Timeline notes: Takes place in season two

Warning notes: Some violence in the brief act we see of Lance losing said body parts, but nothing really graphic or gory.

xxx

Stand and See

xxx

— "Ha!" Lance laughed, spinning around to look at the upstairs viewing booth of the training room where Pidge was visible in the glass, helping him run simulations for extra training. "The amazing Lancy Lance does it again."

"It was only a level ten, Lance," Pidge called over the loudspeaker.

"But it was armed with swords, explosives and a gun," Lance countered. "Admit it, Pigeon, I'm awesome."

Pidge glanced up. "I'll admit that—" she broke off as all of the lights flickered in the training room. It only lasted a second though and she turned back to Lance, shrugging it off. "I'll admit that— Lance!" —

"Lance, lad. Lance. Lance, can you hear me?"

Please. He wanted to wake up.

— "Lance! Look out!" Pidge screamed and Lance whirled around, the fear in her voice too real to be a joke.

The gladiator struck a moment later, Lance barely pulling his shield up in time, but he was still sent skidding across the ground, helmet dashing on the ground and visor spiderwebbing.

"Pidge! Shut it down!" he shouted as the gladiator advanced and he scrambled back to his fee, yanking off the helmet so he could see. A Lvl: 100 blinked on the scoreboard board across the room and Lance yelped as the gladiator closed the distance between them in a near instant, barely managing another block against its sword. "Pidge!"

"I can't! Fuck! It won't let me in!"

"Pidge!" Lance yelped as this time he wasn't able to fully block both the sword and the blaster and a smoking hole was burned into his armor.

"Get out of there!" —

"Lance," the voice was pleading. "Lance, look at me, hermano. Lance!"

He wanted to look at Hunk. He didn't want to see his memories anymore. Please. Por favor.

— But the door was locked. Lance took blaster fire across his back for the short time it took to test the mechanism, Pidge's yells barely audible over his own shouts as he felt a second wave pierce through the armor and lightning seemed to race on his back.

He stumbled away from the door, throwing his shield up against the rampaging gladiator, the force sending him to the ground. Bombs exploded all around then and he was temporarily blinded and deafened by the flashes and sound. He looked up, world going in and out of focus to see the gladiator swinging the sword down for his head.

Lance couldn't hear anything except blood pounding in his head but he wrenched himself backwards on his hands and kicked his legs out to put space between them.

That was a mistake. —

"Lance! Lance, snap out of it."

He wanted to. Dios, he wanted to. He didn't want to remember this.

He could feel tears leaking down one side of his face, stinging and hot. It still wasn't enough. Nothing was enough to free him from this.

— Lance screamed, audible even to his ruptured eardrums, as the gladiator's sword sliced across his raised right leg just below the knee… and his leg went flying across the room, a trail of crimson splattering the white floors of the training room.

There was no pain for half a second, numb horror as he blinked at where his leg had once been, shattered armor and blood dripping down.

And then agony. Blinding, burning agony.

It wasn't over. The gladiator was coming back for another strike, blaster blazing and bombs dropping from its fingertips.

Lance could hardly move, but instincts screamed louder than the pain and he rolled, throwing up his shield.

The gladiator tore right through it, shattering the pixels with a dull crack.

Ocean eyes widened as a blaster was aimed nearly point blank at his head—

Someone was tapping his cheek, calling his name. Their hands were warm. Comforting.

The warmth moved to flames of a laser.

Lance tipped his head back and screamed.

—Fire erupted across his face, vision filled with red and white and black all at the same time, a dizzying conglomeration. The noises coming from his throat didn't even sound human.

There was another sound then, shouts of his name, and Lance blearily made out white and black armor leaping past him, a purple stream trailing behind with an angry vengeance and crashing into the gladiator with a screech.

Hands were on him then, dragging him backwards and people were screaming and crying before it all faded into a hazy muteness, the red colors dissolving fully into black and Lance welcomed it.

The pain followed. —

Hands were on his arms, his shoulders and someone was shouting his name. With a choked gasp and sob Lance came back to himself, jerking back in the hands that were clutching his shoulder and would have tipped right over had they not been so sturdy.

"Lance!" and Hunk's voice was there. And it was scared. "Lance, hermano, please. Can you hear me?"

"H-Hunk," Lance rasped and he was being pulled into a tight hug a moment later, face buried in Hunk's broad chest. Another hand descended on his back, rubbing gently, and he identified it as Coran.

