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If asked under any other circumstances, Lance would say that, yes, he enjoys the thrill—the way his heart races when he speeds through space at a frightening pace, lasers barely missing him and his lion, nearby explosions sending them flying. Everything that’s out of his control—it’s scary, but fascinating.
This…this isn’t fascinating at all.
Because here he is, on his knees, out of breath and out of his mind, staring down at blood smears on pale skin, closed eyes on a motionless face, sweaty hair sticking to it everywhere.
“Keith, please…”
His voice is silent, broken, tears clouding his sight. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. They came here to grab some resources for the ship, see if any of the planet’s inhabitants need Voltron’s help, then return to the castle ship safe and sound and carefree as always.
They weren’t supposed to get attacked.
They weren’t supposed to get hurt.
He doesn’t get an answer, neither in words nor motion. He wants to shake Keith, but he’s scared—what if that will worsen his wounds? What if it’s the final straw for him to—
“Please don’t…”
Lance grabs his friend’s hand, and suddenly he wonders—what was the last thing he said to Keith before…
Before that idiot threw himself between Lance and the explosion that almost killed them?
Was it teasing? An insult? Some stupid kind of comment about his skills or attitude or anything else rude and inappropriate?
Chances are high. Because chances are always high that whenever Lance opens his mouth towards Keith, all he manages to say is something terrible, something he knows he shouldn’t say but can’t keep in because he just can’t, because he’s unable not to be a horrible person.
And this is what he gets back?
“You’re so stupid. Keith, come on, wake up.”
This is what he gets back after all this time of banter and bickering, of antagonizing Keith for something he doesn’t even seem to remember anymore. Instead of being confronted with the same terrible attitude, with insults and scorn like he deserves, Lance gets this—a human shield, a friend who didn’t hesitate to risk his life for his ally’s.
Lance wants to punch something. Mostly himself.
There’s smoke and fire and he can hardly breathe as is, blood pounding in his ears and deafening his mind. He knows he needs to get Keith out of here, to the blue lion so they can get back to the castle, but Lance—
He can’t move. His fingers are shaking where he’s holding Keith’s shoulders, he wants to scan the area but his eyes are fixed on the streak of blood slowly trailing down Keith’s motionless face. He hasn’t said a word, hasn’t moved an inch, ever since taking the blow earlier and colliding with the wreckage of a Galra ship they’re now hiding next to. Ships are still flying over their heads, Lance hears them, but he doesn’t dare look up—doesn’t dare tear his eyes from Keith for even half a second, because what if; what if he dies in just that frame of time?
“Keith, I…I don’t know what to do.”
And it’s pathetic, because if anyone can’t help him make a decision, it’s Keith himself, unconscious, bleeding, hurting, breath so shallow that his chest barely moves, limp arms and cold face and—
Shit. Goddamn it, Lance needs to get him out of here, and he needs to do it soon, or he won’t have anyone to scream at and ask if they’re a total entire moron for doing something as stupidly reckless as throwing themselves in front of Lance to protect him.
“You’ll never hear the end of this,” he says, forces anger into his voice where there’s only room for worry. “I will not stop mentioning this for as long as we live—watch me, I will—” His voice breaks. “I will get my mind stored, and I don’t care if it’s on a paper plane, a-and I—I’m gonna haunt you even after I die and—you better be living that long-ass Galra-life b-because you deserve to be judged for this, yeah, yep. Stupid idiot mullet, always doing stupid shit like this, always pulling cool stunts, god—”
He’s shaking, but manages to get up—clings onto Keith’s body, one arm hooked under his knees, the other around his back. The scene is oddly reminiscent of when it was the other way around—and event Lance will still not admit he knows is real—and somehow, that makes it even more painful.
Because it’s always been like this.
It’s always been Keith dedicating himself fully, giving it his all unconditionally—and Lance standing by, unable to see the situation for what it is, unable to admit what is there and accept his errors before it is too late.
