Chapter Text
If Keith had to be honest - and he prided himself on being just that - he had not expected to meet his end at the hands of someone who was supposedly also an enemy of the Galran Empire. Of people he should - by default - be on the same side as. An enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that she-bang.
But here he was: Forced down on his knees in front of some hideous tentacled monstrosity, while two others of its kind held on to Keith’s arms on each side. It was just his luck that these guys had decided to attack the very same Empire outpost that Keith had been sent to gather intel from. He had naively thought that the empty-looking base must have meant that this mission would be an easy one since the Galras, that were supposed to guard the place, had seemed to barely be a skeleton crew, judging by the stillness. That misconception did, of course, prove false the moment he had spotted the first dead soldier leaning up against the wall in an otherwise inconspicuous hallway. When had the universe ever made anything easy for Keith?
After that discovery, this group of rebels had quickly subdued the Blade, who hadn’t even managed to take a single step back towards the exit, before they were on him. Keith might be a competent fighter and spy but in close quarters, and with the opponent having the advantage of numbers and taking him by surprise, he lasted only moments. And now his fate was about to be decided by some bastard of an alien, who was clearly the leader of this particular rebel group.
“Are we sure it's actually a Galra, Commander?” Asked the one on Keith’s right, in whatever language these guys communicated in. Thank God for his Altean translator; he at least wanted to be aware of what his near future would hold. Even if he was quite powerless to stop them if they just decided to off him right then and there. He felt a bit of regret at not being able to say goodbye to Shiro and the other paladins, despite the lukewarm feelings that had been between them ever since Keith left Voltron.
“Aye, it does not much look it, I’ll give ya that. But the symbols on its clothes and weapon, the purple eyes, and the fact that it’s even here on the base at all would suggest so. A half-breed, perhaps,” answered the so-called “commander” of the group, while peering critically down at the Blade kneeling at his feet.
They had yet to ask Keith himself any questions, probably figuring that Keith was disposable enough in the eyes of the Empire for them not to waste a translator on him - like most of its footsoldiers. Despite the irritation he felt at being talked about like he wasn’t right there, he was not about to offer up any information about his affiliations before he knew more about this group, that was for sure. Who even knew how they’d react to hearing that he wasn’t with the Empire? Knowledge was power, and Keith needed any advantage he could get if he wanted to escape. As a Blade, he was entirely on his own from the moment he went out on a mission; no one was coming to get him. The Blade of Marmora’s Codex was brutal but as a former foster kid, Keith probably understood it better than most. There simply weren’t enough resources to send a search and rescue party every time a Blade went missing on a mission.
“Seems likely, Commander. Shall we keep it? It seems young enough to sell, and exotic enough to maybe even sell well,” the one on his right said, in what Keith could only interpret as a leering tone.
Ah, so not rebels: Space pirates.
Space pirates who also happened to be slave traders.
And, by the sound of it, these slave traders specialized in procuring young Galra for their customers. Keith could not quite help the way his lips curled upwards in disgust. It was a good thing that he hadn’t revealed the fact that he was in possession of a translator to them.
“Hm, it is quite hard to tell when they’re half-breeds but if we have trouble determining its age, then so will the buyers. Toss it in with the others,” The Commander answered.
The asshole-in-charge then waved his hand dismissively at Keith, and he was roughly hauled to his feet and all but dragged from the outpost into the slavers’ ship, which he really should have noticed before entering the premises. He cursed himself for being careless and not doing proper recognizance of the outside of the building. His impulsiveness had once again screwed him over.
At least he hadn’t been executed on the spot. That was their mistake. There was still a chance for him to get out of this mess alive.
With a pirate on each side, still holding onto his arms - and his dagger in the belt of their commander - Keith was unable to wrestle free, and reluctantly let himself be led on. His guards continued until they reached the door to what he would guess had probably once been one of the ship’s storage rooms. Now it seemed to have been converted to a makeshift prison cell for the pirates’ captives.
Keith had no time to take in the contents of the room before he was abruptly shoved inside and the door slammed behind him. The shove had unbalanced him enough to send him tumbling, and he cursed softly at the way his elbow banged painfully on the ground. He sprang to his feet almost immediately after hitting the floor and attempted to pry the door open with his bare hands. He knew it was useless but he still had to make a token effort. At least his wrists hadn’t been shackled.
A small, frightened sound coming from behind him had him turning swiftly on his heel, back now facing the door, and hands raised to protect himself in case the other occupants of the room were hostile. Except…
Except the other three beings, that the slave traders had taken captive, were all smaller than him.
