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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year

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“Simulation complete.”

The first Black Paladin turns to his team, smiling widely. “Great job, everyone! That’s the highest level we’ve managed so far!”

The rest of team Voltron turn to each other to celebrate, cheering and high-fiving, smiling all around.

“Your new axe is amazing,” Keith informs Allura, clapping her shoulder. She grins at him, and then holds her bayard in front of her appreciatively, admiring it.

“I was, wasn’t I.”

She spins it in a show of skill, bright blue shine of it catching on the bright training room lights.

“Everyone did really well,” Shiro agrees. He faces to each of the paladins in turn, complimenting them in turn. “Keith, your reflexes were wicked fast today. You definitely shaved at least five full minutes off our time.” Keith preens, pleased. Pidge and Hunk roll their eyes in tandem, and they advance on him at the same time, play-wrestling him to the ground.

“Someone needs to humble you, Dropout!” Pidge yells teasingly.

“Never!” Keith shouts, wiggling out of Hunk’s chokehold.

Shiro snorts, walking over to separate them before things get out of hand. “Alright, alright, you three. Pidge and Hunk, you two did awesome as well. I won’t pretend to understand what that new gizmo that you made does, but it was really cool.”

Hunk and Pidge both beam at the same time.

“Thanks, Shiro!”

“Yeah!”

“And you, Lance.” Shiro turns to the final paladin, smiling warmly. He’s lying flat on the ground, slightly away from the rest of them. “None of us had to watch our own backs even once. Our Sharpshooter had us the whole time, huh?”

Without looking up, Lance lifts the hand not resting on his chest, forming a thumbs-up. “Yep,” he says weakly.

The rest of the team frown at each other. Coran steps away from his place on the wall, setting down the clipboard he was using to take notes.

“Lance, dear?” he asks, concerned. “Is everything all right?”

“Peachy!” Lance says quickly. He tries to sit up, and manages, but it’s obvious that it took way more effort than it’s meant to. He’s wheezing slightly, breaths quick and shallow. “Just — tired, man. Keith ran us through all those wicked drills beforehand, and the training was intense. You know how it is.”

Keith’s brow furrows. “They weren’t…that bad,” he says slowly. He’s not even trying to get a rise out of the Blue Paladin; his voice is one of genuine confusion. “No worse than usual.”

Lance waves a dismissive hand. His other attempts to find a comfortable resting place somewhere on his chest area, moving from his sternum to his left pec to just above his waist before he gives up, setting it slowly on the ground. “I’m just tired, I guess. Haven’t been sleeping super well.”

The team all exchange looks, again. They all know about Lance’s insomnia, the nights he spends on the observation deck, painfully homesick and unable to force himself asleep. They have a schedule, for it. It was Allura’s turn to keep a half-eye on Lance yesterday evening, make sure he went to bed. She was excited about it and had them do facemasks and watch a movie together before finally heading their separate ways around midnight. If Lance really was struggling to sleep last night, he went to great lengths to conceal it.

Pidge takes a couple steps forward, the first of them to move. She sits next to his extended legs, her own legs bent in a W — a bad habit she’s yet to break — and plays with her glasses. She watches him carefully, but he avoids her gaze, looking pointedly at his lap.

“You can come to us, you know,” she says hesitantly. “I mean, I come to you all the time when I’m homesick. And you’re always nagging me about a sleep schedule, mom.” She punches him teasingly on the shoulder, intentionally very gentle, but Lance still inhales sharply, trying to disguise it last-minute as a cough.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Keith snaps. “Something’s wrong. Out with it, Lance, or I swear to God —”

“There’s nothing wrong, Mullet,” Lance snaps right back. “So how about you keep your nose out of my business —”

“Well how about you quit being a stubborn dumbass and tell people when you’re hurt —”

“I’m not hurt! And who are you calling stubborn, Mr I’m Gonna Run After Lotor Even Though My Entire Team Is Begging Me Not To —”

“At least I didn’t pretend I didn’t have a fever until it got bad enough that I collapsed right into my goo at a diplomatic dinner!”

