a/n: just going to post this because no matter how much I work on it I'm unhappy with it. But we need to get this thing moving!

xxx

Keith taps his nose. "This means what it always has. This is okay," he says, giving a thumbs up. Then he flips it over for a thumbs down. "And… not okay."

No points for creativity but Lance allows it, nodding. Very direct and straightforward, just like Keith.

There's a pause where Keith's brows crinkle low in thought, the way they do. He looks doubtful when he poses the question, "You wouldn't happen to know anything about the layout, would you?"

To which Lance shakes his head no, because, that would be too easy. Obviously. Lance mourns not having Pidge with them then, to pluck schematics from seemingly nowhere and feed them exactly where to go for an even faster grab-and-go but they'll manage. They always manage.

Keith's cheeks puff out, then expels air like a busted pipe. He deflates a little, disappointed. Lance knows it isn't at him directly, but he feels the twinge of guilt anyway. "Didn't think so. We should avoid splitting up, and if we come across any foot soldiers we can just steal their armor to avoid… what, Lance?"

Because Lance is giving a very enthusiastic thumbs down. Not okay.

Why does Keith insist on engaging in unnecessary confrontation?

So he shows a more subtle, safer way by walking his fingers in one direction and then the other. In and out.

The simplicity does not seem to impress Keith in the slightest. Lance pretty much expects the idea to be turned down but is surprised by the gentle way in which Keith dismisses it, expression kind. "I'd love that, Lance, but we have to take these things into consideration. A disguise can give us an advantage if we're seen."

Every part of Lance wants to protest in spite of the sound logic. His lips even fumble as if to try, because a plan like that requires contact. Fighting. Risk. He understands, but hopes it won't come to that.

Keith is flexing his fingers with a subdued rage that softens when he lifts his eyes to meet Lance's. For a passing moment, Lance's thoughts feel vulnerable, as though Keith can read every frazzled piece. "Just don't leave my sight. We stick together, no matter what."

The conviction in his voice is so sober that Lance almost misses a beat. But he eventually falls into a half-smirk, dragging a finger over his chest, left then right, drawing an X. To his surprise and awe, Keith actually mirrors the gesture with a firm nod and says, "Cross my heart."

Then they rest in silence by Keith's suggestion. Lance doesn't remember falling asleep but at some point his eyes open to the sight of Keith's silhouette standing guard at the mouth of the enclosure. It's darker outside than he remembers, but the sky is speckled with enough stars to cast a dim outline to Keith's body in a way that makes him look like a damn superhero.

His bag sits next to him, stuffed with rocks, a crystal and an empty bottle. Lance slings it around his torso and pushes against the wall to stand.

"How are you feeling," Keith asks, not even looking. Must have heard him shambling.

Lance considers it, perhaps a little too seriously. He's unsure of himself. Confident that Hunk and Pidge's combined brain power will find a way to keep Decibon safe if they don't come back. He's homesick - like home homesick. He feels adrenaline and determination. Afraid of failure.

But Lance doesn't quite know how to convey all of those things so he just gives a thumbs up instead.

"If you're up for it, we should get going."

Lance nods. They've wasted enough time here.

As they creep closer to the rocky exterior of the main facility, Lance finds every sound has him skittish, every corner harboring a shadow waiting to get the jump on them

The closer they creep to the rocky exterior of the facility, the less viable his in-and-out tactic feels. Every little sound makes him skittish and thinking every shadow is going to get the jump on them. What if they actually have to engage in combat and-

Stop. Just stop.

Focus on something else. Focus on the surroundings.

It's a mix of nature and man-made; technology has been forced into the hollowed innards of what used to be natural topical caves. The dull lighting is both romantically cozy and frighteningly ominous. Honestly, Lance lost his love for the color purple long ago.

No guards so far, Lance notes. He wonders how often a place like this even deals with intruders. Keith seems to be thinking the same thing as he presses against the stone wall, hesitating before taking the next turn.

"Don't let your guard down," he whispers. Lance doesn't need to be told twice. He doesn't need to be told once.

His mind travels back to the stolen hoverbike and the two Galra they enraged in the first thirty dobashes on this planet. Are they still trekking their way back? Did they already send out a warning that there are two Paladins of Voltron running around? Suddenly the the caverns feel claustrophobic.

