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Lance walks into the observation deck, grateful when he finds it empty. Most of the other paladins stay awake late into the night, or in Pidge’s case, as long as she can get away with it. The thing is, Lance doesn’t want company right now. He could use a distraction, sure, he just doesn’t feel like talking. Because they’ll ask, they will, and he doesn’t want to explain that each time he closes his eyes he sees the bright, fiery glow of the explosion, feels the heat against his cheek. No, Lance would have to make do with the vastness of space.
He sits right by the large glass window and tucks his chin into the folds of his arms. It’s cold. He should have grabbed his jacket when he left his room. Too busy trying to shake off the last dregs of the dream still clinging to him, the faint echoes of voices screaming in pain.
Lance shivers and hugs his knees closer to his chest. Nothing like a good old brush with death to knock you down a peg. Here’s a confirmation of your own mortality sent via postcard, singed at the edges, and stamped with the tears of tortured and trapped souls!
He knows he’s reckless and can easily be goaded into doing something dangerous and undoubtedly stupid and sometimes, even walks headfirst into it just to prove a point, but he isn’t without his fears. And Lance, being right in the center of this war, is really fucking scared. He has let fear seep into his bones and stick to him like second skin. A thin coat of armor, a brittle line of defense. Who am I kidding? I’m a coward, full stop.
Dreams of being airborne and weightless in a star-filled sky. Countless nights spent studying and practicing. The occasional truancy; sneaking out through a secret hatch near the med bay to a small, unmonitored patch of land outside the Garrison and watching the clouds drift by – breathing easier for the first time in weeks, his shoulders feeling a little less heavy.
What a joke. I’m a fighter class pilot because Keith got booted out the Garrison and I’m in space because some magic robot lion supposedly chose me.
It all comes down to that one question, what is he even doing here?
This is bigger than anything he ever imagined. Lance knows the world’s balls deep shitty, so it’s not much of a stretch for the universe to take a crap and coat itself in it, only in a much larger scale. But it’s different when you’re told that the universe as you know it is about to be completely taken over by a tyrannical, fascist madman (surprise, surprise) and Obi-Lance Kenobi, you’re 1/5 of the universe’s only hope!
The game has changed. It’s been turned around, flipped over, then set on fire. Only it never was a game. It has always been the lives of countless others on the line and this, you know, hasn’t changed. This is a war and the Garrison never said a peep about it, but it’s what you’ve been training for. You are a child and a dreamer, then you are a child and a soldier, then you are a child and you are expendable.
This is the truth and it’s a hard pill to swallow, but he’s got a taste of it now. Bitter and metallic, like blood. Fitting.
Lance rests a hand on the glass. He had expected it to be cold, still it sends a shock through him. He keeps his hand there, steady.
What am I even doing here?
Voltron is a warrior and a hero. Voltron is the key to saving the universe. Voltron is Shiro, Pidge, Keith, Hunk, and him. Lance McClain.
What am I even doing here?
Because he is a child and a dreamer. Lance remembers one of many nights with his family. The smell of his mother’s cooking, the twins laughing raucously over every other thing, and his sister tapping the inside of his wrist to slip him sips of tequila on the sly. He remembers this one night specifically. His mother clutching him tight and saying, “You’ll do great things, I know it,” and Lance cries onto her shoulder because it’s the night before he leaves for the Garrison and he misses her already. She is the strength in his marrow and the fire in his blood. “I love you,” he says back. He wonders now if he had meant it to sound like a goodbye.
What am I even doing here?
Because he is a child and a soldier. Lance has fought and he has fallen. Lance is fighting and there are multiple pairs of hands ready to break his fall.
What am I even doing here?
Because he is a child and he is expendable. There’s a large target on his back, probably right next to the sign that says, I’m an asshole, kick me! and Lance thinks he must be moving up in the world. If a number of evil aliens want you dead, there’s a hollow sort of flattery in there hidden under all that murderous intent and sometimes, you have to take what you can get. Lance is a dead man walking, and he tries very hard to appear nonplussed.
What am I even doing here?
“Can’t sleep?”
Lance, dead man walking, tries very hard not to leap out of his skin.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Allura tilts her head down at him and raises an eyebrow slightly, questioningly. Lance nods and she sits down next to him. “You know, despite the many, many years of technological advancement, the healing pod can only do so much. You still have to let your body recover on its own.”
Her tone is gentle. She is concerned, not chiding. Then, Lance looks at her and quickly wishes he were anyone else.
Allura’s hair curls and sticks to the side of her face she favors to sleep on. There are bags under her eyes. She is tired enough to let it show and Lance doesn’t think he has the right to see this side of her. Everyone in this castle thinks the world of her but Allura wants to be taken seriously. She is her father’s daughter and it shows now. Her eyes turn hard like she’s daring him to make a comment.
“Do you guys have an Altean version of chicken soup?” Lance asks, because he is his mother’s son and he knows how to pick his battles. “Basically, it tastes like, well, nothing, but they feed it to you when you’re sick and I’ve been lowkey craving it since I woke up.”
“I have no idea what a chicken is,” Allura doesn’t visibly relax but she is smiling, so Lance, helplessly, grins back. “But when someone is sick, usually small Altean children, we feed them Selppa. It is quite similar to what you would call a fruit, only with sharp points for skin that one has to bite into to release its replenishing juices. I can get you some, if you’d like.”
Lance balks before he realizes that Allura is teasing, then he laughs and it feels like a release.
They sit in silence after that, comfortable and contemplative. They’re both looking out at the stars when Lance asks her. Not his question, but hers.
“Do you really think we can defeat Zarkon?” He says it evenly. Lance doesn’t want to scare her away. Though he doubts anything can.
He can feel Allura searching his face but he is staring again at the hand he has placed on the window, palm to the dark, endless sky.
“It will take time and probably all the sticky situations possible to get caught in,” Lance looks back at her now and there is a determined look on her face that makes it clear just how she feels about that. “But, we’ll do it. We will defeat Zarkon and save the universe.” She says, resolute. Her gaze set far beyond.
Allura. Brave and beautiful. Flawed and fallible.
Lance feels his heart stuttering in his chest.
What am I even doing here?
Because she is a child and a dreamer and a soldier. Because she has lost everything. She has fought and she has fallen. Because she is fighting.
What am I even doing here?
Because he is a child and a dreamer and a soldier. Because he’s found where he belongs, his home back on Earth and here, his home in the stars. Because he is fighting and they are fighting with him.
And ain’t that the punchline? For all his supposed daring, for all his complaining, Lance’s heart is always tied to home and it tugs at him now.
Lance doesn’t think he deserves his place here, doesn’t deserve to be called a hero. Not yet, he’ll have to earn it. He wants to. But this is his home, and this is his family, and he will fight tooth and nail to protect them.
“We’ll do it,” he echoes.