“At least I didn’t train myself into heat exhaustion!”

“At least I didn’t —”

“Both of you!” Shiro shouts, making the two of them freeze. “That’s enough!”

The second he’s done speaking, both paladins point aggressively at each other, yelling: “He’s not listening to me!”

Or, well, Keith does. Lance tries, but the sudden movement of his left arm makes him shout in pain. He tries to cut it off, dropping his hand back down, but the damage is done.

“Shit, Lance, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean — are you okay — ” Keith rushes over to Lance, tripping over himself in his haste and very nearly crashing into him. Lance swats him away as he gets close, insisting he’s fine.

“Go away, Keith, I’m fine, I appreciate your concern but —”

In his attempt to twist away, he bends his torso strangely, causing another half-strangled shout of pain to come from his throat.

“Okay, no, this isn’t happening,” Hunk snaps. Before anyone can react, and before Lance can stop him, he rips open his fanny pack, yanking out a smooth white cylinder and pointing it in Lance’s direction. It beeps once, then shoots a wide, blue beam of light onto Lance, scanning him from head to toe.

“Several injuries located,” the device reads. “Ready to list and suggest treatment.”

Six pairs of eyes whip towards the Blue Paladin, varying from disappointed to scared to furious. For a moment Lance’s expression is open, shocked, deer-in-headlights, and then it shutters, replaced with something determined and endlessly, endlessly stubborn.

“I’m fine,” he insists. “If anyone comes any closer I’m going to throw a hissy fit.”

“You’re already throwing a hissy fit,” Allura points out. “When normal people are injured, they just get treated.”

Lance sets his jaw. “I’m already treated.”

Keith scowls. “Well, obviously not, because you’re hurt. Dickhead.” He reaches forward and tugs on Lance’s jacket, clearly meaning to take it off to assess further damage, but Lance hisses at him, snapping his jaw.

“Are you a fucking scorned chihuahua?” Keith demands, snatching his hand back.

“Put your hands on me again and find out.”

Before Keith can argue any further, Hunk plops down in front of them, pressing the scanner’s button again so a loud beep rings through the room.

“Listing injuries and assessment now,” it says. “Injured person: young human adult. Injuries: newly broken rib. Heavy bruising around chest area. Set and healing sprain around left shoulder joint, previously dislocated. Deep laceration on right thigh, early stages of healing. Joint abnormality in left knee. Several small wounds in mouth, inside of cheek and lower lip. Minor hearing damage, old injury. Minor brain damage, old injury. Highly elevated heart rate. Shallow breathing.” The machine pauses for a moment. Six pairs of eyes now stare at Lance in shock, jaws dropped.

Lance shifts, and if possible his jaw sets further, chin raised stubbornly and brown eyes hard and defiant.

The machine prompts again. “Proceed with treatment suggestions?”

No one speaks.

“Shut down, Scanner 6X427,” Lance says.

“Shutting down,” the scanner responds pleasantly. It beeps one more time and then grows cold in Hunk’s hand.

Everyone erupts at the same time. There’s so much panicked yelling that it kind of all amalgamates into the sound of three crowded rooms, all voices competing with another, u til eventually it settles into: “Holy shit, we need to get you to a pod!”

“Not happening,” Lance says firmly. “You can’t make me.”

“Um, yes I can,” Keith says. “As the Black Paladin, I order you to go to a pod right fucking now.”

“Seconded,” Shiro says, eyes narrowed. “That’s double Black Paladin orders.”

Lance shrugs. “As the Red Paladin, I say no, and also piss off, just as a little extra treat.”

“Lance, get in a fucking pod or so help me God,” Hunk says through grit teeth. “I will carry you out, you little shit.”

