Archive of Our Own

When Lance was little, he thought going into space would be the most awesome thing he could ever experience. He imagined himself dressed like a bona fide space pirate, flying through the stars in his cool ship, meeting all kinds of aliens and going on little adventures, bringing souvenirs back home.

He retained this dream into the Garrison, right until that fateful night when the Blue Lion kidnapped them all into space.

And now he’s a Paladin of Voltron, which lately seems to mean just ‘the bearer of the curse’.

It’s a ‘routine mission’. Allura loooves to describe these things as routine missions. Lance wonders from time to time if maybe the words got a little mixed up in their personal translators. Maybe Alteans have a different definition of ‘routine’.

A small prison on a barren moon in Bumfuck Nowhere, Vermillion Nebula. Twenty three Eneian and sixteen Vareshi hostages as well as valuable intel data on the Empire’s forces. Supposedly, quite a simple plan: get in, hack into the system, grab the prisoners, get out. Easy-peasy.

Yeah, not at all.

Liberating Galran prisons is always a different kind of thrill than any of their other missions.

There’s always a gnawing feeling at the back of their minds, telling them that if things go wrong, people will die - not only them, the Paladins, but also completely innocent, helpless people who’ve already been through too much as is. It’s sometimes motivating, but mostly paralyzingly terrifying.

As for this particular mission, every thing that could have gone wrong - did.

For starters, it turns out that the map provided to them by the Castleship’s archive was completely outdated. Lance spent a good ten minutes going in circles like a fumbling idiot, trying his best to stay in the shadows while he sneaked past wrong room after wrong room. Judging by the sounds of protest in his comms, the others had a similar problem. Thankfully, they soon received an updated - this time correct - version of the map, allowing them to proceed.

Then, once they finally got to the prisoners, Pidge’s device for hacking into the cell doors malfunctioned. Time meant a difference between life and death on this mission, and with the clock ticking, they had no other choice but to blow up the doors to let the hostages out.

That, obviously, got the guards’ attention.

It’s as if someone had put a bad luck spell on them. Maybe it was Haggar.

After blasting and slashing their way through a surprisingly vicious wave of enemies for what felt like hours, they decided to split up.

“Hunk and I are going to sneak into the control room and get the data,” Pidge explained, wiping a drop of sweat from her brow. “Lance, you take the prisoners and get them out of here.”

“Down that corridor and then left, right?”

“Correct. The Blades will pick them up after.”

“Roger that. See ya, Pidgey.”

In any case, that’s how he ends up where he is now, escorting a group of prisoners through a dark and damp corridor that reeks mostly of death and misfortune. Oh, and the vague stink of the sewers from the broken drain system.

They’re trying to make as little noise as possible, which - considering half of these guys have hooves for feet - is pretty damn difficult. Somehow, they manage to make it almost to the end of the hallway without drawing any unnecessary attention. Lance can almost see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Figuratively and literally.

“Lance, we’re done here. Coming out now,” Pidge’s voice rings out through his scratchy comms. Reception is quite poor in this Galran prison. “You better hurry it up, too.”

“Aye, aye.”

He's not sure if he can even run any faster than this. He tries anyway. They’re almost there, just a few meters from the fateful turn in the corridor that will lead them to freedom. Of course, that’s where their luck runs out.

Lance whips his head around as he hears a clunk of metal behind him. A Galran sentry, closing in on them rapidly. One of the prisoners lets out a loud gasp of fear. Lance activates his bayard, raising his rifle.

“Go!” He commands, brow furrowing as he takes aim. Most of the hostages run immediately, hooves thumping against the floor in a hurry.

Lance fires. The plasma bullet rips through the air and bounces off the sentry’s shoulder plate.

Uh-oh.

The soldier leaps forward, finally closing the distance between Lance and himself. The Paladin barely has time to activate his shield before the Galra’s blade collides with it. Lance groans, straining his muscles as the sentry bears down on him with his whole body weight.

“Paladin Lance!” One of the Eneians exclaims, fear apparent in their voice.

“You guys go!” He grits out, trying to break through the sentry’s assault. “I’ll be fine, I’ll hold him off. Go, now!”

A few of the prisoners look at him in hesitation, but ultimately turn around, breaking into a sprint as they book it down the corridor. 

Lance doesn’t even have time to feel relieved as the sentry seemingly doubles the strength of his attack, nearly pressing the boy into the ground. If only Lance could make him let go for a moment, he could have a clear shot at his head, point blank.

“Hey, you big, furry bastard,” Lance breathes, grinning as he pushes against the shield. “Don’t you know it’s rude to interrupt when someone’s talking?”

The sentry stays silent, only pressing harder.

Remember the bit about someone casting a bad luck spell on them? Well, yeah.

Lance loses focus for a fraction for a second. Maybe because the overbearing pressure on his arm is making him clench his teeth and whimper in pain, maybe because he’s still worried about the safety of the prisoners. Either way, his mind slips for the tiniest moment.

It’s enough for his shield to blink away, finally breaking under the pressure of the Galran’s weapon. He sucks in a gasp of air as he watches the barrier turn into particles right before his eyes.

Lance’s eyes open wide in surprise as the sentry lunges forward, gripping his arm. It’s a fraction of a second, not more than half a heartbeat. And just like that, the sharp blade of the Galra’s weapon is burying itself deep in Lance’s abdomen.

He cries out, broken voice rippling through the empty hallway like a shockwave.

Lance knows you’re not supposed to take out the stabbing object from the wound, as it only causes more blood loss and, ultimately, untimely death. Unfortunately, it seems that the sentry never got the memo.

The soldier stumbles backwards, ripping his blade away. Lance feels his flesh tear.

Suddenly, all the adrenaline flooding into his brain tells him that this is the perfect opportunity. Focusing past the sudden dizziness, he raises his rifle and takes aim once again. Lucky for Lance, the soldier is right in front of him, at the end of his gun’s muzzle.

The shot makes its way right through the Galra’s skull, eviscerating it.

He falls to the floor, dead.

────────────

Thud, thud, thud , goes the sound of hurried footsteps in the hallway behind him, soon disappearing behind a turn. Lance releases a small sigh of relief, knowing that the hostages are safe beyond that point.

Drip, drip, drip , goes the blood.

"Fuck..." Lance mutters, clutching at the sticky, wet mess of a wound in his side.

His mouth stretches into a pained smile briefly as he imagines Shiro reprimanding him for swearing around the delicate, innocent ears of the team's resident child, Pidge. He would scold Lance sooo bad afterwards. Probably give him a whole dad-talk of his. "We're supposed to set an example here, Lance!" , he would grumble.

But Shiro isn't here. And neither is Pidge. It's just this empty hallway, a dead Galra soldier, Lance, and his bleeding, open gash.

Drip, drip, drip.

Lance stumbles towards the nearest wall, trying to steady himself with one arm, the other pressing down on the wound. He winces as he feels the blood seeping through the fabric of his gloves, making his hands grossly damp in a matter of seconds.

He should go, follow behind the hostages to the point they agreed to meet with the Blades. He knows he really should go, while the adrenaline from the battle coursing through his veins is still keeping him upright and his legs haven't turned into jelly. Yet he feels paralyzed, back pressed against the wall as he gasps for air and tries his best to ignore the pain at his side.

His foot slips, grotesquely sliding on the floor, wet from the broken drain system and blood - the sentry's or his , Lance isn't sure. He lands ass-first on the cold tile, groaning.

Trust Lance McClain to land himself in hot water during every single mission , he sighs in his thoughts. Or, in warm blood, more like.

He hears footsteps again, but they come from the opposite direction this time, from the hallway on Lance's left. Quick, hurried, like someone's running, no, sprinting towards him.

Lance reaches for his bayard and it quickly transforms into his trusted rifle, ready to defend its owner. Despite the blinding pain shooting through his body he takes a stance as well as he can, preparing to shoot. He forces his eyes to focus past the fog covering his vision, aiming his gun towards the oncoming intruder.

As soon as the figure turns the corner, coming into Lance's view, his eyes narrow. He recognizes the suit in an instant - skin-tight, masked, black and purple with weird glowing accents here and there. Blade of Marmora.

He's honestly never been more relieved to see one of those guys in his life. They're - team Voltron and the Blades, that is - doing this mission together, as per the pre-touchdown meeting. So the person currently hurtling towards Lance down the dark corridor is more than likely an ally. Lucky me.  

He releases the tense breath he's been holding, his grip on the rifle loosening a little bit. He lowers his weapon, pointing it at the ground instead. The stranger continues running towards him. 

Except, what is a Blade member doing here?  