Lance's stomach heaved and he swallowed thickly back the acid taste of bile, as he recalled where he was. The infirmary. Perched on the exam table and still so off balance that if Hunk and Coran hadn't been there to steady him he probably would have tipped off already.

It had been almost two days since he'd come out of the pod; two days of lying curled up in his darkened room, refusing to come out, and trying to lose himself to sleep. He almost wished the pod hadn't healed him as much as he did; he'd have welcomed the distraction of pain.

But the only things he had to distract him were memories and the ache that had taken up near permanent residence on his right leg. Or, well, where his right leg should have been. It was just a stump now, neatly sealed at the knee with a mottled, puckered lining where the flesh had been pulled forcibly back together in the pod.

Its appearance had had nothing on his face.

The pod had healed the laser burn, yes, that had apparently stretched from just above his lip to his forehead.

But it had not replaced his left eye, which had been a gory, oozing mess and damaged beyond repair. All that was left now was a hollow socket that Lance had vomited upon seeing, vision half-there, in the mirror on his desk. A dark, stick-on eyepatch covered it now, hiding the grisly sight.

Hiding it just as Lance wished to be back in hiding right now. Curled up in his bed he had tried to pretend none of it was real. It had been a nightmare. He was fine. When he opened his eyes, plural, all would be fine.

But it wasn't.

And it would never be again.

He could barely maneuver around. Hopping on one leg had been disastrous as his depth perception was nearly non-existent and combined that with the loss of weight from his missing limb and subsequent lack of balance he'd toppled over more than once, having to painfully crawl back to the bed and hoist himself up. He could figure out relatively where things were close up if he slowly moved his head across the expanse, taking in the object from different angles, but it was too slow to be of any real-time use.

He knew if he turned on the lights it would probably be easier, as nearly bathed in darkness with just shadows for company was definitely not helping, but Lance liked it better that way. Once the lights came on then his self-induced hope that this was all a terrible dream would truly be over.

Two days had been enough for the team. Whenever anyone came to visit in that timeframe Lance feigned sleep. He knew it was pathetic and they only wanted to help, but he couldn't face them. He couldn't even face himself, the mirror a mess of shattered glass a testament to that. Someone had cleaned it up while he was sleeping, leaving bandages wrapped about his right hand from where he'd destroyed the glass (after the third attempt).

He couldn't face Shiro's soft murmurs and whispers that he was here for him, that he was available to talk about it when Lance was ready; that he was so, so sorry this had happened as though it was somehow his fault that he hadn't gotten their sooner.

Not Keith's pleas that turned to threats and then back to that hopeless, quiet anger when they failed to spur Lance from the bed.

Not Pidge's tears and apologies and small, tiny hands gripping at his arms and begging for him to at least talk to her, to yell at her, to do something other than ignore her.

Not Allura's guilt that the castle had gone through the storm surge that had shorted out the system and sent the gladiator haywire. Not Coran's either that the failsafes hadn't kicked on, blaming himself for the programming and the sealed training room door.

The only person he had been able to at least acknowledge had been Hunk, who had curled up around him on the bed and just held him, murmuring nonsense and petting his hair. He still hadn't really spoken to Hunk, words locked in his throat and whenever he tried they just came out a whimpered sob and an echo of a scream. But Hunk had cajoled him to eat, a few bites of soup there, a cracker here.

But two days later they'd apparently all had enough. Lance knew it was inevitable so he had not fought Hunk when he'd whispered that he was taking Lance to the infirmary for an exam ordered by Shiro and Coran. He'd known for a while now that what he was doing wasn't healthy, hiding away. It wasn't like him to withdraw this much for this long. Then again, he wasn't really himself anymore either.

Hunk had scooped him with ease into his arms, Lance's left leg dangling and his right… well, the empty pants leg fluttered in the resulting breeze as they walked. Lance had buried his face against Hunk's chest as the bright light of the hallway was near searing after his self-imposed darkness.

There had been no audience, at least, outside in the hall or in the medical wing. Just Coran who had said he wished to merely do a quick cursory exam and, if Lance was comfortable with it… measure him for a prosthetic.

Hunk had quietly said then that he, Coran and Pidge were in the process of designing one, using Shiro as a base model. It would take time still, a few weeks at least, but when they were done Lance would be able to walk again.

