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“Can we fucking hurry up?”
The infamous phrase came to surface. Shiro bit the inside of his mouth, sighing as he muttered, “Language, Lance,” because he knew it was a wasted command.
“Oh, what the hell.” The blue lion rushed forward, a reckless cloud of dirt and grass accompanying it. Several voices called after the person piloting, with the black paladin already going behind him. Everyone else found themselves lagging behind, with Keith almost matching with Shiro. Black rushed in front of Blue the second they caught up, Lance’s angry “Tch,” being heard on the intercoms.
“Hey, calm down, or I’ll send you back to your room!”
“I’m not a fucking child!”
“Well, you’re acting like one. Fix the attitude.”
Lance grunted, suspiciously sounding like an insulting word that meant female dog, but, Shiro could care less as long as the younger man was landing. The rest of his group stopped, already landing themselves.
“What the hell, Lance?” Keith called out, almost screaming. “And you call me hot-headed?!”
“Shut up, mullet!” Lance growled, stepping towards Keith with such audacity that it sent the red paladin back slightly. “At least now you know I’m faster than you!”
“Why you little…!” Keith rushed forward, grabbing the blue paladin’s throat while Lance pulled back a fist.
“Hey, both of you, end it!” Shiro was quick, pulling off his helmet and rushing to separate them. Hunk grabbed hold of Keith, while Shiro grabbed Lance. Pidge rushed over to the red helmet Keith had dropped in his anger, returning it to it’s owner.
“Thanks, Pidge.” He sighed, holding it to his side as Hunk held him back by one arm. Keith usually calmed down quickly. Lance was now a different story.
“Let me go,” Lance hissed, thrashing slightly as Shiro held him back.
“Not until you control yourself. I’ve had enough of this attitude. Go back to your room until you can calm down.”
Lance looked ready to spit in the man’s face when he sighed, running a hand through his hair and grumbling as he stomped out into the castle.
The only time Lance was ever calm anymore was at night. That didn’t mean he slept or relaxed. His “calm” was much more drastic than that. A while ago, he had discovered a whole supply of sharpener-like objects fixed with small blades in the center while raiding a Galra ship. He had kept quit about his find, not seeing it being any use in their search for Shiro, and being able to hide the small box within Blue this entire time. The razors had caught his attention, and he spent months staring at the shiny sharp objects before finally giving in to old habits and using his bayard to rip a few out. He stored the rest as back up in his room’s closet.
The first time he had sliced his wrist open, it had made barely a scrape. He was scared, remembering how addicted he had been to the feeling of metal opening his skin. After a few more times, he felt that nostalgic sense of release. He was able to feel. He was alive. Despite everything he had been feeling during Shiro’s disappearance, despite the constant fights he got in with Keith now because the boy was shadowed by far too much grief to realize it, Lance was alive.
Each one got deeper, he even experimented with a vertical one at one point before being too scared to continue. Over time, it only became another habit he’d picked up thanks to Shiro’s disappearance. Such as sleeping alone and training at one in the morning because he couldn’t do it anymore.
One night, on a mission set right after Shiro’s return when team Voltron was feeling strong and invincible, Lance fought a Galra. Alone.
At first, Shiro has worried insistently, because Lance was silent. He didn’t reply to anything the black paladin said, even ignoring the commands he gave to lure the Galra over to him so he could help. Groans and whimpers of pain came in through the intercoms, only causing Shiro more grief.
At one point, Shiro could have sworn he heard Lance giggle out, “Oh, that was a good one.”
Turning a corner in his desperate search for Lance, Shiro was horrified to see his beloved boyfriend, a sweet and kind soul he had just been reunited with the week before, ripping open the abdominal of said Galra and leaving him gutless, blood staining Lance’s hands. He almost looked like he enjoyed it.
Shiro turned and ran, convincing himself it was the PTSD.
Another night, at around three am Earth time, Shiro woke up in a cold sweat. Not only because the AC Pidge had programmed to work according to Earth seasons was on full-blast, but because he heard someone cursing quietly in the training room near his room. Without thinking, he rushed out, Galra hand ready to fight with a glowing light of purple.
However, when he got there, he found a drastic sight. Lance was fighting, but almost as if he was trying to get hit. After that display on their mission, Shiro knew that Lance had gotten a lot more capable at hand-to-hand combat than what he showing here. His nose was bleeding, bruise on his left cheek prominent, and a slight limp showed as he moved around. A kick from the training droid brought him to the ground and Shiro almost ran to help immediately if it wasn’t for the noise Lance let out next.
He was laughing.
A full-blown laugh, intertwined with incomprehensible rambles about his low self-worth, tears streaming down his face. For a moment, Shiro didn’t know how to feel. Lance looked happy, sad, and emotionless at the same time. As though he was a broken concoction of chemicals. That is, until he lifted up the blue sleeve of his shirt, which was usually covered with his signature green jacket.
And, suddenly, Shiro wasn’t confused.
Lance’s arm was covered with scars, some obvious new ones, some looking like they were maybe a few weeks old. They all came together like a horrible, bloody painting on his arm. Shiro felt disgusted, not only with the harm that Lance had caused himself, but also because these looked like they dated back to the time before Shiro was found again. Lance had been doing this all under his nose, without him noticing.
They slept together, for Pete’s sake. Not sexually, not since Shiro had disappeared. How could Shiro not have noticed how Lance’s hands shook whenever he suggested taking his shirt off for comfort? Why had he always assumed it was just self-esteem issues that they would have to work slowly? The issues seemed a bit more deeply rooted.
And, yet, Shiro turned, not knowing how to handle the situation just yet.