They agreed that the Blades would gather the prisoners once the Paladins rescue them from their cells and escort them to safety. But the hostages Lance freed are already a long way from here. Here, it's just Lance. 

Maybe the Blade is lost? He decides to call out to them.

“Hey, man, the hostages already went down that corridor to meet up with you guys, so– Ahh!” Before he can finish, he’s being scooped up over the shoulder like a sack of potatoes in a pair of strong arms. His face flushes crimson at this new, sudden position, and he stumbles over his words. “Hey-hey-heyheyhey, w-what are you doing?!”

The Blade seemingly doesn’t care about Lance’s embarrassment at this predicament. They simply make a sudden heel-turn, proceeding to run full speed towards the corridor they just came from.

“The mission has been compromised. There was a Galra spy among the hostages, the Empire forces are pouring into the base. We have to get out of here,” they explain simply, voice cold and stern. Something seems awfully familiar about their tone and manner of speech, even above the distortion provided by their suit, but Lance can’t quite place it.

“What about the hostages?! Are they safe?” Lance shouts through the heavy thud, thud, thudding of the Blade’s boots against the pavement and the faint sounds of gunfire blasting somewhere behind them.

“They’ve been secured and are being escorted by members of the Blade back to their homeland. You did a good job, Paladin.”

He tries his best not to blush at the compliment, even if it’s coming from a stranger. He fails miserably.

“O-Okay, sure. Lead the way then,” Lance chuckles nervously, balancing himself as he stares down the Blade’s body. Broad back, long, strong legs hitting the ground rhythmically. The masked stranger keeps sprinting, as if Lance weighs nothing in their arms. Lance is sure they are strong as hell, even if they seem a little… short for a Blade.

Lance is stressed beyond imagination. He’s been stabbed, he’s bleeding , his legs feel like jelly and he is currently being carried by a complete stranger towards God knows where. So, Lance decides to do what Lance does best.

Flirt.

“Man, I must admit, you are really strong,” he purrs, shifting his weight against the Blade’s shoulder slightly. “I may not weigh that much, but the Paladin armor is pretty clunky. Yet you’re manhandling me like it’s nothing, jeez. Say, do all of you guys have such nice butts, or is it just you?”

The stranger stays pointedly silent, just adjusting their arm around Lance’s middle. Their hand brushes against the open wound in his side, and he yelps suddenly, vision going white with pain.

“A-ha, yeah, please don’t touch there too much…” Lance mumbles nervously, struggling to regain his composure.

“You’re injured,” the Blade notes eloquently. “We need to get you some first aid. Hold on tight.”

And just like that, they start running even faster . Lance has no idea what those guys are made of, and at this point he’s too afraid to ask.

Turning the corner, they arrive at a large room in the base with a partially open roof - a hangar of some sort. Lance arches his neck, looking behind him to get a good view. His eyes fall upon dozens and dozens of Galra ships and pods stretching almost beyond the horizon, a sea of sharp angles and dark gray steel.

“I assume one of those is yours?” He asks his Blade companion, and they huff in agreement.

“Precisely.”

Before he knows it, the stranger takes another sharp turn between some of the ships. They never even slow down, seemingly knowing exactly where they should be going even without the help of a map.

And Lance curses himself for finding that hot.

The Blade turns the corner once, twice, and just before Lance has the chance to blink in surprise, he’s being thrown off their shoulder and right into the Galran pod. The soldier climbs in right behind and slams the door shut.

The masked stranger grips Lance by the shoulders, propping him against the cold wall of the ship. Lance slumps against it, groaning in pain. The Blade gives him a brief look-over, before jumping into the seat and starting up the console.

They give him only a few seconds to get his bearings before the pod takes off, flying out of the hangar and reaching its maximum speed within seconds. Lance tries his best to balance himself against the wall by keeping his hands plastered to the floor, but they keep slipping.

His gloves are soaked with blood, after all.

He curses under his breath.

Lance takes the opportunity to take off his helmet, tossing it to the side. It was starting to get kind of stuffy in there with all the huffing and puffing he’s been doing.

Raising his head, he’s surprised to see The Blade’s face (or rather their glowing mask) mere centimeters from his own. So surprised, in fact, that he yelps. When did this guy get back here?

Wordlessly, the stranger pulls out some kind of first aid kit from a bag on their belt. Lance watches their hands as they produce a gauze bandage roll and proceed to unwrap it. There’s not much else in the kit, save for a bottle of strange glowing blue liquid. It seems that Galran field medicine is a pretty limited area.

The Blade grips the bandage between their fingers.

Then, they grab Lance by the waist. And begin wrapping the bandage tightly around his torso.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow,” he complains, the sudden pressure making the pain in his side flare up once more. The Blade pays him absolutely no mind as they continue wrapping layer upon layer of bandage around him. Finally, it seems like they’re done, finishing their work by securing the material with a metal clip. Lance relaxes a little, releasing a breath he didn’t even know he had been holding. “Er, thanks, man.”

He tries his best to ignore the way his wound still throbs with searing, blinding pain. He doesn’t want to devalue the Blade’s hard work, but the bandage doesn’t seem to be doing much except suffocating Lance a little bit. As he glances down at his own torso, seeing the blood already seeping through and staining the material with a faint pink, he confirms his suspicions.

He realizes, with a growing horrifying feeling that twists his gut into a tight ball settling at the bottom of his stomach, that his wound is probably much deeper than it first seemed. And that means that unless he can get some proper medical attention, and get it quick, he is properly fucked.

Lance groans in frustration, clenching his damp fists against the floor.

His vision is very worryingly starting to swim. And the Blade just keeps staring at him. Still basically breathing in his face.

He raises his eyes (when did he lower them and why are they growing heavy?) to look at the hooded stranger.

They keep staring at his injured side as well, eyeing the way the bandage keeps slowly turning damp. Maybe they’re cursing their own inefficient work. Lance imagines that if he could see their brows, they would be furrowed.

Wait, do these guys even have eyebrows?

He needs to break the awkward silence somehow, before the atmosphere of cringe suffocates him to death.

“Where are we goin’?” Lance slurs, searching for something in the glowing, unblinking eyes of the mask. He yelps suddenly as he feels a pair of hands pressing down hard onto his stab wound, making white hot pain shoot up his spine. “Woah, oh, oh, what’s that for?! Warn a guy next time!”

“I need to compress your wound or you’re gonna bleed out all over the cockpit,” the Blade grunts. Once again, there is something familiar in their growl. “I’m taking you to the Castle, obviously. You need a pod.”

Lance’s face scrunches up in a mix of pain and confusion. He tilts his head in curiosity. “You mean the Castle of Lions? You have the coordinates and everything? How?”

The Blade looks at him for a long second or two, before their mask whirrs quietly as it disappears, revealing a face that is all too familiar.

Lance gapes, staring at the boy in front of him. With his bright amethyst eyes and thick eyebrows and long, black hair, currently clinging to his face due to all the sweat, he is, undoubtedly, Keith .

“Woah, I must really be hallucinatin’ hard if I’m seeing you here, buddy,” Lance chuckles; his voice sounds a bit too wet for his own liking.

Keith blinks at him. “I thought you recognized me.”

“Not with that stupid mask covering your handsome face.”

Or the blood loss , he adds in his thoughts, wincing as Keith presses his hands down onto the wound on his side once more. Dark spots dance before his eyes, and he doesn’t , absolutely does not, release a small whimper. You could be a bit gentler, cariño .

“Complimenting me and calling me pet names. Delirious much?” Keith tries to smirk, but his brow furrows in an expression of poorly disguised worry. “You are probably losing too much blood, shit.”

Right, Lance was supposed to call his face stupid , not… that. No idea how that got mixed up on the way from his brain to his mouth, but it probably has something to do with the way his head is currently swimming. And he must’ve said the cariño out loud.

“Yeah, you did,” Keith supplies.

“How long ‘till we reach the Castle?” Lance asks, scowling. Ugh, his head is absolutely killing him, pounding like crazy. He had no idea if it’s from his blood pressure being way too low or way too high. Probably too low, he thinks, considering the sticky, warm puddle I’m currently sitting in .

“About forty doboshes. Sorry, my pod is nowhere as fast as Red.” Keith sighs. His eyes flicker up to meet Lance’s for a fraction of a second. “You okay with that?”

“I don’t have much choice here, do I?” Lance smiles, but his joke falls flat. He nudges his chin in the general direction of the ship’s console. “You keepin’ this thing on autopilot?”

Keith nods. “Yeah, for now. But I’ll need to take manual control in a little bit, when we’ll be going through the Podzol G-17 asteroid field. It’s a bit of a tight fit in there. Just for a few doboshes.”