Lance had managed to ask about his eye, the first words he'd spoken beyond broken iterations of half-formed words, and hated how Coran had shaken his head. His optic nerves had been completely destroyed from the blast; there was no way to repair them and thus no way to attach a cybernetic, if they could even build one of that level at all. Still, Coran said with time and practice Lance's vision would learn to adjust and compensate for the loss of his left eye. A few months to a year, Coran estimated.

Lance had nearly started crying at that. That was several months of stumbling into things, spilling things, mistaking distances and probably nearly poking someone else's eye out. It was headaches and a strained right eye and pity and looks and he didn't want that.

But, Coran had tried to cheer him, a prosthetic leg was possible. Walking was possible. It wasn't the same, Lance knew. It never would be. But it was something more than hopping about or attempting the crutch Coran had left in his room that Lance had yet to touch that made him look like even more of an invalid. So he had agreed for Coran to take measurements to start the process.

He hadn't expected Coran's gently probing hands to launch him into the memory, progressively getting worse with each passing second as he was near physically assaulted by the flashback. He sniffled into Hunk's chest, eye stinging. Pathetic. He was being absolutely pathetic.

"I am sorry." Coran's voice was a muted hue of its normal genial tone, dripping with guilt. "I am so sorry, my boy. I did… I did not wish to cause you pain." A hand descended into his hair, warm and steady and trembling. "I am so sorry."

And Coran wasn't just apologizing for now. He had been ceaselessly doing so for the rogue gladiator bot, for the protocols that had locked Lance in, that had locked the others out. Coran was looking for someone to blame for what had happened and he had settled on himself for it was his programming that had done this.

As miserable as Lance was he couldn't listen to it anymore. Not when it wasn't Coran's fault.

It was his.

If he'd been stronger, faster, better he could have fought the gladiator off until help had arrived. But he hadn't. He'd been taken down in under a minute.

And he'd dared to call himself a Paladin of Voltron.

Well, he wasn't one anymore. He couldn't be one. Not when his only talent he brought to the team was his sharpshooting and well, a one-legged, half-blind person was the last person who should be holding a gun.

He was worse than a seventh wheel now. Now he was a liability. All he was waiting for was for Allura and Shiro to make it official.

It was one of the reasons he had been so determined to hide in his room. If he could delay it for just a little longer then…

Who was he fooling?

He had been so proud when Blue had chosen him to be her Paladin. He was finally something other than the goofball, the flirt, the cargo pilot who hadn't deserved Keith's spot. He had been able to help people, save the universe, fix some of the horrors Zarkon had caused.

But now… Now he was broken. And he couldn't fix other things when he couldn't even fix himself. And worst yet, he didn't know if anyone or anything could. Still, he owed it to the others to at least assuage their feelings of guilt. It wasn't any of their faults and they needed to know that. He could try to fix at least that.

So he raised his head after rubbing it against Hunk's vest to wipe away the lingering tears and sensing the shift Hunk stepped back a bit, although his hands remained steady on Lance's shoulders.

"'s not your fault," Lance mumbled at large to the room, but the comment directed to Coran.

Coran's hand came around along with the man, caressing Lance's left cheek and he leaned into the touch, even as the fingers skimmed below his eyepatch. "It is not yours either, dear boy."

Lance weakly shook his head in rebuttal.

"It's not," Hunk interjected, hands tightening on his shoulders. "It's not, Lance."

"The gladiator went to a level that is not meant for even the most skilled warrior to defeat alone," Coran explained softly. "It is no fault of yours that you could not do so."

"Didn't have to beat it," Lance said quietly. "Just… just had to keep away and…" His shoulders shook as he glanced down and only one leg swam into his distorted vision. "Couldn't even do that. I…" his voice broke. "I really messed up."

"You did no such thing," Coran retorted gently. "Dear boy," and Coran's fingers shifted to lift his chin up, forcing him to meet the jewel-bright gaze, "you are in pain. Please, do not try and shoulder this burden of misplaced guilt as well."

Lance's eye watered and he closed it as though that could keep the tears in. Coran rubbed his thumb across the track, his own head bowed.

"Let's all agree that the storm is to blame," Hunk put in quietly. "All right? No… no more pointing fingers. No more blaming ourselves."

"Let us put our efforts into helping you heal, Lance," Coran murmured. "Can we do that instead?"

