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James Griffin wakes with a resounding headache. He rubs the side of his head, feeling the large bump there. What had he been hit with anyway? All he remembers is being ambushed after a meeting with Iverson and the other higher-ups - he’s an official officer now, though that doesn’t really matter at the moment.
He slowly looks around the cell he’s in. It’s dark and dingy, but the metal is different than anything James has seen on Earth before. He knows that there was an alien pod that crashed just outside the Garrison, but he never got a good look at it before. . . before this whole debacle right here.
Was I. . . abducted by aliens? Now that aliens are a thing that definitely exists, James can’t help but wonder if the series of disappearances over the last few years have been because of them. Did Kogane really kidnap those cadets, or is that some lie the Garrison made up to villainize James’s former classmate further?
Asshole deserves it, James thinks with a huff.
He wrestles with the restraints on his hands, twisting to get a good look at them. Yeah, that ain’t human technology. He tries to get a good grip on the stuff, but it doesn’t work too well, what with the alien technology and everything. James doesn’t know what he expected, but getting abducted by aliens was not on his list of ‘preferred ways to die’.
The cell door, which James hadn’t noticed until right now, slides open. A massive - we’re talkin’ at least seven feet tall - purple cat. . . thing walks into his room, glaring down at James with a snarl plastered across its enormous face.
“I had hoped we’d be getting something exciting,” the alien says in beastly, heavily accented English. “You humans are too fragile to last very long in the arena. Don’t know why we gathered so many of you.”
Is this alien. . . mocking him? James grits his teeth. “What do you want with me?”
The alien laughs. “Nothing, little human. We were running low on food for the Champions, and your planet happened to be the closest. Seeing as we’ve taken worthy fighters from your dirt planet before, one of you might. . . surprise us.”
“F-Fighters?” James whispers. “Food for who ?”
A sinister chuckle leaves the purple alien’s mouth, and it sends a shiver down James’s spine. “Don’t worry, human . You’ll find out soon enough.”
James isn’t quite sure what that means, but as the alien leaves, he can’t help but fear what’s in store for him.
He’s moved to a new cell some time later. There are rows of cells across from him, and James assumes that there are more on his side of the long hallway as well. He can’t see any aliens from where he is, but he can hear something in the distance. It sounds like. . . shouting.
Whatever language it is, it’s not human. It’s growly and guttural and James can’t help but wonder what kind of monster could possibly make those kinds of sounds. The alien he saw before is probably capable of it, what with the whole. . . cat. . . thing. That shit was fucking weird. Like, the most convincing fursuit in existence, except, you know, it was real. And super fucking terrifying.
James turns his head toward the shouting, only to see several of the massive purple aliens carrying a much smaller alien between them. The smaller alien is writhing and shouting, growls and ferocious snarls leaving its mouth in what James can only imagine is filthy cursing.
It also. . . looks a little familiar.
James has to squint as the purple aliens throw - actually fucking throw - the hissing alien into the cell across from him, snarling something in the same guttural language. James watches the alien as they leave, looking at the pale peach skin that he can barely see through several purple markings and what look like vibrant red scars. Its hair cascades down its back in black, messy waves, and James is struck by familiarity again.
This alien. . . almost looks like Kogane. That asshole who dropped out of the Garrison and kidnapped and/or murdered a trio of missing cadets. Maybe. It was never proven, but everyone has pretty much accepted the fact.
The alien lays lifeless on the ground for several long moments, eyes closed, before it moves and sits up, luminous yellow eyes trained on James. It sits not unlike a cat would, feline ears twitching, and James realizes that this guy has a tail, a fucking tail . The black fur looks thick and fluffy, not unlike those long-hair cats that James has seen on Earth. The ears have the same sort of design, much more cat-like than the almost-bat ears he’s seen on the other aliens.
James and the alien just watch each other for a long moment. James is still trying to reconcile with the sheer absurdity of this situation, with an alien that looks like someone had slapped cat ears on Kogane, and trapped waiting for someone to come and ‘feed’ him to these ‘Champions’.
After an indeterminate amount of time, cat-Kogane - not that James really thinks this is Kogane - curls into a tight ball and seemingly goes to sleep.