Hunk’s threat seems to shake some of the irritating calmness from Lance’s frame, and his voice gets a little angrier, a little more desperate.

“Well it’s going to be a struggle and a fucking half for you, because I’m not going in that fucking death trap conscious!”

“Lance, you’re really hurt!” Pidge cries. Frustrated and angry tears have started to drip down her face. “You’re scaring me! Get in the fucking pod!”

Shiro and Coran are so worried that neither of them correct her on her language, as they often do almost reflectively.

“I’m afraid no medical attention is not an option, child,” Coran says, firm. “You know the rules as well as I.”

“The rules don’t say jack shit about a pod,” Lance says harshly.

Keith blinks at that, flinching a little in shock. Lance is — Keith is well versed in Lance’s volatility. As much as they love and rely on each other, they’re both very stubborn, and still fall into the occasional screaming match. Lance also ends up arguing with everyone else on the team, really, as people living in close quarters tend to do; with Pidge about her sleeping habits, Hunk about working himself to exhaustion, Allura about her reckless tendency to self-sacrifice when it’s not necessary — those fights are always particularly hard to witness, because Lance is right, but he of all people can’t get angry at her for it — and Shiro’s stubborn insistence that he comes last. About stupid shit, too, although usually much less angry; dirty dishes left on the counter; chore schedules ignored, outside clothes on the bed.

But Keith has never, not once in their three years in space, heard Lance raise his voice at Coran. In fact Coran is usually the one that Lance listens to without question, the one he trusts to know more than he does in every subject. Lance may roll his eyes and groan about things, but he has never outright refused. Coran has his best interests at the forefront of his mind, something he’s made abundantly clear.

But Lance has just snapped at him. And while some guilt bleeds into his eyes, none of the stubbornness leaves his expression.

Coran looks hurt, but his voice is still firm. “I’m not asking, Lance.”

It’s a rare thing to have Coran use Lance’s real name.

A tear drops from the corner of Lance’s eye. His chin trembles. “And I’m not going.” His voice wobbles; begging, almost, desperate, instead of the angry tone it had before. “I’m not.”

“Everyone stop,” Allura says. “Pidge, Keith, move.” Her voice is not rude, but leaves no room for argument. Both paladins follow her instructions immediately, scrambling back. Allura kneels in their place, right next to the Red Paladin, and places a gentle hand on his. She squeezes.

“What’s going on?” she asks, in a creole of Altean and Cuban Spanish. “This isn’t a trick. I’m not going to move you, or force you to go anywhere. Talk to me like you make me talk to you when I’m upset. Why this reaction?”

Lance’s face crumples. It’s slow, like he’s fighting with all he has to stop it, to keep his face blank or at the very least hard, but it doesn’t work; tears fill his eyes and overflow rapidly, and his breath hitches in his throat, and then again, and his shoulders shake and his hands tremble and he starts to sob.

“I won’t go in a pod,” he says. “Please. Please don’t make me. I don’t want to get stuck again. There’s no internal release, I checked the manuals, and when they defect sometimes they get sucked down into storage and they stay down there and no one would hear me and the BLIP reader wouldn’t find me ‘cause of the radiation reinforcement in the walls and I’d suffocate and die and I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t do it I’ll die I’ll suffocate I won’t be able to breathe —”

His already shallow breaths get even shallower, and soon he genuinely can’t breathe, wheezing, panic making his limbs flail slightly and his pupils to shrink down to pinpricks. Allura is the first to react, close as she is, firmly grasping both of his shoulders and straightening his neck to keep his airway open.

“Lance, you need to breathe through your nose,” she orders. “Close your mouth. Now. Yes, that’s it. Through your nose, okay? Like that. Exactly. Now purse your lips and exhale slowly out your mouth. Yes, perfect. Keep doing that. Do it with me. See how I’m doing it?” She breathes exaggeratedly, indicating for him to follow. “Good, good. Just like that. Keep going, asteraki. You’re doing great.”

