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Chapter Text

Lance’s first Christmas list made the fridge art collection that year. 

It all started with his mother handing him an ancient box of markers and a yellow pad of paper. Lance smiled wide, but quickly grimaced as a sneeze rocked through his body. Thanks to the ever-present kindergarten germs, he’s home sick today. 

He feels awful. His throat is tight and his nose is rubbed raw. He can’t even blink without tears forming in his little blue eyes. But he gets to spend all day with his Mama, and she gets her baby boy all to herself. 

Quiet moments are rare in a house so full. 

“Santa needs to know what to bring you this year,” His mother said. He didn’t understand why he had to write it down, but she assured him he could draw it if he wished.

Kneeling on the worn dining room chair, he reaches out his fingers and shuffles through the box, hoping to find a marker that isn’t dried out or broken. Soon, his grubby, snot stained hands claim a neon green and vibrant red. 

He spends the next half-hour scribbling on the page, only taking breaks to wipe his nose or cough into his arm. He doesn’t notice the worried looks from the kitchen, his mother’s hands deep in the kitchen sink. 

She whistles a song to fill the silence, she can’t quite remember the name, but its sweet melody flows throughout the house, only fading when little footsteps stomp toward her. She reaches for a towel hanging above her head.

“Are you finished, mijo?” She asks.

He nods eagerly, his little body barely keeping the energy in.

“I want Santa to bring me an alien!”

His mother turns from her chore with a raised brow. She thinks she misheard him, “Bring you who?” 

Lance lifts up his masterpiece. It’s clearly drawn out of desperation, like the idea would fade in an instant if he hesitated. At the top of the page is a red and messy, “ALEINN” with more than enough arrows pointing to his elegant subject.

He taps to his short, green creature excitedly, “He has seven-tween eyes!” And he sure did. He had over a dozen white circles with specks of yellow at the center. 

A smile curls on her lips, “Seventeen? He could see all the way to the North Pole from here.” She leans her back against the counter, taking the paper from his loose grip.

“Uh huh! And-!” He coughs without covering his mouth, “And he can fly!” 

She holds the drawing in her hands, gliding her pruned thumb across the alien’s back. “Really? He doesn’t need wings?”

“He’s so cool he doesn’t need wings…or a car…or a bus-!”

“Not even a plane?”

He shakes his head. She smiles down at him.

“It’s settled then.” His mother looks up at the ceiling, cupping her hands around her mouth to shout, “Santa! If you can hear me, please bring my boy an alien for Christmas!” She quickly leans down to whisper, “Say please.”

Lance erupts in a fit of giggles. He shouts to the sky, “Please!” 

“I’ll put it right here so he won’t forget,” She says as she sticks it on the crowded fridge door. She places a star magnet at the top of the page. He looks up at it in awe. 

A few weeks later, Lance frantically opens a small purple box under the tree. He’s practically vibrating in excitement. At the sight of its contents, he squeals louder than a jet engine. The whole family covers their ears.

Inside the box is a soft plush of his alien friend, hand-stitched by Santa herself.

Chapter Text

Lance is ten when he decides to find them himself.

Veronica’s finally home and Lance doesn’t know what to do. To the surprise of absolutely no one, she graduated from the Galaxy Garrison a year early.

She’s the hardest working person he knows, refusing to quit even when it’s hard, persevering against all odds...

“That’s what makes her a McClain,” His father said. 

The ceremony itself was beautiful, boring, but beautiful. Lance had no clue that they said every single person's name , but you bet he screamed when his sister took the stage. When he ran down to see her, she was searching for her thrown, star-covered cap. Lance scoured the area to help her, finding it only a few yards away. 

He jokingly put the cap on his head and twirled the tassel between his fingers. He pretended, and failed, to blend in with the other graduates, most of them giggled at the sight of him.

Though, one student in particular sent him a warm smile. He was well-built, tall, and quite possibly the coolest looking guy Lance had ever seen. Like if every action movie hero combined into one person.

A man standing next to John Wick II pulled on his gown to get his attention, “Takashi, your mother wants a picture,” making him turn his attention away from Lance. 

His disappointment faded quickly, and his focus returned on finding his sister. He looked around the crowd, jumping up like a lunatic to get a better view, and soon spotted the back of Veronica’s head.