James spends the rest of his ‘day’ watching the comings and goings of the various aliens. He catches a whole different slew of them, though the purple furry aliens are always the ones in charge. There are a couple of prisoners that look a little similar to them, but they’re always slimmer or not as. . . purple as the main aliens. He still doesn’t know who they are, but he still knows that these purple ones are in charge, and he’s here to fight in some sort of arena.
The various dead bodies that are dragged through the hallway clue him into that very quickly.
Cat-Kogane hasn’t moved in several. . . hours? Every once in a while, its tail or ear will twitch, but it isn’t awake. Or, at least, it’s not talking. Is it right for me to call this guy an ‘it’? James wonders as he looks cat-Kogane over again. The alien at least appears male, so James assumes he can call the guy, well. . . a guy.
James has seen so much weird shit today.
That guy said they’d taken a bunch of humans. Does that mean the Garrison? There has to have been other humans here for the aliens to have learned English, so they’ve at least been to Earth before.
James is going to pretend that thought doesn’t scare the shit out of him.
“ ¡Déjame ir! ¡Les dispararé la cabeza! (Let me go! I’ll fucking shoot your head off!)”
Is that. . . Spanish? James doesn’t speak Spanish, but he does at least know what the language at least sounds like. The voice at least sounds like it came from a human mouth, not like ol’ animal throat across from him.
The aliens shove a very human-looking guy into the same cell as cat-Kogane, laughing when he almost trips over cat-Kogane’s sleeping form. The cat alien isn’t impressed, glaring up at the guy with those eerie, strange yellow eyes. James feels a shiver run down his spine; his eyes don’t have any pupils, just solid yellow orbs that betray no emotion.
Like there’s no life behind them.
“Shit,” the guy mutters. “Sorry, Keithy.”
He leans down, and James half-expects the alien to bite the guy’s face off. Instead, the alien lets his face be cupped, and the guy runs his hands soothingly through the cat-alien’s hair.
James has the distinct feeling that he shouldn’t be here.
Wait wait wait, did he say KEITHY?! James had been joking when he named the alien ‘cat-Kogane’. There’s no way that Keith Dumbass Kogane actually managed to get stuck in space. And transformed into some kind of weird alien-hybrid-cat. . . thing . Straight out of the uncanny valley.
The guy turns to look at James, and James’s breath catches in his throat. “McClain?”
“Holy shit,” McClain - Lance fucking McClain - breathes. “James Griffin? What are you- How did you even get in space?”
“Probably the same way you got here,” James grumbles. “Purple fucks just showed up at the Garrison one day. Jumped me and a bunch of other officers.”
McClain laughs. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Galra are always like that: blunt and don’t give two fucks about anything other than getting what they want.” McClain sits against the wall of his cell, and James’s jaw drops as Kogane - seriously? Is this brainless animal really the absolute fucking monster Kogane was back at the Garrison? - curls up with his head on McClain’s lap.
“The. . . Galra?”
“Yep,” McClain says, popping the ‘p’. “They’re takin’ over the whole universe. Practically every system at this point. Or so I’ve heard. Some of the other inmates have actually seen space. Keithy and I haven’t really left the arena since we got here. I dunno where Hunk and Pidge ended up, but they’re not in the arena at least.”
“W-Wait, you’ve been here this entire time?” James asks, looking McClain over. He’s gotten taller and broader, even taller than James himself, and both of them definitely dwarf Kogane, who doesn’t appear to have grown any since he’s come to space.
Which. . . still doesn’t make any sense.
“Yeah. We stumbled upon this weird cave in the desert and activated some tracking beacon. Shiro had already been captured, so he knew what was coming when we activated it. Now we’re here, and we probably won’t be leaving any time soon.” McClain starts running his hands through Kogane’s hair. “How long. . . has it been since we were taken?”
James watches Kogane mumble sleepily, accepting the gentle touches in a way that the Kogane James knew never would. Something’s happened between them out here.
“I’m not sure on the specifics,” James admits. “About two years, I think?”
McClain exhales heavily. “Two years?” He grimaces. “It’s felt like a lot longer than that.”
“What’s wrong with him?” James asks, motioning to Kogane.
McClain winces. “He doesn’t like to talk about it. The druids did something weird to him, and he’s looked like this ever since. Every few fights or so, they’ll take him again, do more weird shit to him, and he’s like this for a little while. It’s supposed to make the fights more entertaining, apparently. I’ve heard the guards talking about him being half-Galra, which would explain why they want to experiment on him so much.”