Keith hesitates his next step. Looks back at Lance, more serious than before, if that's possible. "Be. Careful."

Lance jabs a finger into Keith's arm, silently pushing the same warning back at him.

Instead of a verbal confirmation, Keith reaches back and grasps tightly at Lance's hand. He doesn't let go but pulls him along slowly and Lance doesn't resist, finding comfort in the contact. The physical tether keeps them close and should he need Keith's immediate attention, he only needs to give a quick tug.

Things begin to feel like an impossible maze when Lance loses track of which way they came from. He wishes again that they had Pidge with them but then remembers why they're there and quickly retracts it. The only thing he knows for sure is that they're getting deeper and deeper into the belly of the entire structure, and according to every comic book, movie plot and fictional book he's ever come across, that's exactly where people place things worth protecting. Good ol' bad guy logic.

It's also quiet and empty, which does nothing for his unease.

If Keith is lost or confused, he does a brilliant job of not showing it. At least until the cave splits into four different directions. He tugs at Lance's hand to pull him closer and digs into the bag to pull out the crystal.

It's already pulsing; perhaps it has been this entire time. It's a good as anything to go off of.

Keith holds it out in front of him and swings his arm in every direction, well aware of the shadows being cast, dancing along the cave walls.

"We need to go down," Keith announces after a moment, about the same time Lance thinks it.

The Plexia crystal goes back into the bag before the light gives them away, plunging them back into darkness. Keith's hand finds his again, and they proceed through the far left entryway, where the ground falls into a steep downward slope.

Said slope morphs into poorly carved stone steps that go down for what feels like forever but they eventually even out, leading them to a massively open space reminding Lance of a bonafide Batcave. At the far end is a massive door, too big and too obvious to not be what they're looking for.

The lack of opposition should make Lance feel hopeful but instead he feels an overwhelming sense of dread. It's too good to be true. It's way too surreal for there to be no one standing in their way. For not a single alarm to be tripped.

Still, Lance runs to it, now the one pulling at Keith because they crossed their hearts that they would stick together. The panel sitting just next to the over-sized doors flashes symbols that he doesn't know how to read, but if it's anything like other Galra-Tech he's dealt with in the past, it's nothing a little Galra DNA can't solve.

He turns to Keith, but the other boy is hesitating, which isn't something Keith does. "This is too easy."

Lance darts his eyes between Keith and the door. What else are they supposed to do; not pass through and get the very thing they came here for?

Keith's hand squeezes his almost painfully, grounding him. Keith doesn't second-guess himself often.

"Lance… Draxis sent you here for a reason. He sent you here because he knew you wouldn't say no." It isn't a question. "Is that… Do you honestly believe that's the only reason?"

This ill-timed wariness is important, Lance knows, but he doesn't know how to answer the question. Regardless of motives and reasons, they're here now, and they can fix everything by going through that door. What good could come from turning away now and returning empty-handed?

Lance needs this. Wants this. There is no other way. Surely Keith can see that.

He has to see that.

So he summons his strength and pulls Keith to the panel, forcing his hand to the screen and feeling his heart race as it lights up under the touch.

An innocent planet needs them and he isn't going to throw away the window of opportunity opened to him. And Keith has no room to talk, always jumping into fights and running around like a risk personified.

The door hisses.

"Lance," Keith seethes through his teeth, even as the doors slowly rumble apart. Lance squeezes through the opening as soon as it's big enough for him to do so, dragging an angry Keith just behind him.

The purple glow across the room is beautiful. There, splayed out on a flat stone table like a nest, are the rest of the Plexia Crystals.

There is no hesitation. Lance runs to them immediately, and Keith follows even as their hands disconnect. The shine of the crystals throb like a beating heart much steadier than his own, wanting to be rescued, to be returned home. Lance dumps his bag onto the tabletop as soon as he's able, rocks and bottle and all, and reaches out to touch the real thing. Again he swears, as his skin touches the surface, that they're alive.

He only sees the bottle slowly roll towards the edge of the table just in time to see it, as though in slow motion, fall to the floor.