Lance ran toward her, cap outstretched for her to take, but he came to a stop at the scene waiting for him.

His mom was sobbing in her eldest daughter's arms. Veronica struggled to hold back her own tears.

“You did it, sweetheart. You did it.”

He’s never seen her so proud of anyone before. Lance wants to put that look on her face too. 

Unwrapped presents litter the floor of the living room. Somehow, his parents managed to pull Christmas together this year. With two totaled cars and medical bills for five, restless kids, it got tight at times. But they did it. 

For Lance though, it’s the best Christmas yet. He managed to save some allowance money for gifts, putting every dime he earned into his baby blue piggy bank. He couldn’t afford much, but his siblings and parents are now one star keychain richer. Watching them react was a gift in itself.

It’s honestly a miracle anyone can even walk in here, really. Rachel was supposed to be on clean-up duty, or was it Luis? Lance knows it’s not him, that’s for sure.

In his lap sits his newest friend, Astro. He’s a small, red cat-like alien with big purple eyes. His floppy ears are as fun to play with as he imagined. 

His eyes meet the square TV at the center of the room. Veronica wanted to watch the DVD set she got from Grandma, something about space, something about the beginning of time. 

He holds Astro tight when he asks, “Ronnie?”

Her brow furrows at the small, nervous look on his face, “What’s up?”

He takes a deep breath, then quickly exhales. 

“Did you look for aliens at school?” He asks.

Marco barks a laugh from the couch next to theirs, head not lifting from his phone. “What? Santa just gave you one!”

“Shut up!" Lance throws a neighboring couch pillow at him. It hits his brother square in the face.

“Hey-!” He throws the pillow back. Lance dodges easily. 

“Dad! Lance hit me!” Marco yelled toward the kitchen.

“No, I didn’t!”

Their fathers stern voice cuts through the air, “Boys, Veronica! Quit it!”

Veronica guffaws, “What did I do?!”

“What did I do?!”   Marco mocks with a few unwanted voice cracks. He stands up from the couch, awkwardly clearing his throat. “I’m going to my room. See ya, loser.” 

He lightly smacks Lance in the back of the head as he passes. Veronica glares at him, “Prick.”

He flips her off as he disappears into his bedroom. She sighs, turning her attention back to Lance. She looks down at her brother’s hands. They’re twitching.

“I didn’t, no.” She explains, “I know people who do, though.”

His eyes light up immediately, “Really?”

She nods, smiling.

His voice is soft, “Do you think I could do that?” 

“You wanna go to the Garrison?” Her eyebrows raise in surprise. He hasn’t talked about the future much, if ever. But right now, it’s the only thing he can think about. “You can if you want to,” Veronica says.

“But do you think I can?”

She falters at that. Lance knows he doesn’t have the highest grades, he knows he trips over his own feet, he knows his dream is out of reach. But maybe, just maybe…

His sister turns to fully face him, “Do you love space?”

The glistening stars on the TV captivate him, they pull him in like the rising tide. He’s always wanted to see one up close, to watch as embers dance across its violent surface. 

Lance wants to see other planets, other systems, other people .

“More than anything.”

Veronica reaches toward him and sets Astro aside. She grabs both of his hands. “The Garrison taught me that the more you love the universe, the more it loves you back,” She says. “You’re already halfway there.”

Chapter Text

Lance’s first Christmas away from home knocks the wind right out of him.

No, literally. He swears he kept, “ Get kicked in the stomach by a Galra Commander,” off his list this year, but before he knew it, he was clutching his abdomen as his head slammed on the dark metal floor. 

One day he was stressing over Professor Wright’s cosmology exam, the next he’s the most important person in the universe. Well, one of five, but you get the point.

He’s been in space for three months and he’s trying not to dwell on it. It’s hard, God, it’s so hard .

He thinks back to his room at the Castle, to the notepad under his pillow where he tallies each and every day. He's pretty sure today is Christmas, if his counting’s correct. He didn’t draw attention to it. He knows Pidge keeps track too, and she didn’t say anything this morning either.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to celebrate, he really, really does. 

He just can’t celebrate with the people he wants to. The guilt of leaving them behind eats at him every single day.