“No problem, mullet.” Lance smirks. His face feels all stiff and weird, like the time the dentist gave him local anesthesia in his jaw before pulling out his wisdom teeth.  “Asteroid field, huh. Good thing you’re a great pilot.”

The black haired boy glances at him in worry.

He feels tired.

“Okay, keep pressing down on this for me, alright? I’ll be right back.” Keith asks, replacing his own hands on the wound with Lance’s. “Lance?”

“Mm, yeah.” Lance presses down, trying his hardest to ignore the way the movement forces all the air out of his lungs. God , he hopes these forty doboshes could pass a bit faster. “S-sure thing, samurai. Anything for you.”

Keith pats him on the cheek lightly, and it would even be endearing if it didn’t leave streaks of his own warm blood upon his skin. “Keep talking to me, okay? Tell me how you guys are doing in the Castle. I haven’t heard from you in a while.”

Then he stands up and jumps into the pilot seat, the maybe-a-meter of distance between them leaving Lance feeling suddenly very alone. We haven’t heard from you either , he thinks to himself.

Lance stares at the back of Keith’s head where it is visible over the pilot seat, following the smooth curve of his dark hair with his eyes. It’s sticking out over the hood of his uniform, falling over it in soft waves. Is it longer than before? Huh, it definitely is. It can hardly be called a mullet anymore. Keith would probably be able to twist it into a short braid if he really tried. Lance wonders if he was growing it out on purpose, or just too lazy (too busy?) to cut it.

Why was he so hung up on Keith’s hair, anyway?

“Lance?” Keith calls out, sounding a bit more worried than before.

Oh, right. He was supposed to keep talking.

“Uh, sorry, I got a bit light-headed.” That isn't much of a lie. “We’re doing, um, fine, I suppose. Business as usual, y’know.”

He catches Keith’s gaze in the reflection on the ship’s windshield. The dark haired boy cocks a brow at him, looking skeptical.

“It’s… Well, to be honest, it’s a bit boring without you. For me, at least. I kind of miss you, man.” Lance sighs, slumping a bit lower against the wall.

Under normal circumstances, he would never admit to something as stupidly embarrassing as missing Keith , even if he really did feel like this. But he got stabbed in the gut, and is feeling a bit woozy, and if he wants to be honest for a bit towards his friend, who can really blame him?

The ship swerves suddenly as Keith evades an unexpected asteroid, sending Lance’s back slamming against the wall. He hisses loudly as another sharp pain pierces his side, his hands trembling.

Right, keep pressing on the wound , he grunts to himself, scrambling to place his palms back against the sickly wet spot on his undersuit. Keep pressing on the stupid stab wound that you got yourself by acting like an impulsive, heroic fool.

“Sorry for that,” Keith grunts. “Keep talking to me?”

“Y-yeah.” He clears his throat, as it suddenly feels very tight. “Jeez, Shiro is gonna tear me a new one for this. What is this, like, the sixth time I got hurt during a mission this month?”

Lance swallows, remembering the stern face Shiro would make at him as he lectured him for screwing up again , and releases a shaky breath.

“He’s been kind of mean, lately.”

Keith furrows his brow at that. “Mean? That doesn’t sound like Shiro.”

“I know, right? Not like him at all. It feels like he’s… different, somehow. Not only more angry, but also more distant? I know he’s been through a lot and being stuck here in space is hard for us all, but-” The ship makes a sudden turn again, and Lance almost tumbles to the floor onto his side. “Hey, watch it, buddy! A-anyways, it’s just… He’s been scolding me a lot. More than he usually does, you know? I mean, I usually deserve it, Lance the screw-up extraordinaire , but… Sometimes it feels too much even for me. It… doesn’t feel good. Like I’m being singled out.”

Keith stays silent. Lance glances towards the windshield, relieved to discover that they are almost out of the asteroid field.

“At least when it was the two of us, we would get into trouble together and get scolded for it together.” Lance chuckles, the memories of their shenanigans suddenly appearing way more fond than they probably were. “Allura seems like she’s kind of far away, too. She’s been spending a lot of time with that jerk Lotor, I don’t even know what they’re doing together all the time. Probably the Altean alchemy-thing. I hardly see her around the Castle anymore.”

Lance’s hands feel wetter than before as he continually presses them to his wound, past the pain. Is it bleeding more than before? It’s not supposed to do that, right?

He really doesn’t want to talk more about Allura and Lotor. He talks anyway.

“I know it sounds like I’m jealous, but I’m really not! I practically already got over Allura, and she deserves someone way better than me… But not Lotor! He’s… He’s so weird and sly, like some kind of lizard. Or a snake. I don’t trust him. I know he’s up to something. Stupid Lotor and his stupid, luscious, L’Oreal-ad-looking-hair. Why does he even have to be in our Castle, anyways?”

Lance feels like he’s slurring his words more and more. It kind of feels like that one time he got way too drunk on shitty beer with Hunk back at the Garrison (God bless their teenage low alcohol tolerance), and had to pretend to be perfectly sober in front of the instructor checking up on them in his room. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth in the same way, too.

God, what wouldn’t he give for cheap, shitty Earth-beer right now.

He blinks away the dark spots dancing before his eyes as he continues. “Hunk and Pidge had gotten really close lately. They work on all those projects and stuff. Call themselves ‘team Punk’. Hunk is probably happy to finally have someone who actually understands the technical mumbo-jumbo he talks about, haha… They don’t really let me in on their engineering-slash-programming secrets. I mean, I wouldn’t get it anyway. And I would probably break something, as I always do.”

Lance the screw-up , he chuckles under his breath.

“It’s just, you know…” He hisses as his side spasms again and it squelches , more fresh blood seeping between his fingers. Somehow, he feels too tired to panic. “Always Lance this and Lance that, not your business, Lance, don’t touch that, Lance, I don’t have time for this, Lance, you compromised the mission again, Lance… Lately it feels that my only friends in the whole damn Castle are the mice and Kaltenecker. And it sucks, big time.”

“I just wish you were back with us, man,” he rasps, much quieter this time. Shit , his side is throbbing with pain but he can feel it kind of going numb at the same time. How is that possible? “I know I got on your nerves all the time and we fought, like, constantly, but I liked it, you know? We were kind of a dynamic duo.”

“Lance and Keith, neck and neck?” Keith graciously supplies, a pitiful smile tugging at his lips.

“Exactly! And now it’s just… Lance the third, fifth, seventh wheel, who has no place anywhere and always messes everything up. Yay.”

He finally finishes his impromptu rant right there, firstly, because he’s already said way too much and secondly, because his head is spinning and he feels like he’s going to puke. A few seconds or somewhat awkward silence fall upon the cockpit, save for the ambient humming of the ship.

“Do you really feel that way, Lance?” Keith asks, finally breaking the silence.

“Well, yeah,” Lance whispers. “I’m starting to get used to it, so it’s no big deal. It really doesn’t surprise me that screw-up Lance screws up even in the friendship department.”

“You’re not a screw-up, Lance,” Keith protests. His eyes find Lance’s own tired ones in the reflection on the windshield and he holds their fierce gaze. “You’re our cool ninja sharpshooter, remember?”

Lance chuckles, ignoring the way it makes his whole body feel like it’s on fire. “Thanks. Man, if you told sixteen year old Garrison-Lance that he would be getting compliments from the great Keith Kogane himself, his head would explode.”

The dark haired boy raises his eyebrows in surprise. “You noticed me back at the Garrison?”

“Noticed? Dude, I was obsessed with you. You were always at the top of the scoreboards! I admired you and shit.” Nope, nope, nope , the blood loss is making him delirious and he’s spilling way more than he’s comfortable with. Time to change the topic. “Hey, what about Red? I’ll have to go back to get her, right?”

“Oh, right. Here’s the thing. Turns out we still kind of share our bond, even after you guys switched lions. I asked her to get back to the Castle, so she should be waiting for us there.” Keith smiles at him reassuringly.

“Thank you, Keith.” Lance’s head feels fuzzy, like it’s filled with cotton. “You’re a good bud.”

The dizziness is too intense to ignore now, and his vision is filled with more black spots than actual colors. Lance would really like to sit down, or lay down, if only he wasn’t on the floor already.

“Can we go a bit faster?” He asks, trying to tune out the loud drumming of his own heartbeat that drowns his ears. It’s so fast, it sounds like a hummingbird’s.

