the artillery fire. An ion cannon slams into it, sending deep cracks down the surface, and he swallows again, amending that to mostly.

           More importantly, there’s more people here, more soldiers- the familiar white and gold. Someone- a field medic from the blue stripes on her pauldrons- takes the wounded soldier, supporting her to an area where it seems like more than half the assembled soldiers are already.

           “Prince, you shouldn’t be here. His majesty and the princess are already at the castle.” The captain catches his arm. “The main road’s been completely destroyed- your best bet is through the garden paths. We’ll hold them off as long as we can.”

           He meets their eyes.

           There’s too much desperation there for it to be reassuring.

           He runs.

           The gardens were quiet, once, pleasant places. Now, new bodies are lying across the roads- statues, trellises, remnants of stonework. Fortunately, no more people; the fighting isn’t here, not yet.

           Sweat, and other things- things he’s trying not to think about, wet marks left by the wounded soldier- are gluing his clothes to the skin, his hair to his forehead. He’s bleeding where the fountain cut him, he realizes, when he goes to wipe his face and his glove comes away smeared with indigo.

           He rounds a bend- and there it is. Home. Spires standing tall, the barrier still holding- the ships haven’t reached it yet, the outer wall is still holding. Far, still, but close enough- the coast is mostly unguarded but he can sprint for it-

           Something heavier than a blaster crashes into the ground hard enough to nearly throw him off his feet.

           Sprawled on one side, marred with fire, the proud blue of her plating is a single clear lagoon in the firestorm that the area has become. The Lion’s eyes are dark, resting deep in a gouge in the earth. In the sky behind her, a cruiser’s ion cannon has started to turn, ponderously, in her direction.

           She’s not recovering.

           He doesn’t know the Blue Paladin personally. He’s seen them at a distance, standing together- proud lines and gleaming uniforms. He doesn’t even have a name to call- but he calls anyway, stumbling and sliding into the crater- something, anything-

           The Lion’s eyes flicker weakly as he reaches her jaw. Something flutters at the edge of his mind- pain, loss. A murky image of a body slumped over itself.

           Gone.

           Words die in his throat. But the cruiser’s cannon is pressing on his mind- a dark silhouette now beginning to glow, slowly but surely, with vivid, sickly-colored light.

           The Lion has to move. Can they die? Is it possible for something to kill a Lion? He doesn’t want to find out- they can’t find out, she has to move- as futile as it can possibly be he puts his back to her jaw and pushes, as if he can somehow heft anything as large as the Blue Lion. As if he could get both of them out of the way of the cannon.

           A flash, brighter than any he’s seen, searing pain- and a sudden, warm darkness. A darkness that shudders, hard, and then calms.

           The entire left side of his body feels like it’s on fire.

           Lance blinks hard, several times, trying to accommodate the sudden shift in lighting. Shapes stand out in the darkness- he begins to identify the lines. The ground is moving.

           He’s only been in a Lion once- when he was young enough to fit in his father’s lap, but he recognizes enough. This is the mouth- and where the back of the throat would be, there’s a way upward, he remembers-

           Go.

           A new presence in his head. It doesn’t feel like the Lion. It feels like…

           “…Dad?”

           Leave Altea and run. Run as far away as you have to- other planets, other galaxies. As far away from here as you can!

           The Blue Lion creaks. She’s lifting her head- she’s the one Dad is talking to. She’s the one he’s sending away. Lance feels her crouching, ready to jump.

           “Don’t-!” He stumbles, limps forwards- sure enough, there’s the pilot’s chair, and beyond it… he can see the castle again.

           The barrier flickers. A golden comet streaks to its left, far into the atmosphere- then a green one. A red light- and then the ground lurches out from under his feet. He barely catches himself on the chair- his head is spinning. His ribs hurt- breathing hurts.

           Something warm wraps around him, an idea that feels almost like a hug.

           Trust?

           He’s crying now, and it makes everything run together even more. Crying hurts; standing up hurts, but he can do something about one of those things. He eases himself, gingerly, into the chair.

           They’re already out of atmosphere. Altea hangs in view, a shimmering, blue-green marble. From space it looks peaceful- as if it isn’t under attack. Like they could just turn around now, go home- things would be okay, and Allura would get him in a headlock for worrying her like that, and…

           Something new twinges hard. He’s hurt- badly, he can tell that much.

           Altea is a single, bright star, in a field of others. Everything is quiet now. Just his own, labored breathing in the cockpit. It’s chilly here, or at least it seems that way.

           Trust? It sounds more urgent this time. Worried.

           He can’t tell anymore which star is Altea. Saving some grace for his astronomy teacher, he probably hit his head.

           Timidly, he curls his fingers around the armrests, and leans back, closing his eyes.

           Take me home, he wants to say- but if his father is sending the Lions away, he can guess what it means. It’s hard to even stay awake now, there’s something lulling about the cold. It even takes the edge off the pain.

           “…Trust.”

           The last thing he hears is Blue humming.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           There’s a light in his eyes and he can’t feel his arms and legs. Something is looming down on him- some kind of strange, faceless creature with a short, rounded snout. He tries to squint, make out more details, but it simply pulls back, engaging in some kind of rapid chatter.

