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It was days like these when Hunk genuinely felt like he was the only one keeping Team Voltron afloat.
Things were kind of complicated, to say the least. Once they’d been discharged from the hospital, they’d spent a week or so in the makeshift huts with their families. It may have truly been the happiest few weeks of Hunk’s life, before people started knocking on his door asking for the Yellow Paladin, and Allura announced that there was ‘work yet to complete’.
So lo and behold, Hunk was back in the Garrison, rooming in the newly christened ‘Voltron Wing’. Yeah, because they were heroes now. Hunk couldn’t ever slip back into the shadows; Earth had seen what they’d done, commemorated them, and Hunk was stuck as a hero for the rest of time.
It was hard to believe that, only three weeks ago, this mess of a team had defeated a crazy empire which ruled half the known universe. His day had begun when he discovered Pidge in the library, drooling on a bunch of documents about the integration of Altean power sources. He’d thrown a blanket on her, to make do until she inevitably stumbled into the kitchen as soon as Hunk started cooking bacon.
He’d then marched into the kitchen to find Shiro, staring with dead eyes at his cooling cup of black coffee as if he’d find answers in the grains. Hunk had chided him, reminding him to regulate his caffeine intake and instead try reading the leaves of green tea, which might help with toxins as well as telling the future. Shiro had apologised and offered to help with breakfast, which Hunk politely declined.
While heating up the eggs, he’d heard suspicious noises from the room over. It turned out to be Coran and Allura, pouring over the plans of the Castle that Pidge’s dad had printed out. “I thought it’d be better, being together like this,” Allura had sniffed. “But it just reminds me of being on the ship. Reminds me of everything we’ve lost in this never-ending war.” Hunk nodded sympathetically, offered Allura some French toast, and tried to explain to Coran that no, we can’t go and live on the Atlas for old times’ sake, it’s a very dangerous war machine.
He returned to the kitchen to find Lance on the counter, politely requesting bacon. “Have I told you what Keith said to me the other day?” Yes, Lance, several times now. “Am I talking about him too much?” Hunk sighed and began to lay out strips of bacon, while the shadows in the furthest corner manifested into Keith and his dog. “Talking about who too much?” he asked, while Lance’s face went tomato. Right on cue, Pidge stumbled in, blanket draped precariously around her narrow shoulders and nose raised in the direction of the sizzling bacon.
Hunk closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried all in his power to shut out the cacophony. “Can Kosmo sit at the table, Hunk?” “Hunk, remind me, where is it on the chicken that these eggs come out of?” “Hunk, can I have Nutella on my bacon?” “Can you tell Keith that if he keeps stealing all the marshmallows from my Lucky Charms he’ll get a cavity and die, Hunk?” “Hunk, is it alright if we invite Shay over for brunch later?”
“OH MY GOD!” Hunk slammed down his pan, sending a mushroom omelette flying. The silence that followed, the sheepish eyes that looked up on him, already made him start to regret everything, but, for God’s sake. It was 9am! It was 9am on a Monday and he just couldn’t take it anymore!
“Oh my God,” he repeated, quieter this time. “I love you guys to pieces but I’m not your bloody mother. You are war heroes, please make your own decisions. Thank you, and could somebody pass the ketchup.”
Keith passed him the ketchup, eyebrows furrowed comically. Everyone resumed their eating slowly, as if not to startle him, and Hunk wanted to scream because he missed the days when they were a real team and had Galra to shoot and stuff. What had happened? What had happened to them in this weird limbo between peace and war?
Stuffing a bacon sandwich (whole) into his mouth, he regarded each guilty, shell-shocked face and felt even worse for it. Voltron was what had happened to them. Each one of them was carrying equal burdens, of regret and trauma and confusion. They were only kids, of course they were.
Maybe he was tired of being the one who made them breakfast and cups of tea and listened to them when they were sad. But somebody had to, right?
-
“I’m sorry to bother you, Hunk.” Allura had her hands wrapped around a mug of the instant hot chocolate she had taken to, ever since they arrived on Earth. Lance would always give her extra cream on top. “But I was wondering if you could teach Coran and me some more about Earth customs.”
