Chapter Text
He wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, or if it even had a proper name, but it was suffocating him. There was something heavy and dull in his chest, crushing his heart and flailing against his lungs and trying to claw its way up his throat. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t–
Of course, it wasn’t real. There was no water in his lungs, no creature grasping for freedom inside his chest. It was just a feeling, some odd emotion he couldn’t quite place–but knowing that didn’t take it away. If he sometimes had to focus a bit too much on breathing normally, conscious only of how fragile he felt, because no matter how many breaths he takes there’s just no air he can’t breathe is the castle’s oxygen distributor on the fritz is he dying what’s happening to him he can’t breathe–well, that was just something he’d have to deal with.
He didn’t linger on the number of times he’d come back to himself in a shaky, exhausted heap on the floor. The good thing about being stuck in a humongous castle with only six other people was that it was easy to slip away when you needed to be alone. So far he’d been able to pick himself up and calm down before anyone found him. He was okay. No, really. Even though he sometimes blinked and realized he’d been spaced out for the last 20 minutes, not moving, not responding, not thinking or feeling or anything, while everyone had been moving and talking and laughing around him. At least no one asked him about it. At least no one else noticed. That was a good thing, right?
Right?
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He soon found that there was a way he could come back to himself before the suffocating feeling took over. It wasn’t a big deal, okay? He needed it, needed to feel something besides the panic rising up his throat and the crushing feeling in his chest. It was just a pinch. Just a scratch. Just a lot of scratches. It wasn’t like he was doing any real damage.
It wasn’t like he mattered anyway.
But it didn’t last. Before long he couldn’t even feel the pain, couldn’t feel anything but terror and an overwhelming emptiness and suddenly he was staring at his arms. There was so much blood, too much blood to come from something he couldn’t even feel. Too much blood to suddenly notice and not remember the act of putting it there. But there it was. Under his fingernails, crisscrossing his arms, and smeared on his shirt, and he should be freaking out. He should be freaking out, but he was just sitting there. At least he was alone in his room and not somewhere in the castle where one of the others could find him like this.
Calm, deep breaths. Get up. Take a shower. Get the first aid kit. Make sure the bandages are tight enough. Put your jacket on. Don’t take the jacket off when you’re out of your room.
He was handling it.
They could still form Voltron. He could still do fine on missions, focus on what he was doing and what was happening. In fact, he never felt better than when he was on a mission or training. And if he found himself still battling the simulator long after the others had gone–even after Keith left, giving Lance an odd sidelong glance on his way out–that was okay. He needed to work more on his hand-to-hand, anyway.
Wake up. Try to eat. Train with the others. Train alone. Try to eat again. Try to sleep. Repeat. But soon he stopped trying, and he found himself practically living on the training deck. It wasn’t like before. It wasn’t like nobody noticed. It’s not like they didn’t say anything to him. It was just… so easy to brush them off. So easy to smile and give some off-hand remark and pretend that it really was about improving his skills. He just needed the practice.
—
He was so tired. But if he went to his room he’d have nothing to distract him, and the scratches didn’t help anymore, and he couldn’t handle it right now. So he was still training, but he was so tired. And did it really matter? He dodged the next blow, raising his bayard and taking aim.
Did he really matter?
Lance hesitated, relaxing his trigger finger and lowering his bayard. Of course not. He saw the next blow from a mile away, but honestly it didn’t hurt quite as much as he had hoped it would. Neither did the next one, or the one that flung him against the wall, or the ones he took while sprawled out on the floor. Well, it was only on level six.
“End training sequence.” He huffed against the floor and pushed himself up, kneeling for a moment before putting his bayard away completely. “Begin training level ten.” He stayed kneeling, watching several training bots drop from the ceiling and advance on him. He didn’t react when the first electrified staff came swinging toward him.
Okay, now that hurt.
But still he didn’t move.