“I’m going as fast as I can, I’m sorry.” Keith clenches his jaw tightly. Lance watches as a single drop of sweat rolls down his temple. “I’m basically frying the warp drive. Trust me, I want to deliver this precious cargo ASAP.”

It takes Lance a few seconds to realize that Keith is referring to him . He barks out a weak laugh.

Precious cargo. How cute.

“Okay, we’re out of this damned field. I’ve gotta set the course straight and I’m gonna go back to you over there, alright, Lance?”

He’s barely pressing on the wound now. His arms feel way too weak. It’s so easy to just let go and give into the fuzzy feeling.

“Sure, samurai,” Lance rasps. His eyes linger on Keith’s face, so focused and fumbling with the ship’s controls, desperate to get Lance to the Castle as soon as possible. His eyelids grow heavy, and he hardly fights the oncoming feeling of weightlessness. “Hey, I think I’m gonna take a little nap here, so… Wake me up when we arrive, mmkay?...”

Keith immediately snaps his head back to look at him, panic evident on his pale face.

“What?! No, Lance, don’t close your eyes! You can’t fall asleep, we’re gonna be there soon, so hold on! Lance!”

The last thing he sees is Keith jumping out of the pilot seat, leaping towards Lance, hands outstretched in a panic. Then, it’s all just black.

────────────

He thinks he keeps fading in and out of consciousness a few times after that, but he can’t say for sure. All he knows is that it feels really nice, like he’s floating in some kind of warm, welcoming soup. And his side doesn’t even hurt anymore.

It’s not that bad , he supposes. Maybe I could stay here for a little while.

────────────

The first thing Lance registers after he comes to, is that he’s lying on the floor, flat on his back. The second thing Lance registers is that he’s not dead .

It feels oddly nice to acknowledge that.

He coughs, twisting around uncomfortably as he slowly opens his eyes. God, his ribcage feels awful , as if someone delivered a dozen solid kicks to it while he was unconscious.

He is greeted with Keith’s pale, worried face, hovering above him. He keeps searching Lance’s eyes for something, as if he’s in disbelief that they are actually open. Lance blinks a few times as he takes in the sight of the other boy. 

Keith’s face looks pale and a little gray at the same time. His hair is completely disheveled, as if he had spent the past thirty minutes running his hands through it over and over. His lip is trembling slightly, as is his chin.

Oh, and there are dried up tear streaks on his cheeks. Lance stares.

That is, until Keith grabs his shoulder and hauls him up, wrapping him in a soft, shaky hug.

"There you are, buddy, there you are.. You’re back. Thank God you’re back." Keith breathes against him, his hands squeezing Lance's arms tightly. His voice is strained, scratchy and wet.  "Don't scare me like that..."

Lance glances down through the blurry mist covering his vision, looking around. His chest plate has been taken off, now laying on the floor halfway across the cockpit, as though it had been flung across the pod in a hurry. There’s an open first aid kit right by his legs, with various bandages and other medical equipment strewn messily all around it. Finally, his eyes trail towards his own body, discovering a thin transparent tube connecting his arm to Keith's, coiling around on the floor, and catheters with needles buried under their skin.

"What is this...?", he grunts, squinting at the scarlet liquid slowly flowing through the tube.

"DIY blood transfusion. I had to improvise", Keith releases a shaky breath.. "Thank God for Galran medical supplies. You… You kind of went all limp and lifeless on me, and I couldn’t shake you awake no matter what, then you stopped breathing and… You lost so much blood I thought it was over, I..."

He cuts himself off suddenly, looking to the side, cheeks red.

"Woah, blood transfusion?! What about, like, blood types?" Lance raises his voice slightly, panic bubbling in his chest. Even if they did receive extensive medical training back in the Garrison, Lance is pretty sure it doesn’t make them qualified to give impromptu blood transfusions, with dubious alien equipment, in the middle of space! "How do you know we're compatible?"

"I'm type O negative. Universal donor." Keith's voice is tired, and his eyes are too, their usual vibrant purple color dimmed and glazed over. He stays silent for a few seconds before surprising Lance by grabbing him by the nape of his neck, pushing the boy's face against his own shoulder. Lance blinks in surprise as he feels Keith shake. "Fuck, I’m so glad it worked.”

He really must have given him a scare, huh.

“Are you sure your Galra blood won’t turn me into some kind of fluffy, purple alien?” Lance jokes, trying to calm the boy down a bit.

Keith pales a bit at that, but soon relaxes, finally releasing his grip on Lance. “Well, I hope not. I used to donate blood sometimes back on Earth. Would be kind of awkward if I returned to see a bunch of Galra kids at my door, demanding answers.”

Lance chuckles at that, but his laugh soon turns into a pained cough as his bruised ribs scream in protest. Then, something clicks. Hurting ribs, Keith’s “you stopped breathing” , him laying flat on the floor… His brain connects the dots pretty quickly, but he pushes the thoughts aside, deciding to deal with his own feelings regarding his long-time crush giving him CPR on a later date.

Lance really, really doesn’t want to make Keith worry even more, but the wound in his side still isn't looking so good, even with the additional blood provided by his friend. How long had Keith been doing this, anyways?

“It’s gonna be about twenty, er, maybe fifteen more doboshes until we reach the Castle. Don’t pull more actions like this one for the rest of the road, alright, Lance?”

Keith's voice sounds like he’s about to pass out himself. He looks weirdly pale, too, despite the purplish-red hue of the cockpit lights. Lance doesn’t know for how long this blood transfusion bit has been going on, but if Keith’s blood is being currently flown into Lance… Then it means he’s losing it himself. Obviously.

If Keith passes out, they’re done for. An unconscious pilot is a shit pilot, even if they used to get top scores at the Garrison.

He tugs at the sleeve of Keith’s uniform, getting the boy’s attention.

“Hey, man, I feel better now. You should probably stop this,” he prompts, motioning his chin towards the blood transfusion tube connecting them. “I think I need you awake for the rest of the trip, yeah?”

Keith looks like he’s about to protest, so Lance squeezes his wrist tightly. He fixes the dark-haired boy with a look , one that decidedly says “leave it”. Reluctantly, Keith nods, and reaches towards the tube.

Lance watches his hands as he works, slowly pulling the catheter out of his arm. He presses a piece of gauze against the injection point, just like a nurse does after drawing blood.

There’s a huge, gaping wound in his side and yet Keith makes sure that the tiny hole in his arm doesn’t bleed too much. Lance, for whatever reason, finds that oddly endearing.

Keith repeats the procedure with his own arm and just like that, they’re disconnected. Lance releases a brief sigh of relief, eager to watch color come back to his friend’s face.

If he feels that worried after watching Keith almost, maybe begin to pass out, how must have Keith felt when Lance stopped breathing on him? He can’t even begin to imagine. He’s not sure he would want to.

He has to survive this. He has to.

“I’m gonna help you sit up by the wall again, it will be safer,” Keith says, grabbing Lance under the arms and hoisting him up. He stumbles a few steps towards the wall, holding the other boy upright as best as he can. Lance would really like to help him, but his legs feel like jelly. All he can do is cling to Keith’s chest like a little kid.

Once Lance is seated up again, Keith lets him go. Despite himself, Lance releases a small whine of protest, missing the heat of their skin-to-skin contact immediately. Maybe he wouldn’t mind if Keith cradled him in his arms a little more. Maybe he’s a little bit touch-starved. Just a tiny little bit.

Everything seems to be going fine as the ship cruises across space. Lance wraps his arms around himself, a ghost of a self-soothing gesture. Keith kneels in front of him like a diligent guard keeping watch.

And then, something malfunctions - the ship’s autopilot, or the thrusters, or the wings, or something, something - and the pod takes a sudden sharp turn, sending Lance tumbling into the floor.

The interiors of Galran pods are covered in all sorts of weird, unnecessary bumps and ridges, just like their owners. This one is no different.

Well, one of those weird, unnecessary bumps or ridges slams into Lance’s side, pressing into it with a sickening, wet crunch. He feels his wound tear open once again. His vision flashes white.

His scream rips through the ship’s small interior. He hears it ring and echo in his own ears.

“Lance!” Keith exclaims, horrified. He grabs the other boy immediately, pulling him closer. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Lance, I’m so sorry…”

Why is he apologizing? It wasn’t his fault in the first place , Lance thinks through the blinding pain.

He sobs quietly as he feels his side throbbing, burning up. The ship corrects its course again, an unliving machine completely unaware, as if it hasn’t just sealed Lance’s fate.

Is this some kind of weird revenge from the Galra? To kill me with a pod?

What an undignified way to go. Perfect for me.

His eyes fog up once again. He tries to blink the mist away, to no avail.