It was noon, now, and everyone else was in the kitchen enjoying late brunch. Coran, Allura’s co-conspirator, leaned round the doorway of the Hunk’s cosy repurposed office, tweaking his moustache as handsomely as possible.
“See, son, you’re the only paladin who doesn’t end up…how do I put it…utterly baffling us. Shiro always sounds like he’s reading out of a history textbook, Pidge always finds some great tangent to go on, Keith is a man of few words to say the least-“
“Just ask Lance. He’d be delighted to explain it to you.” Hunk winced at how clipped his voice sounded. “Please, I’m sorry. Don’t let me get you down, just go and enjoy brunch with Shay or whatever.”
And immediately, Hunk felt a stab in his gut. Of course he’d been over the moon to see Shay when he first woke up, but it was just so complicated. And maybe he was being a coward for hiding away in a little room somewhere, but maybe he didn’t care anymore.
It was just…different. This thing they had between them, it wasn’t a matter of life and death, anymore. Once they figured out where Haggar had buggered off to, they potentially had the whole of their lives ahead of them. And that was scary.
“Please, Hunk?” Allura gave her widest smile, eyelashes fluttering. “Since you couldn’t attend, we even brought brunch…to you!”
Coran flourished, revealing a plate stacked high with pancakes and avocado toast. “It’s just so…so funny. It’s breakfast AND lunch. I can’t believe it,” said Coran, shaking his head in awe.
Hunk let himself smile, slightly. “Thanks, you guys. Come and sit down.”
They ended up tucking in, sprawled across beanbags, while Hunk gesturlated with a fork. “So, on people’s birthdays you blow out candles on a cake-“
“What’s candles?” Allura asked.
“Um, they’re like sticks of wax. That you burn.”
“You burn the cake?”
“No, I-“ Hunk sighed. Just wait ‘til Allura heard about the making a wish part.
“Sorry to interject,” Coran leaned into Hunk’s face, speaking with his mouth full. “But why do you smush the avocado? You don’t like some foods squished, like banana and carrot and pies. So why the avocado, does it aid digestion? Why can’t you just chew it? Why is it on a burnt bit of bread?”
Hunk panicked for a second, just as Allura elbowed Coran sharply. “You know what,” said Coran, disappointedly, “It doesn’t matter.”
He sighed. “No, I’ll explain to you. Avocados are a very soft fruit, so they’re actually very easy to eat. But they do go off quicker, and can often get damaged, so if you have an avocado that’s bruised or soft, you can just mash it up. It also means that you can blend it with other flavours, like lemon juice or tomato. Pidge likes hers with hot sauce. And the toast I guess is just a base, and because it’s crispy it adds a contrast of texture, which makes eating it more fun.”
Coran’s face lit up with joy. “Fascinating.”
“What traditional foods do you eat, on your customary days?” Allura was sat forward, a forgotten bite of waffle drooping on her fork. Her eyes were alight with curiosity and Hunk laughed, good-naturedly.
“On Earth, what you eat generally depends on your culture, and of course that ties in with cultural celebrations and holy days and whatnot. I couldn’t even begin to explain all the different cultural foods. But, the best day for food in my house would always be Halloween.”
“Halloween?” the two Alteans questioned, in unison.
“The 31st of October, every year. It’s a Western tradition dating back to pagan times, so it’s older than Christmas, than Thanksgiving, Easter, all that. They used to believe that on the 31st of October the spirit world was the closest to the real world, and spirits would pass through. In Ireland and stuff, they’d carve heads out of squashes and burn fires inside to try and scare them away.”
“Goodness me! That sounds dangerous!” Allura was scandalised.
“Of course, Christianity would always call bullshit on it, try and say it was the devil’s birthday or whatever. But somehow it survived. Nowadays, we carve scary heads into pumpkins instead, and kids dress up and go around asking for sweets from strangers, because capitalism is Halloween’s scariest monster. It’s a little weird, but I think that’s why I’ve always liked it.”
A plan already seemed to be formulating in Coran’s head. “So, you can get free food from people?”