"...Kay," Lance whispered after a moment. Guilt still coiled inside him though, a whirling sickness, that had less to do with the gladiator and more to do with himself. With his cowardice at avoiding the team this entire time, especially Pidge. She hadn't deserved that. He knew how much she was hurting, but he… he hadn't been able to do anything about it, caught up in his own spiral.

He had to make things right.

He just… he didn't know how.

He didn't know how to do anything anymore, it seemed.

"I did complete my measurements," Coran said carefully, "so we are done on that front for right now. But my exam showed that you are rather dehydrated still and lacking proper sustenance. I request that you go to the kitchen and eat something. It should help with some of the dizziness I suspect you are feeling as well."

Lance nodded. He'd thought as much. He felt sick still though, but had a feeling Coran and Hunk would say it was because he had hardly eaten. Maybe Hunk had more soup. He might be able to stomach that.

"Lights on as well except for sleeping," Coran continued. "Your pupil is dilated and no doubt light is a wee bit sensitive right now. We can remedy that with natural exposure – well, as much as we have up here in space at least – and I daresay it will help your eye to acclimate better to its surroundings."

Lance managed another nod, feeling even more foolish for how he had been behaving. Hurting himself, hurting the team.

He couldn't do anything right.

"Lance," Coran said, and he found his chin tipped up again. "It is going to be all right." There was a truth, a conviction, in those words, that made Lance want to sit up a little straighter. Coran smiled and patted his cheek before standing back up. "Number Two, I'll leave you to preparing the sustenance. Unless, of course, you would prefer a Paladin surprise."

"Um…" Lance's stomach twisted.

Coran's moustache seemed to droop.

"He should have my version of alien chicken soup," Hunk put in hurriedly. "It'd be easier on the stomach for sure."

"Oh, yes, you are quite right," and Coran's moustache curled back up and in another circumstance Lance might have grinned. And while it wasn't much he did feel his lips thin at least out of the frown. It was a step. "Off you lads go then. I'll take down these schematics to Number Five."

"I'll be by in a little bit," Hunk said. "Just going to get Lance to the kitchen and the soup reheated." Under his breath he muttered something that involved the words "Shiro, cook and charcoal" and Lance felt his lips quirk up for the first time in days. Shiro's bad cooking habits were near legend.

His smile dropped a moment later though as he realized he had to talk to Shiro and the others and apologize for his behavior when all they'd wanted to do was help.

"You okay for a lift again?" Hunk asked and Lance quietly gave his permission. Hunk scooped him once more into his arms and they began a quiet trek to the kitchen.

"I'm sorry," Lance said quietly, words muffled somewhat as he spoke into Hunk's shoulder.

The arms tightened. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I'm inconveniencing you. All of you. And… and I've hurt Voltron and the universe and—"

"Hey, hey, stop that," Hunk jostled him a bit. "One, you are not an inconvenience and we all just want to see you get better. And two, yeah, maybe we're down Voltron for a bit but—"

"A bit?" Lance interrupted, tone bitter. "Hunk! I…" he trailed off. "I can't be a Paladin anymore."

And Hunk snorted.

Lance looked up, affronted and hurt.

"That's what this is about? Lance, hermano, you're still the Blue Paladin. That's not gonna change."

"But—"

"You need to talk to Shiro," Hunk's voice was firm. "And look, there he is."

Not just Shiro. Keith and Pidge too, all sitting around the kitchen table with bowls of food goo. Hearing voices they all looked up and Lance flushed as every eye zeroed in on him, feeling exposed all of a sudden. That would be his fault for avoiding them for so long.

Pidge jerked to standing but Shiro put a hand on her arm, holding her at the table.

"Hey," he called softly, sending a smile from Hunk to Lance and holding his gaze before Lance glanced away.

"Hey," Hunk greeted for the both of them, sliding Lance into a chair next to Keith before he could even protest. "Just in here to get Lance some food and then heading to Green's hangar; Coran's got schematics," he directed to Pidge.

She nodded, but there was no excitement in it. Not the way there should be with a project like this.

Lance had done that. He needed to fix it.

"Pidge," her name leaving his lips before he gave it permission and she practically vibrated over to his side, although her hands remained tucked beneath her arms.

He forced himself to met her honey gaze; to see the guilt and sadness and pain lurking there. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Pidge closed the gap, arms wrapping about him in a hug that Lance tightly returned. "You idiot," she muttered. "What are you apologizing for?"