“Experiment,” James repeats, trying and failing to take everything in. He watches Kogane, who appears to be sleeping once again. It almost makes too much sense - the aggressiveness, the inhuman strength, the stupid, stupid purple eyes - but James feels his loathing of Kogane rising.
Bastard was an alien the entire time. A damn convincing one. Sure, Kogane always acted like a bit of a weirdo, but he’s also an orphan and an idiot, so James just assumed he was just a freak. Now, apparently, he’s an alien freak who now fights in a strange alien battle arena for the entertainment of their new alien captors.
“A-And they make you fight in this. . . arena?”
McClain nods. “All the prisoners end up fighting in it, though the Champions are usually only given new meat. Everyone else has to try to climb up the ranks without getting killed. Oh, and you have to hope that the druids like you enough to heal you after you win a match. Or if someone actually has mercy on you and you somehow don’t die in your first fight.”
“What are the druids?” James is almost afraid of what he’s going to learn about them.
“Galra that can use magic,” McClain says, which is the exact opposite of what James was expecting. Magic. “They can repair wounds and mess with your lifeforce or whatever. They’re also really good at replacing limbs, which is helpful, so say the least.”
James looks down at McClain’s legs again, realizing for the first time that one of his feet - they’re all barefoot, he’s now noticing; this place is so warm he’s barely noticed - is made of shiny silver metal, blue light shining through the cracks in the metal.
“Your foot. . .”
“Yeah,” McClain says, rubbing the back of his head. “I lost it a long time ago. No real reason to mourn it now.”
James can see the logic in that. And then he wonders when McClain actually learned how to use logic. Though, living in a barbaric alien arena probably changes a person quite a lot. He can only imagine how Kogane must be after spending all that time here; guy was already a bit of a psycho back at the Garrison.
A purple alien - a Galra , apparently - walks in front of their cells, pushing a plate of what can only be considered a plate of goo under the bars. James stares at the purplish lump of goo, the color reminding him of what jello would look like if it’d managed to mold.
McClain takes the two plates he’s given and sets one aside for Kogane. “It tastes like ass,” McClain assures. “But it’s food, and they don’t feed us until after a match. Oh, and the time between matches can vary greatly. You probably won’t get to eat for a while after this.”
James stares down at the plate, poking the goo with the spoon also on the plate. McClain is shoveling his into his mouth, seemingly unbothered by the taste, so he carefully eats a spoonful. Risavi, I will never shit-talk your cooking ever again, James thinks with a grimace.
The goo doesn’t really have a taste. It’s just kinda there, and when he swallows, there’s a bitter, chemically aftertaste that sends a shudder down James’s spine.
McClain snorts. “Yep. That looks about right.”
“Dude, how can you eat this stuff?” James splutters, glaring down at the poison in front of him.
McClain’s face is grave. “Practice. Lots and lots of practice.”
James swallows. Alien prison. Alien battle arena. Whatever happens, James knows he won’t emerge from this as the same person.
If he even gets out of here at all.
James manages to doze off shortly after his ‘meal’, and he must sleep for quite a while. By the time he wakes up, it’s to the sound of loud cheering above him. What sounds like thousands of voices all cheering for something in that guttural, animalistic language that James realizes must be Galran.
“About time you woke up,” a dry voice comments.
James turns to glare at the cell across from him, already knowing who’s speaking. Kogane stares back at him, gaze challenging but not openly hostile. His eyes have pupils now, the same purple-grey that always mystified him back at the Garrison, though the sclera are the same glowing yellow. Kogane has taken up the space where McClain had been before, the former cadet now nowhere in sight.
“Lance is fighting now,” Kogane explains flatly. “Since you’re bound to ask.”
James hums. “I see you haven’t changed.”
Kogane rolls his eyes. “Besides the obvious, of course. I can see in a whole three less colors than I could before.”
James snorts humorlessly at that.
“How’d you end up here anyway? Figured they were done with Earth.”
“Same way you did,” James huffs. “Buncha other Garrison officers are here too, probably. I haven’t seen anyone other than you and McClain since I got here.”