“Yeah, if you’re a kid, rather than a thousand-year-old alien, Coran. And, I mean, the sweets are always a bonus. But when I was little, we had friends over before we went trick-or-treating, and of course that meant my mum would prepare a feast. Savoury pies, crisps in the shapes of ghosts, scary cookies and cupcakes iced with cobwebs. And, by the end of the night, the pumpkin soup would be ready.” Hunk smiled, eyes closed, remembering a distant scent. “My dad would use all the gouged out pumpkin guts- don’t look at me like that, I mean the inside of the vegetable- to make the most incredible pumpkin soup. Secret recipe. And, after a whole night in the cold, we’d curl up with a big, steaming bowl each to watch a scary movie.”
Hunk blinked, wistful. God, how he’d missed his family so much. To think he’d almost lost it all, lost those evenings of pumpkin soup; he’d make sure they’d never have to risk so much again.
“That sounds incredible.” Allura looked enchanted. Of course, learning about other cultures; it was what she loved, as irritating as her curiosity could sometimes be. Even in peacetime, she was bettering her understanding and moving past the tragedy of war.
It was inspiring.
“It sounds wonderful,” Coran agreed, the typical twang of his voice softened, inspired. “Thank you for sharing it with us.”
“Yes, Hunk, thank you. It was truly a pleasure to hear your honesty, and what a marvellous storyteller you are. It’s only a shame we’ll never get to try the famous pumpkin soup.”
Hunk frowned. “Well, I don’t see why not. Halloween is Wednesday, and I was planning on seeing my family anyway. Why don’t we have a Halloween party?”
The two of them lit up, bouncing about the room and waving their hands. God, they were strange, but maybe this was the solution.
If even the idea was enough to illuminate the Alteans, who had never even heard of Halloween five minutes ago, what would it do to the rest of the team? It could be a chance for them to rest, celebrate, and remember what they’re fighting for. It might even help them bond even closer and stop Keith and Lance squabbling at the breakfast table.
“Oh Hunk, what a wonderful idea! Shall I go tell the others?”
Hunk beamed. “Go ahead. They’ll be delighted.” Allura spun on her heel, ready to race down the corridor.
“Wait,” she said, reconsidering. “Just one more thing. I didn’t fully understand your explanation of Halloween, I just have one quick question.”
“Me too,” Coran chimed in.
“What’s Christianity?” said Allura, just as Coran said, “What’s capitalism?”
Oh dear.
-
Bearing in mind Hunk’s frazzled state, you wouldn’t expect him to be so excited when Lance suggested they ‘hit the town’.
But, here was Lance and Hunk’s most closely-guarded secret. When Lance suggested they ‘hit the town’, most people would picture them sneaking into some sleezy club and hitting on girls all night. Not Hunk’s style, and, as much as he wanted people to think otherwise, not Lance’s, either. No, instead they’d spend those special nights piling into a booth in the nearest 24-hour McDonalds, eating and talking crap ‘til the sun came up.
And, an emotional slash calorific outlet was exactly what Hunk needed right now. He didn’t even care if Lance would spend the whole night bemoaning some girl he was hopelessly in love with (and it’s true love this time Hunk I promise). He just wanted to hang with his best friend.
“So, Keith is being super weird.” They hadn’t even ordered yet, and Lance was already setting the tone.
“Uh huh. Shame.”
“Have you noticed? Like, this morning he was picking shit out of my cereal. Which is totally gross, okay, because I’ve never seen him wash those manky little gloves of his. And like, Keith germs. In my Lucky Charms.”
“Germs aren’t a real thing, Lance.”
“Eat my shorts, I have an A in Biology, it’s a colloquialism. Hi there, could I get the McNugget Feast please?” Lance didn’t even pause for breath before his face was back in Hunk’s. “And he was like, teasing me. Which is fine, because I know we’re friends. He said to me we’re friends. He said to my face that we’re friends. Have I told you about that?”
Hunk rolled his eyes, turning his focus to the cashier. “Hiya, could I have a Big Mac and medium fries? Thanks very much.” Lance paid for the two of them on his card, because he’d apparently ‘forgotten how fun it was to pay for something without scrounging change out of a fountain’.
While waiting for their order to arrive, Lance shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at Hunk nonchalantly. Which convinced Hunk that something was up, because no part of Lance’s personality can be described as nonchalant.
“Hey, you know, it’s funny. I noticed something back there when we were ordering,” Lance said.
“What?”