Everything, Lance wanted to say.

"I'm the one who's sorry," she mumbled. "I couldn't shut it down. And now you…"

"Not your fault. Not… not anyone's," and based upon Shiro's inhale the others had heard that too. "I'm sorry for worrying you."

"You idiot," she said again with no heat and her embrace tightened.

"So you're… you're gonna make me a…?" he couldn't quite get the word out but Pidge understood.

"Yeah," she promised. "It'll be the best leg ever."

"Not quite," Shiro cut in gently and Lance felt his heart stutter, "because we already have the best right leg the universe has ever seen right here."

Tears sprung to Lance's eye and he looked past Pidge to meet Shiro's warm charcoal. Did Shiro mean…?

"Sh-Shiro… I… you…"

Shiro got up to crouch down by Lance's chair, putting them at the same eye level, Pidge shuffling to the side although not releasing her tight grip. "You are our right leg, Lance," he said softly. "It'll take time to get back in the field but we're all rooting for you and we know you can do it. I know you can do it."

He raised his own prosthetic, gleaming metal shining under the bright kitchen lights. "And we're all going to be there to help you. What's important is you realize this," he patted Lance's stump, "does not define who you are. You are more than just a leg or a sharp eye, Lance. You're our family, and that means more than anything else in the universe."

Hunk's loud sob drew their attention and he waved a hand at them as tears streamed down his face. "Sorry, sorry, don't mind me. That was just… so beautiful, man."

Lance felt his own lips twitching up into a smile, a real one.

"Gracias," he whispered to Shiro.

"No thanks needed, buddy," Shiro reached forward and ruffled his hair. "Just no more hiding from us, okay? If you need space I understand, I do, but don't shut us out. Okay?"

"Kay," Lance nodded. And to his relief he found that he meant it. The worst of the sick feeling had gone and replacing it was a gentle warmth as he looked about the room and saw only support and love reflected back.

He'd been a real idiot.

"And if you do," Keith spoke for the first time, meeting Lance's eye with his amethyst purple, pink highlighting his cheeks, "we'll break down your door and drag you out. Got it?"

"Got it," Lance sniffled, both touched and slightly amused at the violent threat, but knowing it was coming from a place of caring.

Hunk patted his shoulder. "Looks like you're in good hands here, hermano. I'm just gonna reheat the soup and then head out. Pidge, you coming?"

"Of course," and a real grin lit her face. "Got to go start on the second best leg there is in this universe." Lance felt his face flush and he ducked his head to hide it.

Within a few dobashes Hunk had put out a spread of soup and bread for all of them, helped himself quickly to a bowl, and then he and Pidge left with waves and promises of updates later in the evening.

Lance did not eat his soup that fast. He had barely touched it at all as he found upon trying to maneuver the spoon he kept missing the bowl and when he did manage a proper spoonful he bumped it against his mouth. He felt his face darken and lowered his eyes, embarrassed.

"Hey," Shiro said gently. "It's going to take time. You'll get there. If you want…" Shiro held up a spoon and Lance felt his face grow even darker. Spoon feeding? But Shiro didn't appear to be teasing him and Lance's eyes drifted to Shiro's prosthetic. Which had once been his dominant hand.

At least… at least he was going through his injury surrounded by his family. Shiro had… Shiro had had to go through that, even if he didn't remember it right now, all alone and in pain and with only the enemy for company. Tears sparked in his eye again. Not for himself but for all that Shiro had suffered.

"I'm sorry," he choked out.

"Lance, no," Shiro murmured, misinterpreting it.

Lance closed both of his arms about Shiro's prosthetic on the table and bowed his head over it. "I'm sorry," he repeated and this time, based on Shiro's sigh and Keith's small sound of distress, it was understood.

"It's okay," Shiro said softly, placing his flesh hand atop Lance's. "I'm… I'm okay." He squeezed Lance's hands. "Let's focus on you now, buddy. And," he raised the spoon, "that starts with eating something."

"Why don't you try this?" Keith drew their attention to where he'd abandoned his spoon and lifted the bowl in his hands. He tipped it back and took a small slurp.

It certainly would be easier than trying to judge the spoon in relation to his face and the bowl. It took Lance a couple tries of dipping his fingers in hot soup and then smashing it twice against his face, but eventually he managed a sip of Hunk's delicious concoction that way, warming him from the inside out.