Kogane hums. “Wonderful. At least you’ll die a very painful death.”
“That doesn’t reassure me in the slightest.”
“Good. I wasn’t trying to reassure you. You’re a fucking asshole,” Kogane mutters. Kogane picks up his plate of goo, slowly eating it as his glowing eyes stick to James. “I’d rather not have to deal with you here. It’s insufferable enough as it is.”
“No plans to escape?” James asks dryly.
“Not at the moment, no. Galra are about three times as strong as a human, and I’m not taking my chances with the couple hundred on this ship. Besides, Haggar and her freaky druids are here, and they can do a whole lot more damage than just killing you.”
Somehow, James doesn’t quite believe that statement.
Kogane looks up at the ceiling just as the cheering reaches a crescendo. “Lance won.”
“You can tell?”
“Crowd doesn’t sound bloodthirsty enough. They don’t like watching Lance fight as much as the majority of us,” Kogane explains flatly. “Guns aren’t really the bloodiest of weapons. Don’t make enough of a mess.”
James wrinkles his nose. “Gross.”
Kogane shrugs. “You get used to it. Though, I’m sure you won’t have to, seeing as you’ll be dead after your first fight.” He says this so calmly, as if the reality is already set in stone.
“You’re really certain that I’m going to die,” James says with an eye roll. “You and McClain are still here; who’s to say I won’t live?” He doesn’t know how he can talk so calmly about his own mortality, but he’ll be damned if he lets Kogane see him nervous and uncomfortable.
Kogane laughs, a cold, humorless sound that rings with malice. Condescension drips off his voice as he says, “Dumbass. Humans don’t win in the arena without a whole lot of luck or a lot of weapon training.”
James opens his mouth to argue, but Kogane cuts him off. “I’m part Galra, and Lance is the best person with a gun in the entire fucking universe. If you think that worthless training back at the Garrison is going to do you any good, it won’t. You’ll be fighting aliens, and guess what, most aliens are bigger, stronger, and faster than a human. Which you are. And you’re not nearly impressive enough to earn the crowd or the druids’ favor.”
James glares at Kogane, who meets his eyes with cold malice glittering in his eyes. “And if your first fight is against the Champions, you are dead , because they are absolute monsters , and they.
“Have.
“No.
“Mercy.”
James and Kogane end up glaring at each other for a good portion of the day before McClain is dragged back down. He’s shouting and fighting just as he was before, once again ranting in Spanish, but James doesn’t pay him much attention. His brain is a whirlwind of emotions, his dark conversation with Kogane never leaving the forefront of his mind.
McClain settles down next to Kogane, and they seem to fit together with an ease of familiarity that James should expect, given what he saw the last time they were in a cell together. Kogane relaxes his smaller frame against McClain’s side, his eyes on James the entire time, but Kogane does seem a lot more relaxed now that McClain is back.
James can’t help but wonder at the nature of their relationship. After all, both of them hated each other back at the Garrison - though, James isn’t sure if Kogane even knew McClain existed. Now, they’re clearly close, closer than any two people should be. Especially two guys.
The connection between them seems a little too. . . intimate for James’s liking.
James is jolted out of his thoughts when Kogane begins speaking quietly in the growling tones of what he’s come to realize is the Galran language. He speaks almost lazily to McClain, the alien dialect flowing off his tongue like he was born to speak it. Which, James reminds himself, he likely could have been, what with his whole half-alien thing.
McClain responds in English, though, and James tries to look uninterested as he listens. “Really? I didn’t know that.”
Kogane mutters something, and even though James has trouble understanding his tone with the inhuman language, he thinks Kogane is annoyed about something or other.
McClain confirms that as he hums, wrapping an arm around Kogane’s waist casually. “That will be a bit of a problem. Did you get anything else?”
Kogane then starts talking, sounding bored and uninterested, and James can’t even hope to understand what he could be talking about. It’s clear that they don’t want him to understand what they’re talking about, seeing as no other aliens here understand English beyond a couple of the guards.
Which. . . makes a lot of sense. Kogane is convinced that James will be dead soon, his first fight in the arena, and while James is determined to survive, he could at least try to get a read on who these ‘Champions’ are. He’s heard enough about them to know that they’re dangerous. If Kogane is wary of them, he has something to worry about.
