This one is… a little odd.

Everyone had a mask – that was just the way it was. No one was entirely sure where they came from, but by the time you were a teenager, you'd generally found yours, that second face that told the world what role you played. Some people wore theirs openly, on the side of their head or hanging from their hip, a bold declaration of who they were and where they fit in the world. Others kept theirs hidden in cases or mixed in with strings of other masks that made it impossible to tell which was the real one. In any event, you always had your mask.

And that was part of what had made it such a shock to see Shiro that first time – not just the prosthetic arm, but the fact that his mask was nowhere to be seen. It had sent a chill up Keith's spine to see that empty place at Shiro's hip where that second face, the one that denoted him a Guardian with its firm colours and calm, certain expression, should be. It had taken an effort not to grab for his own mask where it rested, tucked safe in his jacket-

And that moment of hesitation had been all it took for the other three to show up. The small boy in green with his carry-bag, the larger teen with his Caregiver mask strapped to one shoulder, and the idiot in blue with his Hero mask tied like he'd just pushed it to the side of his face, loud and obnoxious and insisting he was Keith's rival. Utterly surreal.

Nowhere near as surreal as meeting Coran and Allura, though. As finding out about whole races who went without masks their whole lives, who never had that nudge in knowing who they were. Even if you didn't understand it at first, at least you had it. Keith himself had rankled a bit when he first found his, at the odd combination of red and purple the Explorer was painted in, with accents of yellow and blue, green and black and white. It's bright and gaudy, and he never understood how it fit him until he learned about the lions and Voltron. Then most of it falls into place, the harder lines of voyage instead of the gentler strokes of inquisitiveness… it all slowly begins to fit together (all except that splash of purple that surrounds one eye, with the thin line of yellow inside it right around the eye hole (and then it makes more sense than he ever wanted it to)).

Slowly he gets to know the rest of these people he's stuck with for now. Hunk, his mask a warm sunrise of colour and compassion flecked with gold, the quiet, unwavering strength that's visible even when the mask isn't. Pidge, who's Fox is painted in metallics, giving the impression more of machine than creature, clever, calculating, and never quite what you expect him- expect her – to be (their tiny shape-shifter). Shiro, who he already knew, respected, and who seems lost with his bare hip and metal arm, though he tries so hard to be strong for the rest of them. And Lance…

Lance is just obnoxious, and Keith is honestly not sure why the guy bugs him so much. Maybe it's the way he acts so smug about his Hero mask, wearing it prominently on the side of his head, fastidiously cleaning it, adjusting the tilt whenever he's near a reflective surface, the strident red and black and white a blaring contrast with the rest of his outfit. And maybe that's what bugs him so much – Lance's mask doesn't fit him, doesn't look like him. Even when he didn't understand it, Keith's mask has always fit, has always brought that calm surge of 'this is me' on the rare times he slips it on to wear both his faces at once. And it's the same with all the others – Pidge's eyes gleam on the odd occasion she dons the Fox to increase her focus and it slides into place so smoothly you'd almost forget it wasn't the face she was born with. Hunk's leaves his mouth exposed, and the one time he's worn it around Keith… again, it was easy to forget the mask was there at all, it was so a part of him. That's how it was with Shi- how it's been with everyone he's ever seen wearing theirs. It's a part of you, like wearing your soul on your face.

The only explanation Keith can come up with is that it's either not Lance's real mask, or the idiot blue paladin is acting… other than he is supposed to be, for whatever reason. And it can't be the first, because Lance only has the one mask with him and he doesn't have that… broken feel that Shiro does, so it can't be that. Which leaves the only explanation that Lance has some amazingly hidden depths that he's not sharing for some reason, which pisses Keith off, because they're in a war, dammit, they should all be bringing everything they have to the table, not- not making stupid jokes or flirting with everything that moves! It makes no sense!

It makes no sense right up until a run-in with some Galra troops while they're stopped for supplies. It's Keith, Lance, and Shiro, on a mission to get more food while Hunk and Pidge look for spare parts and interesting gizmos, and, more importantly, they're trying to lay low – no armor, nothing to openly link them to Voltron, and even Lance has his mask tucked away for once, since word of it seems to have gotten out (that's what he gets for wearing it so prominently all the time). Except there's no way out of this one without blowing their cover with the number of troops there are, not without people getting hurt with the number of civilians there are-

Keith is reaching for his bayard, already calculating how he'll attack, moving to flank Shiro as the black paladin's stance also shifts into something more aggressive, when Lance, who has been quietly watching, puts a hand on each of their shoulders.