“Remember the first few times we came here, and you made me order for you while you hid? You’ve gotten so much better at ordering food. You didn’t apologise once, didn’t even have to rehearse it to me.”
This took Hunk by surprise. “Huh. I guess so. It’s just a silly little thing, though. Ordering McDonalds doesn’t quite compare to saving the galaxy.”
“But still.” Lance was beaming. “I’m super proud of you, man. You’ve come such a way since Voltron happened, and, you’ve grown into the hero I always knew you were.”
When Lance went to collect his McFlurry, he bowed his head, sniffling quietly. Was he…crying?
Oh good lord, Hunk thought. As many woes as I may have, at least I don’t lead Lance’s dramatic life; it must be exhausting to be overwhelmed with emotion so frequently. What a bloody drama queen.
Still. It was true, he had come quite the way. They both had. Hunk picked up his order and immediately offered Lance the first fry.
“You’re such a wally,” Hunk chided, fondly.
“I know. I’m sorry. I just missed this and also I’m really proud of you.” Lance’s words spilled out of his mouth, genuine and self-conscious. He helped himself to another fry.
“Thanks, man. Me too. You’ve done well for yourself, even if you are back to complaining about your crush into the early hours of the night. But, I guess some things never change.”
“WHAT? Keith is not my-“ Lance grunted in frustration, plunging his McNugget into the ketchup with an unhealthy amount of aggression.
Hunk really couldn’t contain his laughter. “You can’t even say it.”
“Say what?”
Hunk drew himself up, chest puffing out and finger pointed in an accusation. “You’re impossibly fast, and strong. Your skin is pale white and ice cold. I know what you are.”
Lance, all pantomimed drama and intensity, didn’t even miss a beat. “Say it. Out loud. Say it!”
Clasping hands, the two of them said, in unison: “VAMPIRE!”
They collapsed into giggles, a passing staff member eyeing them like they were weirdos. “Bet you that’s what Keith’ll dress up as for Halloween,” said Lance.
“Allura told you?”
“Yeah. She was super excited, we all were. I actually can’t wait. What do you think you’ll go as?”
Hunk groaned. “We’re dressing up?”
“Of course we are!”
“Defenders of the universe and we’re dressing up?”
“It’s Halloween!” Hunk buried his head in his hands. “I’m thinking of going as a superhero.”
“That’s not even scary,” Hunk mumbled from between his fingers.
“Hey! A moment ago you weren’t even dressing up!”
Hunk aimed a fry at Lance’s head. “If we’re doing Halloween, we’re doing Halloween right.”
“Spoilsport.” Lance picked the fry off its landing place on his arm. “Are you inviting Shay?”
Hunk’s stomach dropped. Lance’s gaze was searching, searching, prodding. Hunk couldn’t take this; he couldn’t take that expression of innocent surprise, of unsure curiosity.
“I don’t know.” His voice tremored, just slightly. “I don’t know, okay.”
Lance was fiddling with his discarded straw packet. Most of their food was gone, in the ravenous bites between desperate conversation. Hunk had known he’d missed the two of them together, missed their easy to-and-fro bantering, their moments of honesty, their teasing that came from an old, old friendship; but he’d never realised he’d missed it so much.
And now they’d pretty much made it, Hunk couldn’t think of a place in the universe he’d rather be than this grimy McDonalds booth, with its threadbare seats and greasy table. Here, with Lance’s hopeful face illuminated softly by flickering neon lights, his eyebrows perked and expression familiar.
It was like coming home.
“Want to talk about it?” That was all it took for Hunk to cave. For home, for familiarity, for a tatty McDonalds booth in the centre of an ever-changing world. For Lance.
“Yeah. We’ve got all night, after all.”
And so, true to his word, they burnt through the night together, talking about Shay and Keith, and everything and nothing. The sun came up. Hunk had a sore throat and grease on his face, but, he’d finally managed to let go. Truly, he’d never felt happier.
-
“So, have you got an itinery planned for tomorrow?”
Hunk was nursing a sleep-deprivation headache and a McDonalds-esq stomach ache, so really didn’t appreciate the pitch of Pidge’s voice invading his nice, comfortable wallowing.