“Heard a couple of the guards talking. Champion match tomorrow,” McClain tells his. . . partner? Friend? Fuckbuddy? James is getting a lot of mixed signals from where he is, staring openly at the pair now.
Honestly, James can barely imagine Kogane tolerating someone as loud and boisterous as McClain, but that’s not something he wants to think about in any capacity. His overwhelming heterosexuality cannot be swayed, especially by an alien and a former cadet in some murderous alien arena.
“I didn’t know that,” Kogane says quietly. “Who was talking about it?”
“Sendak,” McClain replies.
“He’d know about something like that. I can’t wait to rip out his other eye.” The viciousness in Kogane’s voice is something that James should expect after being on the receiving end of Kogane’s ‘meltdowns’, but the snarl on his face and vitriol in his words still stir something in him.
Something primal and very full of fear.
Both Kogane and McClain are gone when James wakes up the next. . . day? He isn’t sure how time works out here, but he feels just as tired as when he went to sleep. Seeing as he was sleeping on the ground, that should have been expected.
A giant purple fuck - a Galra , James reminds himself - stares down at him from outside his cell. Then, with a gleeful look in its massive yellow eyes, the Galra opens the door and handcuffs James’s hands to his back. James tries to resist, but the Galra easily has a good two feet on him, and each of its biceps is almost as big as James’s head.
It seems to taunt him in the alien language once again, but James doesn’t bother to try to decipher whatever it’s saying. He has to run. His body trembles with adrenaline, screaming at him to run. To fight. To find some way out of the alien’s hold. Because he knows where he’s going, and the arena is supposed to be his deathbed.
I don’t want to die .
I don’t want to die.
I don’t want to die.
So why does it feel like these aliens are marching him toward his death?
Every cell he passes by - filled with every sort of disgusting creature you can come up with - sneers and jeers at him. Some of them, mainly the more battle-scarred ones, even look relieved to not be in his place. And that sends a bolt of fear straight through James’s lungs. It feels like he’s leaking air, unable to breathe correctly.
Are these Champions really that scary? So terrifying that these aliens are happy to know that James is walking to his death instead of them?
James almost doesn’t want to believe it.
The arena is a messy pit of sand; James can see it as he’s marched down a long hallway. They don’t even give him a weapon. They’re really just sending me to my death, aren’t they? James is shoved into a small crowd of other Garrison officers that have already gathered in the sands.
The stadium surrounding the sands is easily enough to hold a thousand people, and nearly every seat is filled. As James tries to ignore how badly his legs are shaking, the crowd erupts into cheers. A door at the other side of the arena slowly slides open, and James’s heart drops.
Of. Fucking. Course.
McClain walks confidently out onto the sands, twirling a blaster around in his hand. There’s a sickening smile on his face, full of malicious glee, and his walk is closer to a stalk, like he’s hunting them.
Kogane - of course it’s Kogane, who else would it be? - stalks out behind McClain, his eyes glowing brightly from the other side of the arena, and he has a longsword in one of his hands. The other is holding a fivetet of knives, small and thin, like the throwing knives James has seen in movies.
He can’t really throw those, can he?
Knowing how batshit insane Kogane is, James is pretty sure Kogane would have picked up throwing knives pretty easily, what with the fucking huge hunting knife he always carried around. Probably would still carry around if all of his things hadn’t been taken by the aliens. Honestly, Kogane’s obsession with that knife was borderline creepy, but that fits right in with Kogane’s. . . everything.
James watches as McClain lifts his gun, and he can barely react before the head of the officer in front of him explodes into a mess of blood and core.
Keith stares at the terrified crowd of Garrison officers. After Lance’s warning shot, all of them have adopted a ‘terrified shitless and will not move’ position, which is absolutely boring. How is he going to make this poor excuse of a fight entertaining?
And then he remembers: These are Garrison officers. These are the assholes that tried to explain the Kerberos disaster as pilot error.
Hatred burns hot in his veins, but he refrains from throwing himself into the fight just yet. Lance is obviously thinking about something, and while neither of them are known for their impulse control, Keith trusts Lance’s judgement more than he trusts his own. Lance isn’t the one going feral on a semi-regular basis, after all.
“You ready, amor ?” Lance asks softly.
Keith studies the terrified Garrison officers. “We’re busting out after this, right?”