Much, much smaller.
From what he could judge as he glanced much further down than expected, his cellmates consisted of a child, who had not even reached puberty, a toddler, and… a baby. All Galra.
“What the hell,” Keith breathed out in his surprise. When the pirates had revealed that they wanted their ‘wares’ young, he had not expected them to mean literal children. Keith was absolutely horrified at the implications.
The oldest of the three was holding the infant close - as if he could protect the small kit despite the top of his head only just clearing the spy’s waist. He was about the size of a human child of maybe seven or eight years of age and could have passed for a miniature version of Thace with fluffy, lavender fur and large ears. The toddler that was peeking from behind the older kit was bravely hissing at Keith, despite the sound being rather feeble. He was a darker purple than the older kit, with shorter fur, small, red-tipped ears, and a couple of red stripes on each limb. The youngest of them, who was a very pale purple and had white, freckle-like spots all over its face and body, was making increasingly distressed noises. Most likely sensing the fear of the other two, which was evident in the wide, yellow eyes intently tracking every move of the stranger that had just entered their cell.
Keith let out an agitated sigh before he loosened his body from the threatening, defensive stance he had been in and instead held up his hands, palm out, in a hopefully placating gesture. He had very little experience when it came to calming others, especially children. As expected the kits did not seem even the slightest bit reassured and were still eyeing him suspiciously.
“Hey, hey,” Keith tried in a soft voice, slowly lowering himself into a crouch to make himself look less threatening. That was a thing people did when trying to soothe frightened creatures, right? “I’m not here to hurt you, I’m not with the others, I promise.”
The only thing that seemed to register with either of them was his tone and the fact that he was no longer towering over them.
No translator then. Figures.
He had no idea where to go from here, the only experience Keith had with people this young were the human kids from his time in the foster system, and he couldn’t be sure that knowledge would aid him in this particular situation. Especially since the experience he had gotten from the system mostly consisted of how to either avoid or fight the other kids. But the baby was still making unhappy sounds, that would probably soon develop into all-out cries, and though the oldest kit was holding it firmly in his arms, he also seemed a bit panicked at the prospect of a loudly wailing infant.
The oldest had clearly been left in charge of taking care of the other two, despite being just a kit himself. Something in Keith - instinct, perhaps? - ached to comfort the distressed kits in front of him. It was an unfamiliar feeling but it was also clear from the way the slavers acted, and the various supplies littered around the room, that these kits were largely left to their own devices. Which, Keith felt, was both a blessing and a curse, considering the circumstances.
Keith could also feel the panic rising within himself at their tense standstill, though he quickly tamped down on it - he was the adult here, and he could not afford to lose focus by being intimidated at the prospect of making a wrong move. It would be hard to make the situation worse but Keith didn’t exactly have the best track record with giving comfort.
His eyes then caught on his still-raised hands - on their pale, furless skin - and he suddenly realized why the kits still seemed so on edge: They didn’t know that he, too, was Galra.
Well… Half Galra, but still.
To them, he just looked like yet another alien. Maybe not the same species as their captors but an alien nonetheless.
He needed to do something about that fact, and fast, because he had a feeling that their captors would not take kindly to the infant’s hysterical wails if the oldest child’s increasingly desperate attempts to calm him were any indicator. The problem here was that Keith had never tried to consciously shift to appear more Galra. Had never wanted to, really. Why would he, when just the knowledge of his heritage had opened a chasm between him and the other members of the Voltron team? Seeing the physical evidence would surely only have widened it further. Besides, so far it had strictly happened involuntarily whenever his emotions, or the heat of battle, overwhelmed him - and neither of those options was viable right now as they would only serve to frighten the kits further.
Keith pushed his apprehension at the ordeal away; this time, the fact that he was part Galra would help put someone at ease, rather than anger or cause distress. So he did his best to recall the sensations that went through his body those few times when he knew he had looked more alien than usual: How it was almost like water running down his skin, that - instead of leaving him wet - would leave him with short, purple fur. It took a couple of moments of intense concentration, of forcing forth that strange experience that came with feeling his body change, and he had to shut his eyes to center himself.
Come on, body, turn Galra, Keith tried to manifest. This time I actually want you to.