“Pidge. Since when did you care about scheduling?” The paladin in question appeared around the doorway, dragging a pliant Shiro in her wake.
“Since the two of you started moping around and had to leave all the adulting to me. I’m guessing you left all the decorations in Lance’s hands?”
Hunk wasn’t moping. “I’m not moping.”
“That was your first mistake, as Lance can’t be trusted with anything, especially considering his rather pathetic emotional state. No, you need somebody responsible…” She spread her arms in presentation. “Dedicated…” cue a charming smile, “and with a creative flair.”
“Who could possibly fulfil that role,” drawled Shiro, miming a search of the room.
“Oh brilliant! You mean Keith!” Pidge lobbed her phone at Hunk’s head, who ducked, wincing at the dull thud as it hit the wall.
“Just checking the new protective feature I installed.” She grinned malevolently. “Anyway, the pair of you are great comedians, but I’m serious. I’ve been thinking for a while and I really want to go all out.”
“All out how exactly?” Hunk ventured, suspicious of that glint in her eye.
She leaned forwards, voice tickling the inside of Hunk’s ear. “Monsters…but they’re mechanical.”
Shiro startled as Hunk stood, bolt upright, and dashed for the door. “Say no more, Pidge. Say no more.”
-
There was only one think Hunk loved as much as baking, and that was building things.
There was something about the way each element, like a puzzle, could slot together into one magnificent creation. Maybe it was what Hunk loved about Voltron, too, what kept him from bolting all those times he could’ve left; the idea that although everyone was shaped differently and the universe seemed to toss everyone around, they were part of something greater than them. Cogs in a clockwork. Lions in a…giant intergalactic robot.
As much as Voltron tugged him away from the steady ticking of his life, from the very home that had first taught him how to fix a car, it also tugged him towards a whole new meaning. For the first time in this crazy world, he was more than just a spare part.
Meaning, he liked to give things meaning. Find purposes for the spare nuts and bolts. And that’s exactly what he’d done, these past few years; in countless enslaved planets, he had inspired meaning.
That was, as a matter of fact, an odd revelation to have while holding a small, green human up to help her reach the top shelf.
“You alright down there?” He rewarded Pidge with a winning smile, trying not to grunt as a stray foot clipped his ear. Why was this freak wearing boots indoors, anyway? “Aha! Found it!”
“Found what?” Before Pidge could reply, he lost his balance, beginning to teeter. Everything seemed to move in a comical slow motion, as Hunk flailed for anything he could grab to break his descent: the shelf, the fan, the tablecloth, even…
A split second too late, the thought occurred to Hunk that no, maybe grabbing the tablecloth is a bad idea. The two of them collapsed in a heap, tangled between a mess of checker tablecloth and tealights and table decorations that Hunk had tried so hard to make homely-
“Alright there, you too?” From his station far away from the commotion, Shiro looked up curiously from his phone. Hunk swore.
“Not in front of Pidge!” Shiro’s tone was scandalised, but his eyes were back on his screen.
“Yeah, not in front of Pidge,” Pidge echoed gleefully.
Hunk leapt up, exasperated. “Oh my god. Get up, Pidge, get up right now. I’m never letting either of you in my kitchen again especially not you, Shiro, because I have on good authority you can’t even heat up a tin of beans, and honestly that’s shocking. And as for you, Pidge, why are you squirrelling away your tech up in my cupboards? How did you even get it up there in the first place? What-“
From her place on the floor, limbs sprawled among knotted tablecloth and a floral napkin somehow scrunched in her mouth, an eye caught Hunk’s, glittering with mirth. Before he could summon any more frustration, he found himself giggling along with Pidge.
And the giggling built, built into full-belly laughs until Hunk was doubled over. He clutched at his stomach and tears pricked the corner of his eyes; laughing properly and deeply and without a trace of self-consciousness. Laughing ‘til the two of them were out of laughs.
“Sorry.” Pidge finally got up, brushing herself down. “Here’s what I was going to show you. I stole a bit of coding from that mind-melding activity we used to do at the castle, because ultimate coding skills is the art of stealing from other people.” Hunk agreed. “Anyway, the premise is, you hook yourself into the VR headset and it guides you through planning options. It helps you visualise and break down anything; from vehicles, to architecture, to event planning.”
