"The Blue Lion-"

"Hold up, let me guess, takes the most handsome slash best pilot of the bunch?"

It was a joke.

It had been a joke and absolutely no one needed to know it was bugging him. He got it, all right? He wasn't one of those guys to claim that trying to be funny absolved you of content critique. He made a joke at a bad time and Allura passed him over in the destiny speech and it was all fine, water under the bridge, no biggie, she'd probably think to mention it at some point. Or Coran would, maybe.

It'd just come up eventually.

It was fine.

Oh Jesus, who was he kidding, it was not fine. The entire topic of the magical paladin-lion destiny bond thing was practically a hot stove jutting out of his thought process- every time an errant strand of cognition would so much as brush against it he'd be nursing that specific mantra for an hour, afterwards.

(It was a joke, it was badly-timed, he can accept the consequences. It'll just come up.)

He didn't have a watch- he could guess the paladin suits probably had a 'ticker' stowed away somewhere but he really didn't want to play the cross-cultural clock translation game right now- but it had probably been more than an hour, and the all-important task of sitting on his butt in the open mouth of the Blue Lion was failing to be a distraction, no matter how much he jiggled his leg against one of the incisors.

This could be way worse, admittedly. There weren't mosquitoes, or any kind of comparable bloodsucking-annoyance-niche-occupier, which was a downright shocker given the fact that seemingly a good third of this planet was, in fact, a single large mangrove swamp- mangrove sea almost.

And that had led to his current situation. His idea, actually, mostly- his bayard was really the only one suitable to distance sniping, water was the Blue Lion's thing, just sink the thing up to its neck, smear some mud on the exposed head, chop and move a couple of those huge, fan-shaped leaves the trees boasted- so here he was, in a little sniper nest, waiting for a Galra convoy that was absolutely coming, at… some point.

Yup, water was the Blue Lion's thing. As well as freeze rays and being a leg, and… what else, really? It was fast, but the Red and Green Lions were faster, it was durable, but not as much as the Yellow Lion, and the Black Lion…

…Okay he'll be honest about the Black Lion, if it wasn't Shiro's, it would just be one big pile of massively unfair. It was the coolest looking, the biggest; it performed great- all of the Lions made Earth's spaceships look like Model Ts trying to compete with a modern sports car, sure, but the Black Lion, oh man- he didn't know if he'd ever gotten over it, if it wasn't Shiro's.

But that was the thing about Shiro. He was just… objectively the best guy. Talented, athletic, could wing his eyeliner perfectly- god Lance wouldn't even be surprised if his eyelashes just grew that way. No wonder the Galra would want to take him, and, that was a horrible thought, but there it was- the guy was practically the pinnacle of human achievement right there and you would expect him to be the single most stuck-up jerk about it but he wasn't.

The guy would probably tuck you in at night and sing you a lullaby if you asked.

Yeah, Lance had known about him before Kerberos- he'd had a good reputation, he was a talented pilot, and maybe, maybe two or three years back Shiro had been his awkward fledgling crush but good news, he had completely gotten over that by the time they were stuck on a spaceship. (And that'd just be weird. It'd be like trying to date your dad, the way he acted.)

But there was hero worship and then there was the person himself, and sure nobody ever completely lives up to the legend, but Shiro came close. Leader of the giant galaxy-saving awesome robot? Yeah, he can buy it. Just put it on his resume next to "smile that could make flowers grow" and "could probably kill you with three of his leg muscles."

God, Shiro was too perfect to even begrudge for being that good.

Now Keith's Lion. Keith's Lion was unfair. Just the same as every other really cool thing Keith coincidentally has. The guy gets kicked out of the Garrison for slugging an instructor and he shows up a year later riding some kind of freaking Star Wars-looking thing, driving it off cliffs, outrunning the army, being a big dramatic hero. Gotta find Voltron? Oh guess who's been working on a conspiracy map this entire time, it's Keith.

At this point, though, Lance could look back and own up that most of the whole rivalry thing wasn't even Keith's fault. Yeah there was that whole instinct thing, but Keith didn't really tune out of his instincts. Lance was pretty sure he could dye his hair blue and talk the rest of the team into not mentioning it and it'd take a week for Keith to notice at a bare minimum. If he made people feel like second best because he flew like he was weaned in a spaceship, Keith sure didn't notice.

But coincidentally the magical alien personality test spits out the best and brightest Lions for, well, the super talented top-of-their-class guys. So maybe it was just on Lance, then. He pulled the short straw and was the average guy that ended up in a class with these guys.

Sure, he could kid himself a little more about Pidge and Hunk- he'd known them longer, they'd technically been his assigned team, Hunk got motion sick if you so much as took a road trip with the guy and he wasn't driving, and Pidge had practically carried a phone book around the Garrison and reserved a special angry look for anyone who uttered the words "booster seat" in their vicinity.