“Lance? Speak to me!” Keith shakes him a little bit, trying to pull him away from his momentary stupor. His voice shakes with barely restrained emotion. “Lance…”

“Mmph. ‘m fine…” He mumbles, his mouth forming clumsily around the syllables.

“You’re not fine, God, you’re so n-not fine…” The dark-haired boy stutters, hands running up and down Lance’s arms, trying to comfort him. “B-but we’ll be okay, just hold on for a couple more minutes, please. I’ve contacted the Castle so Coran should get back to us any time soon. You wanna say hi to him, right?”

Lance feels the blood running all over his mangled side, soaking and staining the useless bandages and his undersuit beyond recognition, pooling on the floor around his legs, around Keith’s. It’s too much blood, too much, that has to be liters at this point. His head swims.

Eyes growing heavy, eyelids slowly sliding shut, he watches the boy before him. He watches as Keith lets out a shout of frustration and slams his fist into the floor with full force, causing droplets of blood to splash around grotesquely.

“Won’t this fucking piece of junk fly faster!” Keith growls, sharp fangs flashing. Lance thinks he sees a little tinge of yellow pool across his sclera.

He’s a bit cute when he gets so angry, Lance thinks deliriously. Like a kitty.

He really wants to rest his eyes for a little bit. No, he needs to.

"Hey, Lance, Lance, come on. Don't close your eyes." Keith sounds raspy, breathless, desperate. Lance would tease him for worrying about him so much, if only he didn't feel so, so tired. "Stay with me, sharpshooter."

He has to muster every fiber of his being to pry his eyelids open.

He'd love to stay with Keith, really. Stay forever, even. But it's so hard to stay awake when the warm fog surrounding his senses feels so pleasant and inviting. His vision keeps swimming and darkening at the edges, and he feels nauseous.

The pain at his side is reduced now, subdued, gone from a gut-wrenching throbbing to a faint, dull sensation. It’s almost a relief. Lance's mind flashes him a distant memory of a first aid course back at the Garrison, the part about freezing victims. How they often feel warm, hot even, just before the cold claims their lives. He wonders if this is the same kind of thing.

“Keith? Keith, come in!” A familiar voice echoes through the comms.

“Coran! Get a pod ready, ETA is five, no, four doboshes. Hurry.”

“Roger that. Keith… Bring him home safely.”

“I will.”

Lance watches as Keith raises his shaking hand and cards it through his hair, only messing it up more. He smiles, thinking about how much his mullet resembles a bird’s nest right now.

His eyes focus and unfocus over and over again, the images before his eyes doubling and tripling. Either his mind is deceiving him, or he’s got three Keiths staring at him in worry.

Yeah, his mind is deceiving him.

He thinks about his family. His brothers, sisters, cousins, nieces and nephews. He thinks about his mother and how hard she cried when he left for the Garrison, just a lanky 14-year old determined to fly off into space one day.

"Mijo, don't go out there. It's not safe, it's not right for a good boy like you to go," she cried, squeezing him tight one last time before he boarded the bullet train meant to take him to his new school. "You'll get hurt."

"I'll be fine, mama, I promise." He smiled, hugging her as tight as he could. He was excited rather than scared. "And I'll be home before you even notice."

Lance's heart clenches painfully with a sudden realization. I'll die out here , he thinks. I'm dying right now.

"Lance, keep your eyes open, please." Keith's voice is coming from far, far away now, echoing in Lance's ears. Uh, right, eyes open. He tries.

He wonders if Keith would tell his family what really happened, or if he would make up a lie to make Lance look more heroic in the face of death than he really was, just to spare him the embarrassment. He wonders if his family would blame Keith, blame the team. Or just Lance.

Would the team care? Just a few months ago, such a question would sound ridiculous to him - of course they would care! But now, with Hunk and Pidge distancing themselves from him, working together on projects that they definitely didn’t need Lance’s help with, Allura alienating herself from the team for the sake of Lotor of all people, and Shiro… being so cruel and cold and robotic , Lance isn’t really all that sure.

Maybe they would care. Maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe they would just be annoyed , as they tended to feel towards Lance nearly all the time for the past few months.

He’s completely delirious by now, and probably feverish. All the blood is draining from his head and pooling on the floor instead. Somewhere on the back of his mind, he knows that the way he’s thinking about his teammates is really unfair. But at the same time, he can almost picture it.

Thinking hurts right now. He decides to stop.

“Lance! Lance! Lance!” Keith’s wet and teary voice is coming from the end of some kind of tunnel.

He blinks his eyes open again , raising his heavy head up to look into Keith’s eyes. 

He’ll never get used to how beautifully purple they are. Like gemstones.

A sudden sense of urgency clenches around his heart. There’s something he needs to do before he goes.

“Hey, K-keith…” Lance rasps, trying his best not to let his eyelids slip closed once more. He tries to crane his neck up to get a better look at the other boy, but his muscles refuse to cooperate. “I’ve gotta… ‘ve gotta tell you somethin’. Im… Important.”

He’s slurring so much he’s not sure Keith can even understand him.

“You can tell me when we get back to the Castle, okay? Three doboshes. Two.” Keith whispers gently. His hand comes to cradle Lance’s face and the boy leans into the touch. Keith’s palm is so warm. “We’re gonna come home, and we’re gonna get you in a pod, and when you come out you can tell me. You can tell me everything.”

“‘m… Not gonna have that m-much time, I’m afraid.”

His arms feel completely numb up to his elbows and his legs are no better. He’s cold. He can no longer find the strength to keep his eyes open. Or take in another breath.

Looks like his time is up.

Oh, well. He’ll have to take this secret to the grave.

Keith is shaking him, screaming at him, crying his name out in desperation. He’s sobbing and pleading and trembling, Lance thinks. He thinks, because he can no longer hear or feel all that much.

Letting himself slide into the dark is a relief.

────────────

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Then, something .

He hears the quiet hiss of the cryopod first, like a gentle seaside breeze in the middle of the summer. His skin raises with goosebumps all over his body as the fluid inside the pod slowly drains, leaving him feeling suddenly cold.

His lungs ache suddenly, his chest contracting against his will, forcing him to take a sudden, deep breath. It hurts like hell , it stings, as if he’s breathing for the first time in weeks.

And then, he’s falling.

Right into a pair of warm, strong arms.

“Oomph,” Lance sighs eloquently, trying to set himself upright against his savior.

“Easy there, buddy. Take it slow.” He recognizes the gentle voice of his best friend in a heartbeat. Slowly, he peels his eyes open, staring up at Hunk’s face. His cheeks are flushed slightly and his eyes seem a bit swollen, as if he’d been crying.

“Hunk!” He smiles, wrapping his still a bit shaky arms more securely around his friend’s form. Smushing his cheek against the other boy’s chest, Lance lets his lips stretch into the biggest smile. “It’s good to see you, man.”

“Yeah, I could say the same.” Hunk chuckles, chest shaking bright and bold right against Lance’s face. “Good to see my best friend up and talking again. Let’s get you seated up, okay? I bet you feel a bit wobbly.”

That would be a bit of an understatement.

Lance lets Hunk lead him towards the nearest cot, hoisting him up with ease and firmly seating him on the soft mattress. His friend pats Lance’s arm for good measure. Steadying himself with firm grasp of hands on both of his sides, Lance finally sighs in relief. His legs feel like space food goo.

“I’ll never get used to this post-cryopod feeling…” He complains. “How long was I out?”

Hunk stays silent for a few seconds too long. Lance raises his eyes, searching his friend’s face. The boy’s brow is furrowed in a deep frown.

“Hunk?”

“Too long,” the other boy spits out finally. “Too long, man.”

“Well, how long?”

“Six days. The longest anyone of us has ever… Well, yeah.” Hunk finishes, his voice sounding weirdly throaty and strained. “It was… It was a bit worrying for a little bit. Like, we weren’t really sure if you were going to…”

Lance raises his hand, squeezing his best friend’s arm in reassurance. “Well, I am here now, right?”

Hunk releases a breath of relief. “Yeah. Yeah, you are.”

Lance looks around, suddenly noticing the med-bay is completely empty save for Hunk and himself. Judging by the low lights and the quieted hum of the Castle, he realizes it’s probably the middle of the night in the spaceship’s artificial day-and-night cycle.

“Where is everyone?”

“Sleeping, probably,” Hunk chuckles. “We all took turns staying up by your pod, in case you woke up earlier than expected. We really wanted to all be there when you finally woke up, but exhaustion won in the end. You are lucky it was my turn to keep an eye on you, man. Can you imagine Pidge trying to catch you?”