“So, instead of spending days pouring over what exactly you want to do with a project…”
“You plug in and all of your wildest dreams are ready for the blueprint. I thought you could use it, to help with tomorrow, since it’s all so short notice.”
Hunk beamed at her, and she let the tiniest amount of pride waver on her face. “Pidge, this is incredible. High five?”
“Alright, alright, enough faffing. Let’s get to work. What are your initial ideas? This can be for like, baking, costumes, decorations, anything.” Pidge smiled, doing a mysterious hand wave. “Dream big.”
“Shiro…” Hunk began. At the sound of his name, the man in question raised his eyes to Hunk, and narrowed them with suspicion. “Shiro, how adverse would you be to mods on your arm?”
“Which arm?” he sighed.
“Both? Is that alright?”
“Both?” Shiro took a breath, and then, to Hunk’s surprise, smiled more warmly than he had in weeks. “Well, Yellow Paladin. I guess I can’t refuse.”
“AWESOME!” Pidge screeched, rather unhelpfully. Hunk was still taken aback by the expression on Shiro’s face. It was so genuinely happy, not marred by suppression or worry lines, and his full attention directed towards him.
“Shiro, are you alright?”
“Most of the time? No.” For a moment, a shadow crossed his face. But then it was gone. “But right now, I’m more than alright. I like spending time with you guys.”
Pidge whooped, again not really reading the room. Hunk placed a gentle hand on Shiro’s shoulder; out of them all, he definitely deserved tomorrow. A chance to chill out, to regain a little of the childhood that’d been stolen from them all.
“I’m thinking a steampunk cyborg, if that’s alright with you.” Hunk’s mind was buzzing with activity. “No! A cyborg Frankenstein. Like, stitched-up, grave-robbed face paint, cogs and gears in the arms, those little aviator goggle things. Maybe a cape, or something, or at least a leather waistcoat.”
“I’m so glad you’re exploring your passion for costume design, but you’ve made just one error.” Pidge adjusted her glasses, catching the light. “You’re confusing the two, I think. Frankenstein is the doctor. It’s actually called Frankenstein’s monster-“
“Sure, Pidge.”
Pidge shrugged at Hunk’s dismissive tone. “Just sayin’. The machine doesn’t understand slang, and struggles anyway with classic literature references. One common mix-up like that and it could explode all over us, or something.”
Shiro grimaced. “Fantastic.”
“You know what else? We could play pranks on everyone else. We could make wind-up little automatons…stop smirking, Pidge, and embrace that steampunk aesthetic…like vampires and witches that make noises and stuff. Get them to follow the others around, or something. Or, imagine: everyone turns up for breakfast tomorrow. They assume it’s me, by the stove, but…I turn around, letting the light hit my face, and- zombie Hunk!”
Pidge was smiling, her face a rare picture of contentment. “Hunk, you’re such a freak. I love you.”
Unsure of what to do with this newfound development, Hunk continued to ramble on. “Cupcake making in the morning, then we can carve pumpkins. The machine can help everyone with costumes, right? While the pumpkin soup’s cooking we can get all dressed up and then guests can arrive, and when Shay turns up I can tell her all about Halloween and show her all my favourite scary movies…”
When Hunk lost his thread, Shiro nudged him, gently. “Bet she’ll be excited to hear about Halloween, and all the other stuff you like to do with your family.”
“And she’ll be happy to see us all again,” Pidge piped in.
“Especially you, Hunk.” They both smiled at him, knowingly, secretly, and Hunk felt a surge of determination rise up his throat and settle in his gut.
This was his plan. This is what Voltron deserved; a day in which to mess around, to move past- not forget, but move past- the messes of yesterday. His chance to move on had come knocking, and he could do it, because he was a paladin of Voltron.
He was Paladin of the Yellow Lion, the leg of Voltron. He was a mechanic and a cook, a Garret through and through. He always made Team Voltron breakfast and everyone knew he made the best tea, anyway. He was good at telling stories, was patient and always answered questions. He could order food at McDonalds, for God’s sake, he could do anything.
“You’re right.” His eyes were gleaming with the spirit of a man who was sick of letting the universe ruin his plans. “What are you waiting for? Let’s do Halloween.”