"Uh, guys? Chill. I got this."

Keith turns, pissed, ready to explain in very cutting terms exactly why this is not the time for Lance's bravado, and instead slaps a hand over his mouth because Lance has just taken his mask out and pulled in two, oh god, why would you even DO that?!

Except… Lance does not seem to be displaying any signs of discomfort as he gently tugs a thin layer of white out from under the bold face he's always flaunted and… it's a second mask, the simplest Keith has ever seen, smiling white, with two curves for eyes and a third for a mouth (odd, you don't see many full-face masks). He nonchalantly slips it on even as he puts the Hero mask in Shiro's shocked hands. "Hold this for me, will ya? Thanks! Now," he turns, winks at them through one eye hole, an animation to him Keith has never seen before, "Lance get this party started!" He flings his arms wide-

-and collides with a stall of some sort of fruit Keith's unfamiliar with, going down in a flail of limbs as the fruit goes everywhere, rolling, getting underfoot, somehow getting even slipperier when it's squashed, and Lance is sitting up and spluttering and apologizing and trying to help but somehow just making everything even worse…

And it just… spreads. Across the entire market place. A sea of seemingly unintentional chaos, like some sort of bizarre slapstick that just grows and swells until an hour and a half later all five paladins are sitting in the green lion, stained with mud and fruit juice and oil, supplies acquired and expressions shell-shocked as Pidge takes them back to the castle.

"Welp," Lance says comfortably, polishing some mud off the plain white mask before tying it on the side of his head, where it grins at them, "That went well."

He explains to them once they're back at the castle, heading towards the next call for help. Lance's mask, his real mask, is one of the very old ones, the kind you don't see much of any more – Comedy. Keith remembers reading about masks like that in school vaguely, old, strong, the kind that will wear you instead of the other way around if you aren't careful, they have so much history behind them. And suddenly it makes sense why Lance hid it, too – no one really takes the humourous masks very seriously. They're entertainers, clowns, with no real place in more serious venues, especially places like the garrison. But the state Lance left that market place in with a few minutes of work… yes, half the people had been laughing, but the Galra had been completely wrong-footed, unable to act against what seemed to be nothing more than a string of oddly humourous bad luck, and the resulting chaos had made it easy to slip away to collect Pidge and Hunk, even as the chaos streamed after them, not stopping until Lance had slipped his mask to the side again.

"No one expects comedy to be powerful," Lance says with a shrug, "But it is. People underestimate me for it, but, eh, joke's on them, right? Comedy and tragedy – you either gotta laugh or start screaming."

"Suits you better than that fake one you were wearing over it," Shiro says with a faint smile, "Speaking of which-"

Keith sees the faint tremble in Shiro's hand as he reaches for the fake Hero mask, where it had slipped so neatly into the empty hooks that still hang on his belt, waiting for a weight that will never be there again. Lance must notice it, too, because his smile dims further as he goes to accept it, only he flinches back before his hand ever meets the edge. "Ew, Shiro, what did you do to it?"

A blink and Keith sees what he meant. Lance has kept this mask in spotless condition the entire time they've been paladins, the colours crisp and clear, vivid black and red and white. Now, though… the mixture of alien fruit juice and mud seems to have affected the pigments, feathering the bold lines into something gentler, blurring the colours to something more orange and grey and, as Shiro does his best to wipe it off with a cloth Hunk hands him…familiar.

"Shiro…" Keith's voice comes out strangled. It's not the same as before, wrong colours, different lines, a more weathered face than the one Keith remembers, with fire in its eyes and a dark streak over the bridge of the nose.

"Oh." Lance catches on a moment later as Shiro stares at the mask – the Guardian mask. "I guess it's yours now. Huh," he blinks, then grins, "I guess this time the joke's on me."

OoOoOoOoO

Comedy is very powerful – it defines and undermines fear, revels in violence, often requires a certain level of intellect to be understood. Along with Tragedy, it's one of the two oldest genres in the world, and both are of equal importance. Laughter is strange and sacred and very, very important, for all that it often gets dismissed as frivolous in Western society.

The idea for this came from an image in my head of Lance holding up the classic Comedy mask of theatre and peeking from behind it at the viewer with a mischievous grin.

Masks and the concepts contained within, including archetype masks, (c) Tie-dyed Trickster 2017
All Voltron characters and settings (c) their respective owners