The rippling sensation appeared faster and easier than Keith had thought it would, almost as if his body had just been waiting for permission from his brain. The Blade heard the kits shuffling nervously as he felt the change run along his skin. When he reopened his eyes, his vision had gotten exponentially better in the formerly dim room, so he assumed his eyes must have changed into looking more Galran as well as his now lavender, furred limbs. A twitch on top of his head, and a curious feel with one hand revealed a large pair of fluffy, feline ears, though the most shocking part - to him at least - was the tail that had seemingly grown out of thin air from the base of his spine, and now snaked from a slight rip in his uniform.
He had never made a full transformation, and even his partial ones had been too quick to take stock of himself, so, apart from the fur, all the other changes were new to Keith. The tail was slim, shaded like the rest of his body, and lightly furred except for the tip, which was rather bushy, like a lion’s. Because of course. Why he had one, when it seemed an uncommon trait in the Galra, was unclear to the spy, though he felt that the explanation must lay in his Galra blood. Or perhaps it was the result of his Human and Galra DNA mixing?
The part of his brain that had always been fascinated by the concept of aliens and cryptids, even after meeting numerous of them so far, could not help but be excited at the prospect of having a tail, and learning how to control it. Though for now it just messed up his balance.
The kits seemed just as transfixed with Keith’s altered appearance as he himself was. He found that he could now smell the fear coming off of them. It almost coated his airway with an uncomfortable thickness, and kickstarted instincts that Keith realized had, until now, been nothing but muffled whispers compared to the veritably yell it currently registered as. The sight and scent of the scared kits had him spontaneously letting out a purring sound, that he had been unaware he was even capable of making until now. It was completely out of his control but he had no intention of trying to turn it off, as it seemed to calm the three Galra children considerably. The toddler was even making as if to step out from behind the oldest like he wanted to get closer to Keith and the soothing rumble he was emitting.
He was stopped by the oldest kit’s hand on his arm. The oldest was still looking at Keith with far more suspicion and apprehension in his eyes - and scent - than a kit his size should ever have. In response, the volume of Keith’s purr went up a notch, and he went from a crouch to being fully on his knees and relaxing his body as much as he could so he looked even less likely to make any sudden movements.
Slowly, so slowly, he raised his arms and made a beckoning motion, an instinctual chirp falling from his mouth, that - to Keith’s new Galran ears - sounded like both a plea and an invitation.
Come here, it said. Come to me.
That seemed to do it, as the grip on the toddler’s arm loosened enough for him to waddle speedily towards the Blade, and then all but throw himself into Keith’s outstretched arms. The half-breed folded his body protectively around the kit for a moment, breathing in the scent of Galra kit and squeezing him reassuringly. He then straightened up a little, still holding on to the kit in his lap, so he could track the much slower and reluctant older kit as he inched over to where the adult Half-Galra was sitting.
When he was within reach, Keith shuffled from his kneeling position to sitting cross-legged instead and uncurled an arm from the toddler to tug the standing kit, and the baby he was holding, down into his lap as well. With all three of the small Galras held in his arms and tucked under his chin, Keith could finally feel his ferocious instincts settle - at least somewhat. The three kits must have felt a similar relief at the nearness of an adult of their species as they each started leaning heavily into Keith, almost as if seeking to get as close to the soothing rumble in his chest as possible.
Even the small infant had quieted down, though he could see that the kit holding him was slowly losing his grip, small arms tired from the strain. Keith once again shuffled around till the two oldest sat sprawled in the circle of his legs so that he could gently lift the smallest into his own arms. It was a little clumsy at first, Keith had only a vague idea on how to properly hold a baby but he eventually managed a comfortable position. The small kit just seemed satisfied with the increased closeness to the spy.
As the kits’ tentative relief turned to tears wetting his dark uniform, and then eventually to soft snores, Keith sat in perplexed silence, only broken up by his continuous purr, which had gradually turned to a soft rumble, that was more felt than heard. His head spun with how he had, in just a few hours, gone from a Blade of Marmora operative, ready to infiltrate and extract information from an Empire outpost to being a captive of a group of slave traders, sitting with a lapful of Galran kits.
Oh, if Lance could see him now, Keith thought drily.
He saw his tail flick in the corner of his vision and was reminded that it had not just been his circumstances that had changed, but also his physical self. Where before he had looked almost entirely human, he could now pass for a full-blooded Galra, if not for his diminutive stature. All this combined was enough to leave Keith with a building headache. He might have been impulsive by nature but he also had a hard time adapting to sudden change, which was out of his control. So he deeply envied the kits currently snoozing away in his lap, though he could hardly begrudge them the rest. God knows they must be needing it, who even knew how long they had been trapped here, left to fend for themselves without anyone to take care of them?