Please don't be loud please don't be loud please don't be loud-

It shatters.

Lance can practically feel Keith's heated glare on his back.

He holds his breath, waiting for the worst, hoping for the best.

Nothing happens.

The breath he is holding releases. He even turns around to give Keith a grin and a thumbs up because they did it.

And then the doors begin to close, much, much faster than it had opened, and the thumbs up turns upside down when the alarm blares to life.

"We need to go, now."

Lance agrees wholeheartedly, securing the bag tightly and joining Keith in sprinting to the door but they're not fast enough. The doors seal shut, trapping them inside before they can reach it.

Keith skids to a stop and slams his hand onto the panel, but the screen flashes a bunch of red scribbles and the alarm continues to scream. The expression on Keith's face darkens. "Get back," he says, and a moment later Lance finds himself shielding his face from shattered glass as Keith smashes his elbow down onto the panel. Sparks fly, even while Keith jams his entire forearm into the exposed innards and pulls out a fistful of wires.

The lights flicker.

For a moment, nothing happens.

Then the doors begin to split.

By now their presence is obvious. They'll have to move quick through the tunnels.

Over the rumble of giant stone doors, he can also hear a faint but high-pitched, mechanical whine.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out there are weapons pointed at them.

Keith crashes into him so hard and so fast, Lance forgets how to breathe. He skids across the floor, rolling onto his hands and knees just in time to see a purple light shimmer through the air like a tiny comet, straight into Keith's chest.

It latches to him. Keith makes a strangled, confused noise.

And then the device comes alive, beautiful like sparklers on hot summer nights back home. But Keith just took a shot that was meant for him and there's nothing beautiful about it at all.

He is so hyper-focused on Keith's writhing body that he isn't ready for the piercing pain that erupts in his lower stomach. A similar contraption cinches into his skin through the fabric, sharp little hooks ripping through muscle and holding firm before lighting him up from the inside.

He pulls at it desperately, feeling the current travel up his arms and spreading. The world tips, body useless and prone now, only moving in small involuntary spasms.

Then the fire returns, a second wave of impossible heat, throwing his entire being into uncontrollable thrashing. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Keith suffering the same fate, no longer screaming.

It's not going to stop, he realizes. Not until he passes out like Keith. It makes him welcome the foggy blackness creeping into his vision like a heavy quilt.

Before he succumbs, he jerks an arm towards Keith, not knowing what good will come from it but knowing he has to try.

He is not at all surprised when he fails.

XXX

The moment he wakes, Keith knows something is wrong.

He's on the ground. It's cold and hard and uncomfortable. When he peels his eyes open he can see he's been stripped down and changed into something else that is tattered and basically useless against the chill in the air. The bloodstains are too old to be his.

He drags himself into sitting, hearing the rattling of metal. Feels the weight on his right wrist.

A metal cuff is snugly wrapped around said wrist, latched to the wall by a short length of chain. Across the way, Lance is dressed in the same prison rags as himself, linked to the wall by his left wrist - of course it would be the left. He's on on his side and facing the wall, but Keith can see him breathing from here so there's that.

Though doubtful, Keith attempts to pull at his restraint and stretch his free arm as far as he can towards Lance, finding that there is still a fair distance between them. If Lance does the same, even with his long limbs, Keith doubts their fingertips will even touch. There'd be maybe a good six inches between them at best.

He huffs. How cruel.

He redirects focus to his surroundings. Three walls of stone, one of thick bars with spaces too small for even Pidge to try to squeeze through. It's dark and quiet. Lance's bag is nowhere to be seen. With dread he realizes his blade is gone too, but Lance won't be wanting to leave without those crystals and Keith is not going to leave without his knife.

With a soft moan, he rubs at his chest to soothe the phantom pains from earlier. Whatever that thing was - a taser of sorts, his mind supplies - it had hurt. It was a debilitating pain that left him feeling…

"...what?"

He freezes, fingers brushing up against something foreign.

It's… still there?

No. No.

But the little metal apparatus responsible for those crippling shocks is still lodged into his chest like some sort of metallic leech. Keith has no doubt that the thing is still live, just waiting to torture him to keep him compliant. Surely it'll be the same for Lance.