Shiro held his own bowl up and clinked it against Lance's. "Cheers."

Lance smiled and returned the gesture to both Shiro and Keith's with only one missed attempt. "Cheers."

xxx

Four days later:

"It hurts," Lance said through gritted teeth, curled up on the floor of the lounge and hands gripping his knee stump. He'd been trying to play a Altean card game with Shiro – good practice Coran had said for reading the fine print and then placing them properly on the designated mat – when his leg had flared with a stabbing ache and he'd dropped his cards all over.

Phantom limb pain, Shiro had told him about it before when it first happened. Shiro didn't suffer it as much himself because he had what his brain registered as a limb, but Lance was still in the process of waiting for his prosthetic and his body kept trying to put receptors where there were none.

"I know, buddy," Shiro murmured, settling down on the ground and carefully placing his hands on the stump, massaging it gently through the pinned up pants leg. "Did you take your pain meds at lunch?" For although he was fully healed thanks to the pod, because of the nerve endings in his leg that caused him pain as well as the constant headaches from his monocular vision, Coran had prescribed a dosage of Altean inflammatory and pain reliever.

Lance remained silent.

"Lance…"

"They make me dizzy," he admitted quietly, wincing as Shiro's hands kneaded at his flesh. "I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize, I get it," Shiro said softly. "But right now you need them. Just for a little longer. I promise, buddy, just a little longer."

Lance sighed and nodded.

Ten days later:

Lance made his way as quietly as he could towards the kitchen, leaning heavily on the crutch. He'd been relying on Hunk and occasionally Shiro to transport him all about the ship after his last attempt at hopping to the bathroom on his own had ended with him sprawled in the hallway sporting a minor concussion followed by a trip to the pod.

But he didn't like having to bother them though each time he wanted to go somewhere and now that he was off the medication, other than on a bad day when the ache was too strong, he wasn't as dizzy and he wanted to be able to do this on his own.

He needed to do things on his own.

So he had awkwardly picked up the crutch that everyone seemed to have forgotten about and using it as a counter balance had made the decision to hop / limp out of his room. He'd decided on the kitchen as at least he could reward himself with breakfast when he reached it.

"—are amazing," he heard Hunk saying, able to picture the grin. "He's going to love them."

"Don't tell him they're from me," came the response and Lance blinked. That had sounded like… "Actually, don't tell anyone."

"What? Why not?"

"Because Shiro… Shiro thinks I'm awful at cooking too. I just… I didn't want him to feel so bad."

Hunk chuckled. "Sorry man, no can do. These are amazing and I am not going to take the credit. Besides, the whole universe should know that—"

"Keith can cook?" Lance finished the sentence, propelling himself into the doorway of the kitchen with a shit-eating grin.

Hunk dropped what looked like a… garlic biscuit – oh Dios, had Keith found the space garlic equivalent? – with a yelp of surprise.

"Lance! You're up!" Hunk exclaimed while Keith stuttered out his name and poorly tried to cover up a pan of said garlic biscuits on top of the counter. A grin even larger than the one he'd been sporting filled his face. "You're walking!"

"Hopping, really," Lance said, beelining as slow as a lame turtle towards the counter. He misjudged the crutch though in his hurry to reach them before Keith could hide his apparent cooking talent away and with a short cry he tipped forward, crutch slipping away.

Keith was there within a tick, catching him about the chest and hauling him back up to some modicum of standing. Lance beamed at him. "My hero."

"I'll drop you," Keith warned, a careful teasing to it but Lance only smiled wider, as even though he had stumbled at the end he had made it down the whole corridor from his room without incident and that was something to be proud of indeed. "I won't let you eat my cooking," he threatened instead.

"Now that's just cruel," Lance pouted and Keith cracked a grin.

"Just don't tell Shiro," he sighed, shaking his head as he guided Lance over to a chair.

"Don't tell Shiro what?" came the voice of their leader.

Keith paled and Lance found that the glee bubbling up in his chest was unrestricted.

"Oh," he chuckled, "this is going to be good."

Sixteen days later:

"What is going on?" Allura's accented tones filled with confusion entered the lounge, taking in the scene spread out before her.

Lance was sitting on one end of the room and surrounded by a series of soft foam balls that Hunk and Pidge had created each about the size of a softball, while the four Paladins and Coran were standing across from him with a bushel more of the balls.