Lance nods. “Unless you’ve suddenly decided to grow a conscience?” A year ago, the words would have been accusatory, but Lance knows at this point that Keith would never abandon him. Would never go against his orders without bringing it up to him first.
Keith scoffs. “As if.”
And that’s the end of it. They had decided very early on that having a sense of morality would get them killed, and since neither of them wanted to die, they abandoned anything that could hinder them. Getting out of this arena alive is more important than anyone they have to kill to get out of it.
“Whenever you’re ready, babe,” Lance whispers, lifting his blaster again.
“Yeah,” Keith exhales. “Leave Griffin to me.”
Lance hums. “Don’t draw it out.”
“My morality is a roulette wheel, but I’m not that deranged.” Though it feels like it sometimes.
I barely even know who I am anymore.
Keith tries not to think as he tears through the Garrison officers. Tries to ignore the way some of their eyes widen in recognition before he drives his sword into their chests. None of them are fast enough to escape him, his Galran genes giving a severe advantage over them, but eventually, it’s just Keith, Griffin, Lance, and Iverson.
Keith doesn’t bother looking over at where Lance is probably ripping Iverson a new one. He already got to vent his frustration on Iverson - his eye still looks damaged from when Keith punched it, he realizes with sick pride - and Lance deserves the chance after everything that man put him through.
No, Keith has much more he would love to do to James Griffin.
Griffin, to his credit, manages to not cry his eyes out as Keith corners him. He looks outraged, but Keith can smell the fear under his anger. The human is terrified, Keith is pleased to know, but he has managed to hide it under a veneer of anger and bloodlust.
Keith is almost a little impressed.
“Aren’t you going to beg for your life?” Keith asks dryly, curiosity nowhere in his tone.
“Aren’t you going to slice my head off?” Griffin shoots back. To his credit - Keith is reluctant to admit - the human’s voice only trembles slightly.
“As much as I loathe you,” Keith says flatly, unable to summon much emotion, “I would rather not draw this out. Even your screams must be annoying.”
Panic glitters in Griffin’s brown eyes, much more obvious than before, and Keith lets his lips curl into a confident smirk that is anything but how he actually feels. “I knew you were a psycho, Kogane, but this is a little far, don’t you think?”
Psycho, huh? “Funny, didn’t seem to think I was crazy when I was sucking you off,” Keith drawls, idly twirling his fivetet of knives between his two hands, sword forgotten on the ground. “Must have been good for you; though, I don’t know many straight men who enjoy pounding another man into the ground.”
Griffin narrows his eyes. “You think you’re tough shit, Kogane? Did you forget that you whined like a kicked puppy when I dropped your ass?”
Keith tilts his head, voice forcefully sweet as he coos, “I thought you liked my ass? You sure liked to fuck it.”
“You wish,” Griffin huffs. His eyes flick from Keith’s knives to his face a couple of times.
Keith snorts, and he looks over his shoulder at where Lance is pressing his blaster against Iverson’s temple, voice trembling with sheer rage even if Keith doesn’t pay attention to whatever he’s saying.
Slowly, Keith presses a gentle kiss to Griffin’s lips, biting teasingly at the human’s bottom lip. He pulls back slightly with a smirk, licking at his fangs. “You’re a good fuck, Griffin,” Keith breathes against the human’s lips, “but I’ve found someone better than you’ll ever be.”
With a swift movement, Keith slices through Griffin’s neck. Keith manages to hold back a wince at the thick red blood that runs over his hand as he pulls away, the roar of the Galran crowd too loud in his ears, and he exhales shakily. Murder never gets easier, and as Griffin’s body slumps to the ground, usually venomous brown eyes now dull and cold, Keith lets himself feel a shred of regret.
Even your death is unsatisfying, Keith thinks, staring numbly down at the body at his feet. The buzzing numbness that’s taken over his body isn’t what he expected when he imagined murdering Griffin in his head.
Instead of feeling a rush of pride or satisfaction, all Keith feels is empty.
Keith drops the bloody knife from his hand and turns around just in time to watch Lance blow Iverson’s brains out. As Iverson falls lifelessly to the ground, Keith walks toward the exit to the arena. He and Lance have been planning their escape for almost nine months, and he’ll be damned to let his stupid morality get in the way of finally escaping this hellhole.