But, you know, Pidge had also been hacking government databases and straight-up reenacting the plot of Mulan to save their family from aliens and Hunk might not talk about it much but Lance had seen his grades, man. The guy had been a straight-A student as far back as Lance had known him.

He couldn't have picked better people to end up fighting to save the galaxy. Maybe there might be other people out there- but from Lance's experience, this was Earth's best and brightest.

And… then there's him.

Second best pilot. Squeaked into the fighter class on a total fluke. Crashed the simulator 21 different times (the program kept track). Everybody else seemed like they were cut from the cloth of destiny, while Lance felt a little more like the bargain bin.

Is that really what he thinks of himself?

Lance paused for a few seconds. And then he opened communications. "Hey, Coran, is there swamp gas or anything here I should be worried about?"

"Um… no, your helmet has a filter to detect dangerous atmospheres and it will automatically close to block them out. Why?"

"I just heard this… weird voice? I mean, not… hearing, but like."

"The same way you feel things the Lion is trying to tell you?"

"Uh, yeah. Shiro, how did you..?"

"It's the Lion. It wants to talk to you. We'll stay quiet until the transport is headed your way."

The coms channel closed, leaving Lance to contemplate that.

"So… a piece of legendary alien machinery has just been listening in on my personal mope fest this entire time."

It supposes that it has.

"Well then. Y'know, nice of you to bring that up after I detailed my entire inferiority thing and how back in middle school I thought Shiro was hot."

A peculiar kind of not-sound, a rumble-purr-chuffing sensation. He feels it at the same time he hears it, tickling its way up his chest like it's using his throat to make it. The Lion is laughing. It will concede that it is not the strangest thing it has heard from him.

"Oh that's nice. That's super reassuring. You really know how to make this not creepy."

He is admirable. Full of life and energy. The sentiment glows forth from the words, something that hums with adoration as it trickles across- air? Space? Thoughts?- whatever medium it's moving through.

Lance would have thought that the Lion was being facetious with him, if not for the feeling that accompanied it.

"So… we're talking."

Yes.

"And you totally heard all of that stuff I was thinking before."

Yes. That, and other things. He leaves his mind very open.

"Is-"

That is not an insult, either. There is bravery in lack of concealment. The Lion's tail swishes languidly under the surface, dislodging muck and silt as it does. Though of course, sometimes one must hide to survive; that is not wrong, either. Does he understand?

He thinks he understands, folding his arms and leaning back; he tries to push his thoughts the way the Lion is, feels them sliding, moving, trickling away from him like ripples in a pool of water. Though, he isn't totally sure how this deals with what he was just thinking about.

For a moment, something stirs, and he's worried he's messed up this whole brain-transfer thing. But a sudden sense of elation blooms between them- quite literally, it flowers outwards, and he has to mull over that the thoughts have shape, color, texture- in a way that he's not sure quite how he's getting this information.

In answer to his question: there is more than one way to do something.

Suddenly- he finds himself seated in the Garrison simulator. Pidge is talking about a distress signal- he looks back over his shoulder, there's Hunk, gripping the seat for dear life. Both of them are in the Garrison suits, the familiar chunky, orange things- but he's not, looking back at them through the visor of paladin armor.

A memory. More than a memory- it's like he's actually back here, he can feel the texture of the chair, though it sits weirdly against his armor. Pidge and Hunk don't seem to notice, or care- they're running through their scripts. Without him mentioning the stabilizer Hunk makes his nervous, queasy progress towards the gearbox.

The Lion's voice intercedes, smoothly. In the training of his home planet, they had three people for a reason.

"Yeah. Communications, engineer, and pilot."

Hunk stands up suddenly, as does Pidge. Lance finds himself standing up, walking back to take Hunk's place by the open panel. Pidge moves to the pilot's seat, and Hunk takes their vacated chair.

"Wait. I'm supposed to fix the stabilizer? I don't know the first thing about-"

…Oh. Oh duh.

Hunk and Pidge look back at him with patient turquoise eyes. The simulator isn't moving any more- it's still in the air, like a paused video.

"I get it. The whole point of having three person missions is that no one person can cover everything. I don't know about engineering, Hunk doesn't know about communications." He stands up and heads back for the pilot's seat- obligingly, the memory of Pidge ducks under his arm and moves back to their seat, Hunk doing the same. It's weird to see his friends so quiet and still. "Just like… if I tried to fly the Black Lion, I probably wouldn't know how to work the jaw blade."

The environment swims and darkens, and just as quickly as it's changed he's sitting back in the Lion's mouth,

Yes. It is a good system Earth has. Voltron is much the same way. Keith, for example, would make a very poor leg.