A few deep, controlled breaths keep him calm. He has to get it out.

He holds fast to it, fingers cramping with the grip. The guttural sound that tears out of his throat as he rips it free doesn't even sound like him and he shoves his mouth against his bicep to stifle it.

The little gadget clatters to the stone floor, coated with his blood. The new tear weeps red, staining the already dirty uniform. Keith bunches up the front of his shirt and presses it to the wound. It hurts, but it shouldn't be fatal.

He looks to Lance, who, even after all that racket, remains unmoving.

His screams did, however, attract the attention of someone else.

"I see one of you is awake."

He's big, sprouting a smug grin and trademark, yellow stained eyes.

Keith doesn't flinch. "And?"

The Galran doesn't flinch either as he invites himself into the cell.

Easily Keith is half the size of him, but still he stands in defiance. The disadvantage doesn't scare him. He'll fight one handed if he has to.

The thought is lost to him when a sharp pain erupts through him bodily. He only has the sense to realize the sensation stems from his chained wrist, which he claws at violently. What the quiznak is this!?

Not shocks, not like before. This is a different pain, something much more invasive and corporal.

He wobbles to his knees and then to his rump, slouching against the wall to keep from slumping over completely.

Injections. Injections through the manacle. No way to avoid or fight it. Its dirty and cheap and just about everything Keith expects from the Galra.

His lids go heavy, head bobbing forward.

No.

Fight it.

Fight it.

"Just let it happen. Don't worry; you and I are going to be seeing a lot of each other."

Being kept alive. Not poison, then.

"My name is Anthos. And you are mine."

Keith's tongue is heavy. Anthos. What a shitty name. He likes Asshole much better.

"As... Assssss…"

Fuck.

Anthos unchains him. Normally it would be a reckless move, but Keith understands fully just how helpless he is now. Even moreso when he's plucked off the ground and slung over Anthos' shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

When Anthos starts to carry him out, the panic sets in. He flexes his fingers and toes, willing them to do what he says, but they're numb and locked up, and Keith can only watch as Lance's prone form shrinks further and further away until Anthos turns a corner and Lance is lost from his sight entirely.

Left to wake up scared and alone.

"Noo," he moans miserably. They're supposed to stay together.

Keith is acutely aware of a bony shoulder digging painfully into his ribs and then a sudden jolt to the system as he's thrown down on something flat and hard. It feels like a stone slab, but Keith doesn't get much time to feel out his new surroundings before he's pushed flat against it and strapped down. Pinned at the wrists and ankles, over his sternum, hips and even his neck.

It happens in an instant because Keith's body refuses to fight back.

An oversized claw grasps at his hair, wrenching his head to the side as much as the neck strap will allow.

"I was wondering when you were gonna show up." the voice is smooth and at ease. The hand in his hair tightens. Anthos hums in delight. "A big old bag of crystals and two Paladins of Voltron on a silver platter. Not a bad day. Just one thing."

Rank breath washes over Keith's face, hot and invasive.

"How do they work?"

"What?" Keith can feel his mobility coming back, just in time to be interrogated. Joy.

"The crystals. The ones you were trying to steal from us-"

"You stole them first," Keith bites back, unable to help himself. "They don't belong to you."

"Have you never heard of finders keepers? They are mine, just like you are mine. Just like your friend is mine." The hand finally slips free of his locks to reach for something else. It catches the light, a glint Keith knows all too well. "Just like this blade is mine."

Keith's eyes narrow. "That's mine."

The knife's tip gently nudges his shirt up just enough to expose the flesh of his abdomen. The sharp edge of his own blade drags along the skin, rimming around his navel. He waits for the inevitable line of questioning punctuated with the threat of bodily hard from his own weapon. Instead, the knife pushes deeper, unprompted, puncturing flesh with a wet squelch.

He breathes through his teeth, eyes locked with Anthos' and glaring. He has no other way to show his defiance.

"I'll admit, I was hoping for a better reaction than that. I like it when they're loud."

The knife, still invading his stomach, twists ever so slightly.

Against every intention, Keith cries out.

"That's more like it."

Keith cuts off his own scream by chomping down on his lip until he tastes blood.