The way back to the blue lion feels endless. Lance trips on things he can’t even see, bites his lips so he can’t make a sound, holds his breath in order to hear Keith’s, albeit uselessly—the fight above their heads hasn’t ended, it’s deafening and distracting, makes Lance’s head spin badly. If it were for himself only, he’d rather hide somewhere and wait for a better opening, but it isn’t—in fact, it’s not about himself at all. All that matters is to get Keith to the castle, into a cryopod, and stare at him angrily until he gets out of it again.
At least the liquid warmth of the blue lion suddenly comes into range; Lance feels it drip into his bones like waves embracing him carefully. It gives him a feeling of safety, even though they aren’t yet—they won’t be, until they’ve made it far away from this planet and back home.
Home.
In dreadful times like these, Lance wonders—wonders when a flying castle-ship in space became that, when a group of strangers became his acquaintances. But even if he can’t explain when or why, he knows that it’s true. No matter how different they all are, their clashing goals and ideals and hopes and dreams, something connects them, something more than the need to save the world.
They’re a team, they’re a friends, and at this point, they’re nothing short of family.
And that’s why it hurts so much. Because he’s already lost one family, and who knows for how long. He can’t lose another.
He can’t.
And he won't, if he has a say in it.
So even though everything hurts, his eyes and ears and limbs, even though his mouth is dry and his feet are sore and his arms feel numb, he pushes onward—holds onto Keith more tightly, makes sure to keep him in place steadily, all the way until they finally reach the blue lion. There’s worry. Lance feels it echo from the walls in the cockpit. He’s not sure if it’s his or Blue’s or both, but in an odd way, it soothes him, assures them that they’re out of the worst. From here, the way home isn’t long. And in here, the noise from outside is deafened enough for him to hear his team mates again.
Suddenly, he can breathe.
“I’ll be right back,” he assures them, and prepares for protests. To his surprise, there’s none of it. Hunk asks if he’s alright. Pidge asks where Keith is. Shiro, voice low with worry but firm with sobriety, demands them to trust each other and focus.
They do.
And that’s that.
Except it’s not.
Because when Lance finally manages to return to the battle, they’re left with no options but to evacuate the inhabitants.
And when they return to the castle, heads low and spirits even lower, a suffocating finality sits between them like a pest.
And when they all rise the next morning, hardly rested, hardly healed, Keith still hasn’t woken up.
And suddenly, they have to wonder if he ever will.
Days pass by like years. They travel, they fight, they save as many as they can—but without their Red Paladin, without their friend, it’s all frightening and pointless, because how can they be the defenders of the universe if they can’t even be the defenders of each other?
How can they save the universe, if they can’t even protect their small family?
When they finally take a break from fighting, liberating planets and weakening the Galra empire, it’s because they have to restock on resources. It’s not much fun, has never been, but it beats hopeless fights they hardly have a chance of winning, and it beats staring at each other wordlessly whenever gazes meet.
Shiro tries—holds his typical motivational speeches, preaches hope and possibilities and makes promises no one can expect him to keep; and Lance appreciates it, he really does. But then he thinks of the warm lights of the cryopods, of Keith’s motionless, sleeping figure, of why he’s in there and why he might never get out, and suddenly, all hope is drowned, buried under guilt and regret and all the words Lance regrets never saying, all the things he regrets never doing.
Because he knows that now, he might never get another chance to.
They fight.
With the forces of the empire, of course, as always, but also with each other—thinking about it, it was only a matter of time anyway. Lance knew from the get-go that the topic would come up one day, and yet it surprises him when they all sit in the briefing room, and Allura looks at all of them, apologetic but stern, and says:
“We need to find a new Paladin for the red lion.”
There’s dead silence for a second or two, and then everyone is speaking at once. Lance and Pidge loudly refuse, because Keith isn’t gone and he isn’t dead and it isn’t over, so how could they abandon him like that, take the red lion from him as if they believed he wouldn’t wake up?
Shiro tries to calm them down—there’s doubt in his voice, insecurity; he quite obviously doesn’t want to do this either, but is trying to accustom to the circumstances at hand. He takes neither side, simply tries to calm everyone down.
Hunk panics, claims that they don’t even have a clue where they would find a new Paladin even if they agreed to do it, that they need to think about this and not rush, although he sounds pretty rushed himself.