What he wouldn’t give to sit under the tree, alien stuffie in hand, and listen to the sound of his family, the sound of their laughter. Their happiness.

His thoughts begin to wander. What is it like this year? Are they smiling? Are they happy?

Do they think he’s dead?

Lance pushes down the rising bile in his throat. He definitely has a concussion. 

His helmet lies in pieces across the room. It was crushed underneath the Commander's giant armored foot only moments ago. 

It’s all Keith’s fault, really.

Allura said this was supposed to be an easy job. One, two, three, destroy a Galra cruiser, yippee! But, of course, as it does, nothing goes to plan. When does it ever?

They were having trouble destroying the cruiser's reflective particle barrier. Any time they would attack, it would get hurdled right back at them. They were tired, broken, and bruised. Shiro was half ready to pull back and regroup when Keith, the genius, decided to sneak onto the ship and deal with the barrier from the inside.

Lance had a bad feeling the second Keith jumped out of his lion and into the small, unguarded pocket of the ship. The last time his stomach flipped like that was when Rachel climbed that old tree in their backyard, fell, and broke her wrist. He knew something was going to happen. His gut is rarely wrong. 

If Lance didn’t go running in after Keith, maybe his head wouldn’t be spinning. Maybe his hair wouldn’t be soaked in blood. But that’s what Lance does, right? Follow Keith? It’s what he knows, it’s familiar, second nature. 

He hates how normal it is now: Keith does something dangerously stupid. Lance brings him back from the brink.

This time though, Lance couldn't find him.

So now here he is, dazed and confused in front of a big purple alien that could easily rip him in half. He somehow manages to stand even though his body screams at him not to.

The Galra above him sneers, “And here I thought I was fighting a paladin.”

If Lance somehow survives this, he’s hitting the training deck. As much as he hates to admit it, maybe Keith can teach him a thing or two on how not to die. He seems really good at that.

Before he delivers the finishing blow, a familiar knife flies from the hallway into the Commander's arm. He stumbles backward, allowing Lance the time and distance he needs to summon his bayard. 

The following shot sears through the Galra’s skull, the smell of burned flesh hits Lance’s nostrils soon after.

Lance hopes, he prays, he doesn’t get used to killing. 

What would his mother think?

The thought disappears the moment he spots Keith enter the command center. He runs up to the console and slashes the dashboard with his bayard. The barrier fizzles out of existence. 

Lance lets out a sigh of overwhelming relief. He’s never been more happy to see Keith in his life. 

“Red… over here,” He croaks. 

Those worried, purple eyes are on him in a second, “Lance!” 

Any remaining adrenaline in his body leaves as fast as it came. His legs give out, forcing him to topple backwards toward the cold, hard floor. 

Instead, he finds himself being gently pulled into Keith’s lap.

“Hey, I got you. I got you,” He repeats it like a mantra. He can’t tell if it’s more to comfort Lance or himself. He hears Keith yell into his comm for backup.

Keith's thighs are warm against his back, “Well, isn’t this familiar?” 

He knows it’s a low blow. 

Keith’s face contorts with frustration and anger. It looks kind of funny at this angle. Lance would laugh if his chest didn’t hurt.

“I told you to stay behind.”

Lance’s lips form a smirk, “Couldn’t let you have all the fun, samurai.”

A wave of pain washes over his skull. He fails to cover up the grunt that escapes him.

Keith winces, and with it, any anger left on his face gets replaced by what looks like…guilt? It’s guilt . God, Lance has never seen Keith like this before. The greatest pilot of their generation, the Red Paladin of Voltron looks guilty.

Keith tightens his grip around Lance’s weak body, “I-I’m…Lance, I’m so sorry.” 

Lance can’t bring himself to blame Keith when he looks at him like that. With his stupidly pretty face. Like nothing else in the universe matters to him. How dare he?

… 

Hold the phone.

That has to be the concussion talking. He’s obviously seeing things. Lance squints his eyes to get a better view of Keith’s face. 

To his dismay, what he finds isn’t the hot-headed, mullet sporting jackass he’s grown to tolerate over the last few months. He finds… he thinks…

He thinks Keith is beautiful. 

Oh, shit.