He can't help but snicker a little bit at the intimation- and whoa, that's a feeling. It kind of squiggles. He feels a little bad about it though- Keith isn't that bad of a guy, really, he doesn't want to make fun of him behind his back-

Yes, the lion concurs quickly, Keith is good. He is an excellent Red Paladin. But he is not a Blue Paladin. Lance would not mock him for making a poor Blue Paladin, any more than Keith would mock him for a clumsy attempt at being a Red Paladin. It is not their environment.

But then what makes a Blue Paladin? What is it Allura was going to say? And he feels the thought escape him like arrows, or a spray of sea foam that freezes mid-wave; it almost throws him forwards, and he has to steady his feet.

Silence. The physical silence of the marsh- what kind of swamp is this, it doesn't even have frogs, just the shushing of wind through the leaves, the quiet undulations of water- and a deeper silence from the Lion.

Lance starts fidgeting again. He's nervous, of course he's nervous- in some ways the Blue Lion is plenty familiar now but this is the first time they've really talked since those few sparing words back on Earth- (Where are we going?) (Home, it's going home, where it has been missed for far too long) and it's like opening up to a stranger. He's not sure if it's judging him for his desperation, his need to be special-

A different memory. The smell hits him before he processes the sight of this particular stretch of beach-

This is Varadero.

It is, perfectly; like he never left, not for school, not for saving the world- the sand under his boots and the gentle lapping waves, warm tropical water- he wades into it up to his waist, dispels his gloves so he can just feel it.

What is the sea like, Lance?

Kind. Nurturing. Playful. For as long as he can remember it's been his backyard, and most of his playmates, besides his siblings- hunting for colorful shells and watching fish flit in its depths- more than just Earth that he misses it's this sea and sky, matching expanses of-

Blue.

The world changes again. He lets it- even though it comes with a pang of loneliness as Varadero slips away.

This time, it's very different. It feels different. He feels himself moving on four legs- great, heavy legs, the impact shifting the ground. The Blue Lion, gleaming, new, freshly made, stepping outside of a hangar for the first time.

This planet has three moons in the sky, and that sky is greenish; but there is a sea, and there is a sky. The Lion breathes through numerous small vents, smells the air, tinted with brine. There is a paladin in its cockpit- a stranger, not someone Lance knows, but she feels comfortable, welcoming. The Lion wants to run- its pilot laughs; her hands are loose on the controls and it sprints to the water and plows forwards into it.

Home.

They overlap, Varadero and the alien sky, Lance and the Blue Lion, Earth and Altea.

The Lions were made for a reason. And they were born, as many weapons are, into a tumultuous time. But they were made for peace. And so, they embody the natural beauty of the galaxy they were meant to save.

What good is peace without hope? Somberness alone does not feed the spirit. And in this dark hour, lightness is something brave; something needed.

The Yellow Lion stabilizes, in its compassion it is cautious. But alone, with only caution, Voltron would never move.

It has to move forwards. And it needs another leg- one that ventures forwards in the darkness.

And he's standing in the hallway of the castle, and Allura is talking about the Lions- but this time, when she gets to him, she stops- and it is the Blue Lion that speaks.

The Blue Lion's virtue is acceptance. Its element is the most dynamic and changeable- the hardness of ice, the torrent and flow of water, the fleeting grace of mist. It seeks a pilot that is able to operate undefined- to make the most of a versatile ability set without a single defining point by which it is determined. Like the Yellow Paladin, he must be someone who reaches out to others, but he does so without reservation.

"That…"

It actually sounds like him. Not in words that he would ever have put to himself. And yet… hasn't he?

What Pidge was doing out on the roof was none of his business. If the Garrison had quarantined Shiro the way they'd wanted to, he could have just gone back to the dorm, waved the whole thing off.

He wouldn't have- of course not- but the whole thing had been none of his business, and none of that… had actually stopped him.

Operate undefined. Hah. And here he was using what amounted to an alien tank as a sniper nest.

Speaking of which…

"Lance." Allura's voice was clipped. "They're moving on your position. Get ready."

The dreams pull back like receding floodwaters, and as quickly as he can, Lance scrabbles forwards onto his stomach, summons his bayard and pulls it up into position. "Everything okay on your end, princess?"

There was a muffled sound on Allura's end. Lance was not an expert on the acoustics of Galra drones, but he suspected that one of them had just had a very bad day indeed at the hands of Altean strength. "Nothing I can't deal with."

He heard the barge coming before he saw it- a low-sided boat, its engine jutting upwards as an obvious dark shape. These guys were awfully cocky- that, or too used to the near-complete emptiness of their planet. Still, the thing was pretty armored.

Wait for it.

The boat drew closer, closer…

Wait…

"Uh…Lance?"

There- on the front of the engine. A fuel tank, glowing bright purple. He fit it into his crosshairs easily.

Unlike the outside of the tank, it'd only take one shot.