Hunk chuckles, and Lance can't help but laugh along. The mental image was indeed hilarious.

“But man, you should’ve seen Keith! He had the biggest angst session for, like, two nights straight. Absolutely refused to leave your side, stood there glaring at your face for the entire time as if he wanted to drill a hole through the cryopod or something. Shiro had to physically remove him from the bay and force him to at least eat some food and take a nap.”

He pauses for a second, his words ringing out across the empty med-bay. Then, Hunk’s face falls.

“It was bad, Lance.”

Lance glances up, staring at his friend. Hunk’s brow is furrowed in worry. Or maybe something akin to grief. His eyes, brown and warm like a campfire, seem distant.

“Please don’t do that again.”

“Don’t have a near death experience?” Lance smirks, trying to lighten the mood. It misses completely.

“Yeah. Please.”

He squeezes Hunk’s arm tighter. “Okay.”

It’s not a promise. It can’t be a promise. He knows he doesn’t have control over things like that. But he also knows that he scared his friends within an inch of their lives with a stunt like this. And he knows that he will try his best to never let something like this happen ever again.

He doesn’t want to see Hunk’s eyes swollen red again. He doesn’t want to hear Keith’s sobs as he passes out from blood loss in his lap.

They care about me , he realizes suddenly, and the thought almost knocks all the air out of his lungs. It’s suffocating.

He will still have to talk to them. About the sudden distance between them, about the isolation, about his feelings of hopelessness and uselessness, about everything. But, right now, grasping at Hunk’s arm, looking into his tear-swollen eyes, he knows, he knows that they care.

He can talk to them later. Because he has time. Because he didn’t die today.

Why did I give up back there?, Lance asks himself, his heart clenching with a very familiar feeling of guilt.

The floodgates threaten to burst, but he stops them. He’ll have time to break. Not yet.

“Can you help me get to my room?” He asks his friend, voice gentle and raspy. “I feel sleepy. And I need a nice, warm shower.”

“Of course.”

────────────

There’s nothing better than a nice, hot shower after nearly dying and spending several days in a cryopod. Lance enjoys the heavy downpour of the pleasantly warm water, droplet upon droplet hitting his body, relaxing his muscles with the tiniest massage. He groans as it washes all the grime and dirt off of him, washes off the remnants of the pod.

The weird Altean version of a shampoo smells a bit sweeter now, after he thought he might never smell it again. It’s a weird thought, but it’s there.

Lance dries himself off, making sure to get every single nook and cranny. If he checks extra long for any bruise or injury that was possibly not healed by the pod - he’s a bit paranoid - well, nobody has to know. It’s just him in this tiny, alien bathroom.

He gives himself a good, long look in the mirror, up and down. Frankly, he hates the way his skin looks after a prolonged time in the cryopod. It’s unusually dry, chapped, and sometimes speckled with few unexpected pimples. He’s usually so meticulous with his skincare routine, no wonder a few days of being suspended in alien people-pickling solution has an impact on his appearance. Lance frowns as he stares at his own face, fingers pressing against his dehydrated skin. He’s never spent so much time in the pod before.

Six days. Nearly a whole week. That’s pretty crazy.

He applies his standard skincare routine, desperate to bring his face to its former glory. He hates the way the cryopod always makes his skin feel dry and crunchy, as if he took a nice long stroll through the desert. He smiles slightly as he applies the white paste across his cheeks, rubbing the mixture in. The soothing, moisturizing cream feels so nice upon his tired skin, so much that he sighs in relief.

Now, that feels nice.

He dares to look at himself in the mirror. For the most part, he looks just like himself - tall, tanned, a bit too lanky and a bit too skinny with not enough muscle. Well, okay, he looks a lot skinnier than before. Cryopods don’t necessarily provide accurate nutrition like Hunk’s food does. Freckles dot his cheeks and his shoulders, as do faint, cream-colored scars, sustained from countless injuries and battles throughout his Paladin career. Those should fade away soon. He hopes they will.

His eyes drop towards his side, roaming across the expanse of tanned skin. There is a scar there, alright, raised and aggressively pink and bumpy. It’s long and pretty thick, sure, but it looks equally straight and clean, as if someone cut him open with a scalpel instead of carelessly slashing him with a knife. Thanks, I guess, Lance laughs in his mind towards the now long-dead Galra sentry.

He knows the scar will heal eventually. It won’t look so pink and angrily swollen after a few weeks pass. It will resemble the faint, barely visible marks on his back, marking the skin with pale, irregular spots, barely different from your standard acne. Maybe he would be able to convince people the gnarly scar at his side came from something like a routine surgery, like getting his gallbladder removed.

Yeah, right.

Lance’s eyes fall to his own hands, stretched before his face, palms up. He remembers them soaked and sticky with his own warm blood, remembers the nauseating smell of iron. Remembers how they went numb and refused to move. It’s as if it all happened within the last hour , not nearly a week ago.

But now his hands are clean and warm and moving again. He wiggles his fingers, just because he can.

He chuckles, staring at his own reflection in the mirror. His blue eyes seem tired, more tired than usual, marked by deep, dark circles under his lower eyelids. Good job, McClain, the tiny voice in his head sighs. You survived the near-death experience. Now go get some sleep.

He applies the last step of his skincare routine, smothering his face with some kind of Altean soothing jelly. It coats his skin in a nice, pleasant layer, cooling his heated cheeks and allowing his tense facial muscles to relax. God bless alien technology!

After several minutes of relishing in the feeling, he finally finds the strength to exit the bathroom. Dressed in his standard long-sleeved shirt and a pair of sweatpants, he makes a beeline for the bed, falling on top of it immediately as he groans in satisfaction.

Good God, he needs a nap. A nice, eight-hour-long nap.

The glow-in-the-dark stars he has found at the space mall and glued to the wall next to the bed illuminate his cot with the faintest of lights. It’s cozy. If he deludes himself enough, it almost feels like his room back on Earth, back home.

So he lies there, cuddling against the extra pillow and tangling his legs in the sheets. And lies there. Tosses to his side and curls an arm under his head. And lies there. Flops onto his back again. Presses his eyes closed harder, as if that could help sleep claim him faster.

…and he can’t fall asleep.

Jagged fragments of memory replay over and over in his tired mind. Keith patching him up and pressing his hands to his wound, uncaring for the blood that stains his precious Blade uniform dark red. Keith focused on getting Lance to the Castle as soon as possible, evading the asteroids in smooth moves, ever the great pilot. Keith shouting, shaking him, his voice teary and wrecked.

Keith’s mouth on his, breathing life back into him desperately.

Or was that a dream?

Keith has saved his life. If it hadn’t been for him, Lance would have bled out on the floor of that old Galran prison, cold and alone.

But he hasn’t. He’s here. Because Keith found him and brought him back home.

Lance swallows away the sudden ball of heaviness blocking his throat. He wants to- no, he needs to see Keith, thank Keith, right now. It doesn’t look like he’ll be able to get any sleep if he doesn’t.

With a resigned sigh, he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and makes his way out of his room, walking the short distance to his friend’s living quarters.

────────────

Lance raises his fist. Lowers it again. Raises it. Lowers it.

The alien door stares back at him wordlessly, mocking him.

He knows Keith is a light sleeper, always on guard. He sleeps in his everyday clothes instead of the comfy robes and lion slippers provided by the Castle (Lance still can’t forgive him this horrible faux pax ), sleeps in his goddamn boots , with a knife tucked under his pillow. Like some kind of savage.

If he knocks on this door right now, Keith will wake up for sure.

Does he want Keith to wake up?

A second passes. Then, his knuckles fall against the cold steel, knocking against it once, twice.

He barely has a moment to take in a deep breath before the door whirrs open, revealing Keith in all his messy, sweaty glory. He has his everyday clothes and boots on. Because of course .

Keith doesn’t look like he’s been sleeping, though. His shirt isn’t crinkled at all and his hair is combed perfectly ( save for that stupid mullet , Lance adds in his thoughts), so it doesn’t appear as if he’d been laying down. The dark-haired boy rubs at his eyes absent-mindedly. Lance is momentarily entranced by the deep, worryingly-purple looking dark circles beneath his eyelids. Looks like someone’s been losing sleep.

“Keith?” He finally risks, smiling slightly as he stares down at the boy before him.

“Lance.”

Keith’s voice sounds wrecked .

The dark-haired boy steps forward, closing the distance between them within a second. For a fraction of a second, Lance thinks that Keith is going to punch him.

Well, he’s wrong.

He certainly doesn’t expect the former Red Paladin to wrap him up in a tight, warm hug just like that - but for the love of God, does it feel good.