Anthos' chuckle is so dark it practically vibrates through him. "You are not a tight-lipped Decibonian; you are a Paladin, and a Paladin's job is to protect. So you tell me," he leans in close. Keith can feel the flat, blood-smeared blade press against his cheek now. "What matters more to you; keeping us from using the crystals? Or keeping that pathetic planet's people from harm?"

A deep rage burns within him. It's a misleading threat. Harm will come to Decibon either way.

Wary of his movements, Keith lies through his teeth. "You don't scare me."

The blade, which he expects to bite into his cheek or worse, instead clatters carelessly to the floor. His heart aches to retrieve it.

"You're lying."

Keith twists his head to the side to redirect his glare to the wall. He focuses on the cracks and crevasses, anything to distract him from the pain in his stomach and still somehow pulsing in his chest.

"Did I hurt your feelings? I heard humans are sensitive creatures but I assumed a Paladin would be an exception to the norm. But you are just like the rest," A strong holds his and chin forces his head back into position. "Sensitive and easy to break. But if you will not talk, you will scream."

Keith doesn't take the bait.

"Unless you want to talk?"

Instead of a response, Keith lathers up as much saliva as he can, summons Lance's perfect aim and launches it into Anthos' face. The frothy, pink-stained was of spit lands directly in Anthos' left eye.

Keith knows a mistake before he makes one but it has never stopped him before and it doesn't take away the satisfaction.

The reaction, however, is not one Keith expects nor likes.

Anthos wipes at his face with a massive hand and reveals a wicked grin.

And then leaves the room.

For a brief, long stretched dobash, Keith just breathes. Its loud to his ears, echoing and almost deafening in the otherwise silent chamber. He misses Lance's chatterbox ways when he's nervous and wonders if he'll ever hear it again.

When Anthos returns, Keith feels a dangerous heat floating over his knife wound.

"Can't have you bleeding out," comes the simple explanation, mere ticks before a white hot fire kisses the tear in his stomach. The promise of pain does not prepare him enough and Keith tries to buck instinctively against his restraints, all the while holding back his cries because he won't give Anthos that kind of cheap pleasure.

Yet Anthos holds the burning rod there longer than he needs to, waiting, longing for an audible reaction. Keith holds his breath. Holds his tongue.

"Defiance will get you nowhere," Anthos explains, pulling the heat away. Keith sucks in a gasp and pushes the air out, willing his body to endure. "It only makes you more fun to break. But for now..." There's an intense grip around his arm, and it's hard to tell if Anthos is rearing up to harm him more or just choosing to grant him a momentary reprieve.

Escape comes in the form of an injection in his arm, one that he is helpless to prevent. He does lift his head to watch the needle go in as soon as he feels the prick, to which Anthos laughs, entertained to have at least elicited a reaction out of him, even if it's a silent one.

The drugs hit him fast. Keith can feel his entire body being pulled away from his control just like before. He feels his restraints go slack. A hand encircle his ankle to lift him, lower him, drag him. He cannot fight it, cannot command his body to move.

He mumbles into the stone floor he's dragged along, not sure what he's trying to say.

He wonders how Lance will react to him, to seeing him like this. He wonders how creased his face will get. How grand the panicked gestures will be.

In a different scenario, Keith might actually find some humor in the thought.

Metal rattles. Cell doors and chains. A familiar coldness with an additional twinge of heat in his stomach that is probably a scar now. Cauterized, Keith acknowledges bleakly, to be kept alive for more pain later on.

He's dragged into place and secured to the wall by the single manacle. He lies there, not yet able to find the strength to roll over and face Lance, to assure the other boy that he is okay. In his mind he can already picture blue eyes stricken with grief and guilt, as Lance does, and Keith wants nothing more in that moment than to call him an idiot for taking any iota of blame.

A few solid dobashes pass by before his fingers twitch, tingling with numbness. He experiments with it, finding that he is able to move them on command. Mouth too, he realizes.

"L...Laaaann… I'm… m''okay…"

Damn it.

Lance needs him. Lance needs to know he's alright.

With a diluted groan, Keith finds the grit to roll onto this back, where his head lolls to the side towards Lance's side of the cell.

He chokes, chest seizing.

Lance is nowhere in sight.