It’s a big, hot mess, and for the first time ever since it happened, Lance realizes that they never took their time to think about it—about the possibility of losing Keith for good, having to substitute him with someone else, give him up and accept the fact that he won’t wake from the cryostasis, even if his body were to heal completely. Maybe they all avoided it because they didn’t know how to deal with it, because it hurt, or maybe even because they simply couldn’t find the time to sit down and allow themselves to dwell in thoughts.
But now here it was—the inevitable truth, the prospect of having to let go, of having to move on. And in the midst of it, trying so incredibly hard not to think about the fact that it is all his own fault, is Lance, giving up on the argument, raising his eyes to the ceiling and looking for an answer where he knows there isn’t one.
He wonders—how he can sit here and do nothing, how he dares to be so useless and not come up with a solution. It should have been him, he was the one in line for the explosion, and it’s only due to Keith’s stupidity, his selfish selflessness, that Lance is the one begging for a solution, and not the one stuck in endless sleep.
“I can’t,” he says and gets up, drawing all looks to himself. “We can’t do this.”
And yes, it’s childish, he knows, but he can’t bring himself to care—he leaves, heads in the direction of the cryopod room, because surely staring at a lifeless Keith will be so much better than just thinking about him.
Lance isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed sometimes.
Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t help. Keith is still stuck in the shiny blue goo, expression relaxed, as if he were truly sleeping—but is he really? Is there even anything left of him in his body, or has he already moved on? Lance drops to the floor and crosses his legs, a deep frown on his face, fingers digging into his thighs. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this helpless before.
“Keith, please…” he begs no one in particular—maybe hoping that his friend will hear him, maybe just to break the silence. “I need you to wake up. I can’t—you can’t just die because you took a hit for me. Why the hell would you even do that? Goddamn moron. But don’t you think you’re getting out of this just like that!” He snuffles—a short, pathetic sound, but he doesn’t care. “N-no way, you hear? Even if it’s the last thing I do, I—I’m gonna be here when you get out, and you best…you best believe I’ll be very angry once you finally wake up.” He sighs, looks up and takes in Keith’s peaceful expression, free from the stress he usually piles up on himself. Against his own will, Lance smiles weakly.
“I’ll also be very, very glad though.”
Keith doesn’t wake up on that day, or the same week for that matter.
The topic of finding a new Paladin comes up again when they almost lose a fight due to their inability to form Voltron, but when they all meet in the red lion’s hangar to come up with an idea, they find that it locks them out and refuses to lower its guard no matter what.
He doesn’t say it out loud, but deep inside, Lance is relieved.
It’s a shock, to say the very least, when the cryopod suddenly opens up and a still very unconscious Keith falls out of it, almost hitting the floor face-first.
Almost, because Lance is, yet again, angrily sitting in front of the thing—because there’s really nothing else he can help with around the castle, and he’s anything but in the mood to play games or something stupid like that—and only looks up from his feet when he hears unfamiliar noise over his head; just in time to jump up and catch Keith before he can kiss the floor.
It’s awkward if nothing else. Lance remembers waking up before the cryopod ejected him every time he’s been in one, so he’s not sure what to make of the fact that Keith is definitely not awake. He seems to be breathing, though, if his moving chest is anything to go by. Lance knows he’s shaking, grabs onto Keith’s shoulder blades as if letting go even a bit would cause him to disappear.
He’s alive. He’s warm and he’s heavy and he’s real and he—
He’s alive.
Turns out, being alive does not equal being alright.
Because even after half a day of everyone cheering and panicking and cheering some more, Keith is lying motionlessly in his bed, breath still calm as if he were sleeping, skin still warm as if he were okay.
Which he isn’t.
And there’s still no telling if he’ll be.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this, Keith. First give me a heart attack when you almost die, then another when you almost break your face falling out of the cryopod, and now you’re still sleeping? Goddamn, I am supposed to be the lazy one, Mullet. Wake the hell up, will you?”
He doesn’t.
They all take turns in watching over him, making sure he’s not alone when he finally comes to.