Any remorse Keith felt is gone now, drowned out by the need to escape.
Lance joins him, rubbing Keith’s shoulder briefly, a gentle smile on his face, and Keith leans into the touch unconsciously. Even if the rest of the universe burns, if Lance is there, Keith will go through anything. Escaping with Lance is the most important thing, more than the lives of the Garrison officers, Iverson, and Griffin all put together.
“Everything should be ready,” Lance whispers, voice soft.
Keith hums. “I know the way to the hangars,” he says before Lance can ask. It took a lot of persuading, but there are easily manipulated guards that have loose lips. Keith probably knows the entire ship in and out.
“Drones will be stopping patrol soon,” Lance says softly.
The door opens in front of them, and two Galran guards move to confiscate Keith’s knives. Keith drives a knife into the closest guard’s gut before they can cuff him, and Lance does the same to the other guard. As soon as they can, they run for the hangar, Keith at the lead, sharp ears pricked for anyone looking for them.
Not many would have seen them murder the guards from the angle of the arena entrance, but with a crowd that large, there had to have been witnesses, so Keith and Lance are on borrowed time right now.
Move quickly, quietly, and don’t get seen. They can worry about everything else later.
Hell, Keith doesn’t even know if he can fly any of the Galran ships. It can’t be too much different than the Garrison ships, but he’s still worried that the dinky little Galran ship they’ll have to steal will actually do them any good. It’s not like they can outmaneuver this massive warship with thousands of fighters on it.
But dammit, they’re going to try anyway.
As they walk into the hangar, Keith finds his gaze drawn to the massive metal lion held suspended in the center. He’s heard several guards talk about it, about the potential power it holds, but he hasn’t paid too much attention. The ship doesn’t open for anyone, so he gave up hope on ever getting his hands on it.
But damn does it look cool.
Even as Lance starts looking through the fighters available, Keith is drawn to the lion, walking up to the barrier as if in a daze. Gently, he presses a hand against the red barrier, and Keith sucks in a breath as the barrier falls easily. A barrier that can apparently withstand most weapons just fell for him.
“Lance,” Keith whispers in awe, a weird humming coming from the back of his head.
“The lion?” Lance exhales. “Sweet!”
“Paladin,” the humming voice whispers. “Escape.”
Keith stares up at the lion as it lowers its head, opening its mouth for him. “What do I call you?”
“Red.”
Keith sits down in the pilot seat of the Red Lion, feeling the controls. He’s almost in a state of shock, the weird purring energy that is Red in his head vibrating with energy. With a twitch of the controls, the Lion carves a hole in the Galran ship, and for the first time since Keith came to space, he’s out in the open, a huge expanse of nothing around him.
Lance leans against the chair behind him. “This is everything I’ve dreamed of,” he whispers.
“You dreamed of getting abducted by aliens?” Keith asks jokingly. Red’s controls feel so natural, and without any trouble at all, Keith swoops around the ship’s exterior and away into open space.
“A couple of times,” Lance admits. “Didn’t expect falling in love with dickbag supreme Keith Kogane, but hey, miracles happen.”
Keith chuckles quietly. A massive wormhole appears in front of them, and Keith instinctively moves to swerve around it, but Red pushes against his head. “Help. Safety,” the Lion says urgently. “Home.”
“Your home or mine?” Keith asks the Lion softly, staring at the wormhole in trepidation.
“Mine. Safety. Home.”
Keith shares a look with Lance, and after a few moments, Lance nods.
With a heavy exhale, Keith pushes Red into the wormhole.
As the wormhole closes behind them, Keith looks up at Lance again, letting Red run on autopilot for a few moments.
“We’re free,” Keith says quietly, voice trembling.
“Yeah. We are,” Lance says back, sounding just as stunned as Keith feels.
“Do you. . . regret it?”
“Shhhhh, space cat. Morals can come later. Right now, I’m going to worry about where this wormhole is taking us. Your safety is more important than whatever brought us here.”
Keith hums, taking a hold of the controls again, and as a planet comes into view, he can’t help but agree.
We’re here now. What happened happened.
Keith lets a tear roll down his face.
No matter what happened in that place. . . No matter how much you want to.
You can’t change the past.