Keith squeezes him tightly, so tightly that it nearly forces all the air out of the taller boy’s lungs. It definitely makes his heart skip a beat.. His arms are steady and firm, keeping Lance in place as he tightens his hold on him, releasing a slightly shaky breath. Lance raises his own arms, slowly wrapping them around the other boy in return.

“Never knew you were a hugger.” Lance chuckles once Keith finally lets him go and steps away half a step. He opts for grabbing Lance’s sleeve instead, gently pulling him inside his own room.

“Come on. Don’t stand in the doorway like a dumbass.”

Barely two hours out of the pod and Keith’s already calling him a dumbass. Boy, did he miss it.

Of course, he steps inside, the automatic door closing behind him with a quiet click.

Lance rubs at the back of his neck absentmindedly, suddenly feeling awkward about being in a small room alone with Keith. Keith’s room. After a good few months of not seeing each other at all.

Now that he thinks about it, there weren’t that many times that he has actually been in Keith’s room for longer than a few seconds. That was maybe, what, the third time?

He glances around anxiously. Keith’s room is sterile and bare, save for the team’s selfie posted above the bed ( awwh ) and a pile of dirty clothes stashed in the corner of the room. Lance spots the Blade of Marmora uniform tangled in there as well. It still has blood on it.

His blood.

Clearing his throat, Lance gets ready to speak up.

“I wanted to speak to you, man, now that I’m actually up and running. Thanks for… bringing me back,” he finally manages. “Literally, I mean. From what I’ve heard.”

Did he really die back there for a minute or two? Did he really need CPR? The definitely non-medically licensed blood transfusion? Did he really bleed out all over Keith’s chest, all over his lap, all over his hands?

The dark-haired boy blinks at him a few times, lips pressed into a tight line. “Well, yeah. It was… a little touch and go for a bit.”

Then, he closes the distance again, and he punches Lance.

Well, it’s not really a punch. More like a soft bump of his fist against the other boy’s arm. Affectionate instead of aggressive. But still .

“That’s for scaring me,” Keith croaks, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor by his feet. A beat of silence later, he yanks Lance’s arms forward, pulling him into another fierce hug.

Keith runs his arms up and down the expanse of his back, burying his nose in Lance’s neck. Lance stays still in his embrace, looping his hands around Keith’s lower back, listening to the boy’s slow breaths.

“That’s for coming back to me,” Keith whispers, right by his ear, so quiet that Lance can barely hear it.

“I’ll come back to you anytime, samurai,” Lance murmurs back, before he can stop his mouth from running.

“I was really worried..” Suddenly, Keith doesn’t sound like the big, brave Paladin of Voltron or a resistance soldier with the Blade of Marmora. He sounds scared, like a little kid after waking up from a nightmare.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t do that again. Don’t do that to me.”

“I’ll try.”

Keith’s hands sneak up higher, tangling themselves in the short strands of Lance’s hair. The taller boy sighs, letting his head fall limp against the shoulder of his teammate.

He lets himself relax. Keith holds him right there, in the middle of his room, his strong arms surrounding and supporting Lance’s form. He feels safe here. Something at the back of his mind whispers: I wish I could stay like this forever.

He releases a slow breath, fanning hotly against Keith’s exposed neck.

“There was something you really wanted to tell me, back in that Galran pod. I didn’t let you,” Keith whispers suddenly against his arm, shaking Lance out of his stupor. “What was it?”

He’s pretty sure Keith knows already. He still chooses to deflect.

“Really? Are you sure I wasn’t delirious back there? I don’t really remember, the memory’s a bit fuzzy, you know…”

Keith’s strong arms squeeze him tighter. He whimpers. “Lance.”

There’s no way he’s fooling him. Lance’s breath hitches.

“Alright. Well. Um.”

Lance swallows, once, twice, forcing the thick layer of phlegm down his throat. Well, he supposes, it’s now or never. He wouldn’t be holding me like that if he really hated my guts, would he?

“I really like you, Keith,” he begins, voice shaky and uncertain with intense emotion. He embraces Keith closer, wrapping his arms around the other boy’s waist as tight as he can. It might be the last time he ever has the opportunity to do so, if this confession goes sideways. “More than… more than a friend. I… Well, I’m…” He gulps, thick and loud. His heart feels like it’s going to pound itself away from his chest at any second. “I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you. So, yeah. That’s… That’s what I wanted to tell you back there, before I died.”

It’s out there, in the world. In Keith’s ears. Lance can only squeeze his eyes shut tight and hope for the best.

Lance has dealt with his fair share of crushes. Lots of cute girls and cute boys, later, after he figured out the whole ‘oh, I actually like both’ thing. Most of them have turned him down more or less politely, except for Aileen, who broke up with him after three months claiming they weren’t really that compatible.

So, he was used to rejection. He knew how to brace himself for it.

He does so this time as well. His body tenses against his will, teeth clenching in preparation to hear these harsh words. Sorry, but I don’t think of you this way, he can almost picture it. The apologetic look on Keith’s face, the slightly furrowed brows, the avoidant stare pointed firmly at the floor.

Or maybe a slap to the face. And a few words about being a disgusting pervert.

Either of those.

His eyes snap open instantly as he feels a warm hand cradling his cheek. He breathes in a loud gasp as he stares down at the dark-haired boy, face inches away from his own.

“I’m glad.”

Oh, God, why does Keith have to sound so fond?

“Because I’m in love with you too, Lance.”

He has to bite down hard on his own lower lip to stop himself from whimpering. His knees buckle suddenly, and he slumps in Keith’s embrace, leaning against the other boy with his whole body weight.

“I’ve been in love with you for a long time, Lance,” Keith whispers, combing his fingers through Lance’s hair. “Probably ever since our infamous bonding moment.”

Lance chuckles at that. He regains a bit of strength to support himself and stand upright once more.

“Why didn’t you say something?” He questions, searching the other boy’s strikingly violet eyes.

“I didn’t think you’d be interested.” Keith cocks a brow at him. “You know, with all the flirting with alien girls you tend to do.”

“Dude, that’s just that - flirting!” Lance exclaims in protest, holding Keith at his arm’s length. “It doesn’t mean anything to me. If any of them reciprocated, I’d go into full panic mode. That’s just how I am!”

He scratches his chin for a second, suddenly feeling a bit bashful. “Besides, I’m like, painfully bisexual.”

Keith laughs, wide and open and clear, white fangs showing, and it’s the most beautiful sound Lance has ever heard. “Well, looks I’m painfully oblivious, then.”

Lance breathes out a long sigh, squeezing the other boy with all of his might. He lets his hands wander, tangling his fingers into the wonderfully awful mullet he’s been dying to touch since he first saw it.

Uh, wrong choice of words.

It’s at this moment of serenity that his legs decide to start tingling to remind him that he really needs to lay down. Reluctantly, he peels himself away from Keith’s shoulder, looking at the shorter boy fondly.

“Hey, I’m really loving all this hugging-in-the-middle-of-your-room thing, but I just got out of the pod and my legs feel like they’re about to give out.” He chuckles, seeing the way Keith’s eyes widen momentarily in panic.

“Right, let’s sit down.”

Keith guides him to his bed, seating him on it firmly. It kind of reminds Lance of the way he propped him up against the wall back in the Galran pod, though in a much more positive way.

Then, Keith sits down right by Lance, their thighs pressed together, and immediately envelops him in a hug once again.

“Oof, hey.” Lance laughs, wrapping his arms around Keith’s broad shoulders. He relishes in the way Keith’s body feels hot against his own, as if the boy is some kind of human heater. “I never realized you were such a cuddler. That’s adorable.”

He sees the way Keith’s face flushes deep red at the compliment. The dark-haired boy ducks his face, burying it in Lance’s shoulder instead.

“I’m sorry, I just… I almost lost you, I…” Keith stumbles over his words as his voice trembles. “I just want to hold you to know that this is real. I’m sorry.”

Lance feels his heart soften. He brushes his finger’s through Keith’s hair, smoothing out the unruly locks. “Shhh, baby. Everything’s perfect. Never apologize for hugging me.”

He doesn’t miss the way Keith’s breath hitches at the pet name.

They let themselves get lost in their hug, as minutes pass by. Keith seemingly melts against Lance’s chest, becoming soft and limp like some kind of putty. His head rests atop of Lance’s shoulder while the taller boy rubs his hands over his back.

“Hey, Keith?” Lance whispers, mouth close to the dark-haired teen’s ear.

“Mmm?”

Lance sighs. “Can you stay?”