Carefully so as to not crowd them, Keith sits on Lance’s other side, reaching forward and squeezing his ankle. Pidge follows suite, and then the rest of the team; sitting in a poorly-formed semicircle around their friend and teammate, chiming in with Allura with encouragement.

This is not their first panic attack, and it won’t be their last. Although this one was one they all could have prevented, as evidenced by the guilty way they look at each other.

Finally Lance begins to calm down, breaths evening out to a steady hiccuping, tears slowed to a trickle instead of a stream. Hunk digs in his fanny pack to hand Lance a tissue, but Lance grasps Hunk’s hand instead. Hunk smiles, tangling their hands together and keeping them that way, regardless of the awkward position and the strain on his arm.

“I dressed them,” Lance says, when he finally has his voice back. It’s hoarse, but earnest, pleading, almost.

“Dressed what?” Coran asks carefully. Out of all of them, he feels the heaviest guilt; knowing the role he plays for Lance means this was something he should have noticed first, not left for Allura to handle. It makes sense that she did — her own debilitating homesickness and depression means that she and Lance spend quite a lot of time with each other at their worst — but he still knows the paladin, knows him well, and he has the experience to identify that kind of fear. He has no excuse for failing to do so.

“All the injuries,” Lance answers. “I didn’t — I wasn’t ignoring them. I dislocated my shoulder two weeks ago, so I put it back into place with one of the x-ray machines to help and kept it stable for a while.”

“Is that why you kept stealing my hoodies?” Hunk asks quietly.

“Yes.” Lance smiles slightly. “And because I like them.”

Hunk snorts, smiling back despite himself. “Yeah, bud, I’m well aware. I’d say I want them back, but you can keep them for now.”

“Nice. I should get hurt more often.”

“Not funny,” each of them says immediately.

Lance winces. “Sorry, just trying to lighten the mood.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, the rest of them are handled, too. I took a spear to the leg when I was training a few days ago, so I fixed it and stitched it myself. It was fine and it’s healing nicely and it’s not even a little bit infected,” Lance says to Pidge, who opens her mouth to protest. His insistence calms her a little.

“If you say so.”

“I do. I’ve given myself stitches lots before, don’t worry.”

“That is very worrying,” Shiro says. “All of us could help you with stitches, Lance.”

“You’d make me go in the pod,” Lance points out. “And none of my injuries are primary emergencies. I worked at the Garrison clinic for five years, and trust me when I tell you the staff there took student help way too seriously. Half of them straight up slept for their whole shifts. I know how to handle myself.”

“Some of that stuff is fine,” Keith admits. He’s been guilty of setting his own strains and pulled muscles so he can keep training. “I know you hurt your knee when we were doing that sim a couple months ago and putting a brace on was fine, we checked.” He hesitates. “But that other stuff sounds pretty serious, Lance. Numerous mouth wounds? Hearing loss? Brain damage?” He throws up his hands, frustrated. “That’s bad!”

“The mouth wounds are just me biting the inside of my mouth,” Lance explains. “That’s not even a real injury. I’ve been doing that my whole life. I’m never not done that. As for the other stuff…” He trails off, looking at his lap.

“From the Sendak explosion,” Coran says quietly. “Permanent damage.”

“But we’d know about that,” Pidge argues. “The pod says all that kind of stuff when the person comes out. It didn’t say any of that stuff for Lance. He was fine!”

Keith’s face goes white. “None of us were there.” As he says it the rest of them go pale, too, remembering that day. “We were — God, we were arguing about something stupid. I don’t even remember. Did you…”

“I caught myself before I fell,” Lance says, correctly guessing what Keith is too horrified to say. “I wasn’t — I’m not mad, guys. I don’t expect everyone to have just stayed waiting around a guy who most of you barely knew, at that point, in a medically induced coma. Besides, we were busy.”