If…he finally comes to.
Which he doesn’t.
But that doesn’t stop Lance from trying.
Rambling, Lance knows and realizes once more, is something he’s very good at. He talks, talks and talks and talks for hours straight, and it almost helps him forget all the pain piling up inside him, all the worry and insecurity and fears.
He talks enough for two, because that’s how many they are in the room after all.
“…And then she goes mijo, you need to take care, and of course I do, because I can’t possibly risk worrying my mama like that—oh and she also scares me a bit when she’s angry, but that’s a whole different thing—and then…wait, where was I? Right! So I make sure to get home extra early and everything, because that’s the correct thing to do for my mom’s peace, and—”
“Lance…you’re loud…”
“Yeah, bite me, Mullet. Anyway, then—what the hell, Keith?!”
He all but jumps up from where he’s been leaning against the bed, and turns around to confirm that he’s not imagined that—and wow, that sure in an awake Keith, scowling as if his life depends on it, eyes small but a thin smile on his lips. If Lance didn’t know better, he’d call it sheepish, even. He wants to say something, but suddenly he’s at a loss, because as much as he wished for this moment to come, he isn’t prepared for it.
“Are you…okay?”
Is he…what?
That’s the stupidest thing he’s heard in a long time.
“Am I okay? Is this—are you joking?”
“What?”
He takes a deep breath, pretends he does it because he’s getting angry—actually, though, he knows he’ll tear up if he doesn’t, and he really isn’t in the mood to present himself like that; vulnerable…weak, maybe.
“You’re…angry?” Keith asks curiously, tries to push himself into a sitting position but gives up quickly, albeit with a confused expression. He seems to have not even the slightest clue just how long he’s been out. “Lance, I don’t understand. The last thing I remember is…uhm.”
He thinks for a moment, closes his eyes and shakes his head.
“Explosion. Pain. Something about…paper planes.”
“How about the part where you stupid idiot threw yourself between said explosion and me? I thought you were going to die!”
To emphasize how he feels, Lance throws his hands in the air before walking in circles through the room. He’s agitated, full of energy he can’t explain, and he really, really wants to punch Keith.
Punch.
And also hug.
“I’m glad you’re okay, though.”
“For quiznak’s sake, Keith, shut your mouth.”
But instead of doing that, he chuckles—reaches out with one hand and clears his throat.
“Yeah, okay.” He’s audibly still weak, barely awake. “Mind giving me a hand?”
Lance complies—walks over, helps Keith sitting up properly and, after a short, silent battle of intense stares, rolls his eyes and pulls him up to his feet.
“You’re not even awake, but of course you gotta run around already. Typical. I don’t even know why I was worried about you.”
A lie.
He remembers very, very well why he was worried—because Keith didn’t wake up, move, talk, do anything a living person should do except for breathing. But it’s easier to blame him for being reckless than to accept how it felt.
“You were worried about me?”
And Lance considers, when he catches Keith cockily raising an eyebrow, smirking as if he’s won some sort of space lottery; just for one second, really—he considers dropping him and walking away.
And then he does the opposite, pulls him into the hug he’s been wanting for weeks, smiles triumphantly over the surprised gasp he hears in return, and clings onto Keith as if both their lives depend on it. It’s weird, because Keith doesn’t seem to understand the concept of hugs, but he tries, returns it cautiously, and for a long moment, they stay like that, wordless, motionless, warm breaths against each other’s neck.
He’s alive—Lance feels it, Keith’s strong pulse against the tip of his nose.
He’s going to be alright.
“Don’t think I’m gonna say this again, Mullet, but…”
Lance bites his lip, looks away and stares out into space because that somehow makes him feel more secure.
“I really missed you.”
A hand brushes against his, a hum vibrates in the crook of his neck. They’ve been sitting here, watching the stars, for whoever knows how long now, after a long tirade of hugs and tears and scoldings from the rest of the team. And Lance still feels it in his bones, the worry and fear and pain, but it’s numbed down by the warmth of their bodies leaning against each other’s, by careful words and gentle touches.
“I'm glad you're here.”
And that’s enough to go on.