“I’m not going anywhere. Promise.” Keith sounds cozy.

“No, I mean… Can you stay. With us. Here, at the Castle.” Lance’s voice is shy and quiet but he keeps his lips close so he’s sure Keith can hear it. “I know you have an important mission to complete with the Blade. I know it’s selfish, but I– I just don’t want you away. I can’t… I can’t bear it. Come back to us. Come back to me. Please.”

He feels Keith tense up in his arms for a moment. He stays silent, and Lance can hear the way he swallows.

Keith looks up at him, expression open and honest and tender , and Lance can’t help but fall in love all over again.

“Lance,” he begins, his voice shaking just the tiniest bit. “I have to find my mother. I have to, or I’ll never have a peaceful night’s rest ever again. But once I’m done with that, I’m coming back here, and never, ever leaving again. I promise. I’ll stay with you forever.”

He shifts against Keith, sighing as he tightens his hold on the other boy. It’s reassuring, but it still leaves him feeling a bit anxious.

“And before that,” Keith continues, before Lance’s overthinking tendencies have the chance to eat him up alive. “Every time I have time between my missions, I’ll come here. Three hours or two weeks, I’ll spend the time here. With you, by your side. Okay, Lance?”

God, is that okay.

“Okay,” he replies shakily, snaking his arms around Keith’s neck and wrapping them tightly. “I’ll hold you to that promise, samurai.”

Keith sighs softly against his hair. Maybe it’s just Lance’s overactive imagination, but he’s pretty sure he feels a soft kiss pressed against the top of his head. He can’t help but giggle a little bit.

“God, I like you so much.”

“Just like? ”

“Shut up.”

────────────

Lance inhales deeply as he buries his nose in Keith’s neck. How long have they been hugging like this, pressed close on Keith’s bed in his room, late at night? Minutes or hours?

Lance doesn’t think it matters.

Keith’s scent is a mixture of that signature masculine musk, seasalt and sweat. It reminds him of home.

“You smell nice.”

Keith tenses in his embrace slightly before relaxing again not even half a second later. He lets out a breathy chuckle, and Lance feels the way his chest shakes with it.

“Are you sniffing me?” He asks, trying his best to sound offended. It’s not really working.

“It’s kind of hard not to, with my face in your neck,” Lance says simply. Then, his mouth stretches into a shit-eating grin, as it always does when he knows he’s about to come up with a great pun. “Besides, I’m a pretty nosey person.”

It takes a few seconds for the joke to sink in, but when it does, Keith erupts into laughter. He’s straight up cackling, and Lance loves the way it sounds right by his ear. Then, the black haired boy groans in exasperation.

“Jeez, Lance, that was terrible.”

“Come on, it was very punny! ”

That earns him a playful jab in the side - thankfully, the uninjured one. He smiles, nuzzling closer to Keith, who in turn squeezes him even tighter. It’s as if he can’t get enough. The thought makes Lance’s chest feel all bubbly.

“God, I missed this,” Keith sighs.

Lance cocks a brow, still smiling. “Missed what, exactly?”

“Your jokes,” the black haired boy answers simply. He runs his hands soothingly up and down Lance’s back, caressing. “Your laugh. Your voice. You.”

Lance’s heart clenches at that, in the loveliest way. He feels his cheeks heat up, and buries his nose further into Keith’s neck, suddenly shy.

Keith missed him. Keith missed him. Maybe, by some chance, he missed Lance just as much as Lance missed him.

“Careful there, hotshot,” he laughs once he trusts his voice to feel normal again. “Bit more and I might start to think you’re in love with me or something.”

Keith laughs at that, too. He grabs Lance by his arms, gently unpeeling him from his own neck. They lock gazes, blue staring into violet, and before Lance knows it, Keith is leaning in.

Keith pauses with his face just a few centimeters shy of Lance’s, as if nervous the other boy is going to suddenly back out, or regret it.

Lance doesn’t do either of those things, just leans forward and closes the distance himself.

The kiss is gentle and chaste, innocent, but it’s exactly what Lance needs. Keith’s lips are slightly chapped in comparison to his own well-cared for ones, and the angle is a bit awkward - they don’t have much experience - and yet… It’s one of the best moments in his life.

And then Keith tilts his head slightly and everything falls into place oh so perfectly.

They fit like two pieces of the same puzzle. It’s heavenly.

Lance doesn’t know how long they stay like this, their eyes closed, pushing back and forth, just exchanging kisses and pecks until their lips are red and swollen. All he knows is that it feels nice, really nice , and if he could, he’d stay like that forever.

Finally, they pull apart, though their faces stay close. Lance smiles, eyes still closed, nuzzling his nose against Keith’s.

“I’ve never done that before,” the dark haired boy confesses, and Lance blinks in surprise.

“Really? Then it looks like we will have to do a lot of training .” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, making Keith burst into laughter. God, how he loves that sound. “Man, if you told sixteen year old Garrison-Lance he’d be making out with the great Keith Kogane, his head would explode.”

Keith rolls his eyes dramatically, but he’s still grinning.

Lance’s hand finds Keith’s own - he has to admit, he kind of likes these fingerless gloves he’s rocking; not that he will ever say it out loud. Lance intertwines their fingers together slowly, carefully, cradling Keith’s hand like it’s the most precious thing in the universe. When he squeezes, Keith squeezes back.

He looks up and sees the other boy smiling. He looks so pretty with flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips, eyes wide in expression of open happiness.

“Hey, Keith.” Lance’s mouth stretches out into a wide, unrestrained smile as well. “Wanna be my boyfriend?”

“Sure,” Keith answers simply, eyes squinting in joy.

“Awesome. Now I can tell people: My name is Lance McClain, I am the Blue-Red-Purple Paladin of Voltron, and this is my badass Galra boyfriend, Keith. ” He recites solemnly, back straightened and hand placed on his heart for added dramatics. “We’ll make the best power couple! The universe shall tremble before us.”

Keith snorts, shoving him playfully. “Dork.”

Then, he pulls and tugs at Lance until the boy is laying flat on the bed. Lance glances up at him, eyes wide and head tilted in curiosity.

“Take a nap. You need to sleep off the pod,” Keith explains simply, smiling as he reaches his hand to ruffle Lance’s hair. “I can lay down with you if you want.”

“This is your bed,” Lance teases, cocking his eyebrow at the black-haired boy. “Are you coming onto me, Kogane?”

Keith snorts.

“Come on. I literally just made out with you. I think it’s okay to sleep together.” He chuckles, placing a kiss on Lance’s forehead. “I’ll hug you. Stop resisting and take a nap already, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. Lance’s heart clenches.

“Aww, Keith, if you wanted to cuddle you could’ve just said so!” Lance teases, his brows arched in his signature flirty smirk.

“Alright.” Keith crawls into the bed beside him, surprising Lance by pressing his body against his own until Lance is tucked securely in his embrace, Keith’s head on top of his. “I want to cuddle you.”

Lance blinks in surprise, unable to speak for a good couple of seconds. Then, his chest blooms and bubbles with a giggle that he can’t resist.

“Hehehehehehehehehe.”

“You laugh like a hyena,” Keith complains, but there’s no bite to his voice - only fondness.

“You looove me.” Lance smiles, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend ( boyfriend! ) and squeezing him tight.

“Yeah, I do.”

And, God, that does things to Lance’s heart - like skipping beats and somersaults. His mind is still trying to catch up to just how ridiculously happy he feels; it’s hard to even grasp. Who knew the day he emerges from a healing pod after the worst near-death experience of his life would also be the day he gets to kiss and date the boy he’s been hopelessly crushing on for years?

In the past few years, sometimes, he wondered if he was ever allowed to feel this happy. But after today, he thinks he kind of deserves it.

“I love you too, Keith,” he whispers, clutching at the other boy’s shirt.

Keith kisses the top of his head in response. Lance melts.

Lance knows that they still have a lot of difficulties ahead of them that they will have to face. Of course, the war with the Galra Empire. Keith’s mission with the Blade of Marmora. Figuring out what Lotor is up to. Whatever the hell is going on with Shiro, Lance’s insecurities, getting back to Earth, and all of the other million things that will need their attention after the war is over.  He knows it won’t be all sunshine and rainbows going forward, but still, he’s hopeful.

It will be difficult, and dangerous, and it will probably hurt, but everything will be a bit easier with Keith at his side.

Lance is alive. Lance didn’t die today, and that’s all that matters. Everything else can be fixed, even if it’s going to take a little bit of elbow grease.

He lets his body relax, lets himself be happy.

For the first time in a long time, Lance feels hopeful about the future.

fin.