“I’m sorry,” Hunk says. He’s started to cry, now, dark eyes blurry with tears and nose running. “I’m so sorry, Lance. I didn’t — I should have been there to catch you.”

“I promise you I’m over a thing that happened four years ago,” Lance says drily.

Allura pinches his ear. He yelps.

“Hey! No pinching the brain damaged person!”

“Not funny,” she says, although her mouth twitches. “And accept our apology, you jerk. I know it’s been eating at you. You’re a Leo and you told me that that means you hold grudges for a thousand years.”

“I regret teaching you astrology,” Lance mumbles. He is visibly relieved. “But, fine. Apology accepted, you bunch of goobers. Can we forget this happened, now?”

“Absolutely not,” Shiro says. “You still have hearing loss and brain damage. And a broken rib! I won’t force you into a pod, but we need to figure something out, kiddo.”

“Eh.” Lance waves a dismissive hand. “I’ve had two of the three for four years, now, so I barely even notice them anymore. The hearing loss isn’t that bad, plus I’ve always had audio processing disorder so I know how to read lips and I’m used to asking people to repeat themselves a bajillion times. And I’m pretty sure the brain damage thing just means I get more migraines than usual, which I already know how to deal with because of the ‘tism. The broken rib —” He falters. “Well, the broken rib doesn’t look great for me, but there’s no cure for that anyway. You’re just supposed to wait it out until it heals itself, basically, and the scanner thing didn’t say anything about a punctured lung so I’m good.”

“How you humans have managed to stay alive as long as you have astounds me,” Allura mutters.

“Fair,” all five humans say at the same time.

Lance moves to get up, swiping his cheeks to wipe away the tears. “Are we good now?” he asks hopefully. “Lancey-Lance is secretly a medical genius, all mistakes have been forgiven, we can go do literally anything else? Food would be great. I don’t know about you people but personally, being vulnerable makes me horribly famished.”

“Sit down, dear,” Coran says, steadying a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “Alteans have better medical equipment, you remember. Not everything is a pod, they’re simply faster.” He turns to Pidge and Hunk. “I need the two of you to get the bone stitcher from the MedBay. Allura, go with them, the label is in a dialect of Altean they haven’t yet learnt, they’ll need your help to get it. It’s also quite heavy and quite high up.”

They nod and scurry off.

“What can I do, Coran?” Shiro asks.

“Get him his headphones and some water,” he suggests. “It’s been a lot of stimuli for one varga.”

“On it.”

“I can get my own shit,” Lance grumbles. “I don’t want people digging through my stuff.”

“Get up and I’m going to dislocated your other shoulder,” Keith threatens, half-joking. “Stop being a dweeb about needed help. It makes you look like a straight guy.”

Lance opens his mouth and then closes it again. “I hate when you use my words against me. It’s three quarters of the reason you’re irritating.”

“Shut up,” Keith says pleasantly.

They’re both grinning. Coran shakes his head at the two of them, knowing he will likely never understand their relationship.

The rest of the team comes back quickly, and they work together to set Lance’s rib, get him hydrated, move the mood into something lighter. They all head to dinner when he’s stable, eating their goo in exhausted but comfortable silence.

Tomorrow, Coran will have Lance run through some brain scans to make sure everything is as alright as it seems. Tomorrow, Pidge and Hunk will start working on a pair of hearing aids. Tomorrow, Keith will insist on helping Lance change the bandages on his leg wound; red to his hairline but stubborn and steady and gentle. Tomorrow, Shiro will sit with Lance on the observation deck, and they will discover that both of their mothers are nurses, and they will laugh about ridiculous ER stories they’ve heard. Tomorrow, Allura will help Lance bedazzle his knee brace as obnoxiously as they can.

Tomorrow, they will fix things. Tomorrow they will make things right.

But for now, they sit, and they eat, and they enjoy each other’s company and take great relief in the knowledge that their Blue and Red Paladin is truly, possibly for the first time in years, safe.

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