           “-awake-”

           The room is very white- boxy and cluttered. There are more of the faceless creatures- three of them. He’s lying on… something. Some kind of table. He tries sitting up to get a better look- and gets only a few inches before his muscles give out on him abruptly.

           A hand on the back of his head catches him before it hits the surface. “Easy now. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

           There’s something about the tone that makes him believe it. He relaxes- they set his head back down, gently, and back up. Really funny looking things, but they seem nice enough. They must’ve found him after-

           “Blue!” This time, he does manage to sit up- at least, part of the way, enough to realize he’s strapped onto the table. “The- the Blue Lion. What happened to-”

           Two of the creatures confer together, quietly- the one that caught his head last time stays behind him. Lance looks between them, helplessly.

           “…Allura? King Alfor? Did you- did they-” His side twists painfully, biting off whatever else he might say.

           One of the conferring creatures raises its hands. “You may have a broken rib. Don’t try to talk too much.”

           “I need to see Blue. It’s… really important.” There’s some dark shapes that might be eyes in the creature’s face- he focuses his gaze there. “…Please.”

           Silence. The air smells heavily of antiseptic.

           A hand rests on his shoulder. “Your ship?”

           “Not really… mine. She- helped me…” he doesn’t want to say escape. “…helped me get here. Wherever… that is.”

           “Earth.”

           He racks his brains for any ‘Earth’ that he’s heard of.  So much for these guys being Taujeerians. “Do you guys trade with Altea?”

           The creatures glance between each other, saying nothing. That was, admittedly, more concerning than them talking- Lance’s ears twitch fruitlessly in the silence.

           “So… that’s a no? How about Olkar?” He’s hyperventilating a little, and his injured side does not like that, but it isn’t enough to stop him. “…Merl? Llievos?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           They come to the conclusion that he does, in fact, have a broken rib.

           Earth has no healing pods. Nor does it have any craft that can leave its own solar system. They are ambitious about exploring one of its furthest moons within the next few years. He’s the only, as they put it, “extraterrestrial life” they have ever seen.

           Nor do they let him get at Blue’s console enough to see if she has anything that can hail across that kind of distance. She’s in some kind of cavern, and even after they allow him to sit up, or at least, prop himself up, they draw the line at cross-country hiking apparently.

           Lance attempts sulking. It lasts roughly five doboshes, in which time he realizes how many things require chest muscles to accomplish, and how many things he has to worry about.

           (Crying, incidentally, uses chest muscles)

           They relocate him to an actual building, out of the tent, and it’s here he discovers the Earthians- they call themselves humans- do in fact, have faces. The first one who shuffles into the room says some apologetic things about quarantine and seats himself. It takes Lance a moment to place his voice- he was one of the ones in the tent. One of the conversing ones.

           They look surprisingly Altean. Like dark-eyed Alteans with squashy, tuber-shaped ears, but he could see this man as an advisor, or a dignitary- he actually reminds Lance more than a bit of a tutor he used to have. His name is Samuel Holt, and talking to him is fairly easy.

           Fairly, because most of what he wants to know is about Altea, and talking about Altea makes something uncomfortable, wet, and hot settle in Lance’s throat.

           It’s very hard to drag him off the topic, but Lance manages- mostly by the grace that this man has never played a game of Fyllrue in his life.

           They have to improvise with something Samuel calls a checkerboard, and actually pushing plastic tokens around it, and it’s not really Fyllrue without the lasers, and there’s a certain vacancy to the way he nods when Lance explains the rules.

           At least, until on their third game Samuel takes three of his castles in one turn. “I think I’m getting the hang of this,” he says, grinning.

           Lance musters a rather un-princely squawk. “You did that on purpose!”

           For a short, happy while, he focuses entirely on the game. They’re five and five and Lance feeling in a spectacular place for a tiebreaker when Samuel suddenly checks something on his wrist, apologizes, and leaves, about that quickly.

           He scarcely has time to piece together don’t think about it before it all comes back on him.

           He doesn’t know if he’s ever going home.

           He doesn’t know if home is even still there.

           Maybe they do let him get back to Blue and he calls and Zarkon finds him.

           Maybe Dad and Allura are already dead and they’re coming for him next.

           Maybe they already know he’s here. It isn’t like he could fight them. And then he’d have doomed another planet- hiding Altean royalty and a Voltron Lion? That would be unforgivable.

           The last thing he wants to do is sleep, but his body seems to override him. He dozes, restlessly; at times he swears Galra soldiers are trying to kick down the door and come after him. Others, Allura is at his bedside, scolding him for being reckless, getting into something again, just who is he trying to impress with all this? He’s hardly a child anymore, he needs to carry himself with more decorum, or at least stop getting hurt in the process.

           Sometimes, he dreams of his father, ruffling his hair, telling him he’s being very brave for all of this.

           Sometimes he thinks he can hear Blue singing again, and wonders if he ever actually left, or if he’s still in her cockpit, floating through space. He has nightmares about that, then- frozen, breathless, unable to call out, alone. Forever.

           Every time, he wakes up to the same, small room.