"Ah, Princess," Coran straightened up. "We are helping Number Three practice his depth perception."

Allura raised an eyebrow.

Pidge hoisted a ball into her hand. "We're lobbing projectiles at him," she said, "to help his eye learn to compensate for the monocular distortion."

"He's managed to catch six now," Hunk said, beaming like a proud parent.

"Out of like sixty," Lance muttered.

"Fifty-seven," Pidge corrected. "Which is over ten percent and really quite good. It would be better if some people," her gaze narrowed on Keith and Coran who gave matching rueful grins, "could aim a little better." She looked to Allura. "Want to give it a try, Princess?"

"If it is acceptable to Lance," Allura said, getting a nod in return.

She joined Pidge on the other side of the room and took the foam ball, green in color, in hand. "So… I just throw it?" she clarified.

"Preferably in his general direction, yes," Pidge said.

Allura nodded.

And she threw.

The ball hurtled across the room and smashed into Lance, sending him skidding backwards on the carpet. There was a moment of stunned silence and then cries of his name and Hunk dashed over, bracing for the worst.

But Lance…

Lance was laughing. He was laughing so hard tears were streaming down one side of his face, curled up around the ball that had sent him literally flying. Hunk chuckled himself, delighted to see Lance's mirth.

"Did I do it wrong?" Allura queried.

Lance laughed harder.

Twenty-three days later:

"Okay, ready?" Pidge hovered at his side, a restless excitement and worry coming off her in equal measure.

They had finished the prosthetic. It wasn't quite refined yet but they needed to test it to see how Lance's body accepted it. The leg was a gleaming piece of white metal with blue accents to match his armor and Lance had felt his hands shake when he'd seen it. It even had toes.

It was made to encapsulate his entire knee, embedded with sensors that combined the genius of Hunk, Pidge and Coran as well as the marvel of Altean tech that would have never been possible on Earth. It should, Hunk had explained, function like a regular foot. Just…

There would be no feeling. It would connect with his nerves so he could control it, balance on it, and move it, but in terms of feeling temperature or textures it was just a piece of metal. It was still more than Lance could have ever hoped for.

Unfortunately the process of connecting it to his body was no doubt going to be painful, but they needed him awake to test the connection. Lance grit his teeth. He could do this. It couldn't be any worse than when it had been removed, right?

"Ready," he managed around the lump in his throat. Hunk squeezed his hand before he shifted to settle behind him, arms wrapped snuggly about his shoulders. Lance's leg was stretched out before him on the table and the prosthetic just a pace from that. Coran were in charge of attaching it, Pidge to handle the readout and Hunk to hold him as steady as possible.

"On the count of five then," Coran said, angling the limb up. "One… two… three…"

He pushed it into place on four. Lance felt betrayed for all of a moment, not as braced as he had wanted to be, but it was lost as fire raced up his leg, nerves snapping to attention and a pulse of crystal binding it all together seeping into his flesh. His screaming echoed above it all, dark spots dancing in his eyes.

Lance had never been so grateful to pass out.

Twenty-five days later:

The entire castle had turned out to watch him attempt his first real steps after being cooped up in a bed the last two days as the tech team made adjustments and had him practice doing leg lifts and foot flexes, checking the synapses and the feedback.

It had hurt, more than he thought it would. The metal, as light as it was, was still heavier than his flesh limb had ever been, and with as much care as they had given it, it still grated some on his knee stump. Time would help with that, he knew, as the flesh toughened up. But right now it was like having a boulder tied to him. Still, it was a leg. It was his leg.

And now was the moment of truth.

He was perched on the edge of the exam table, legs dangling off – right one aching more than a bit at the strain – and waiting for him to put his weight on them.

Deep breath.

"Lance," Shiro's voice was gentle. "Do you want us to leave?"

"No," Lance said quickly, jerking his head up from where he'd been gazing at the floor. "No. Please stay. I just…"

"Whenever you're ready," Hunk murmured, rubbing a hand on his back. "There's no rush, hermano."

Lance took a few more steadying breaths. Okay. He was ready.

And he pushed himself off the table.

His left foot registered the coldness of the floor while his right one merely sensed a pressure. His breath hitched though as he wavered there, legs braced, arms thrown out for balance, and stood on his own.

He was standing.

Just like he had been practicing while lying down, Lance shifted his right leg forward, the command of walk in his head and feeling the leg react to it, toes leaning into the ground, calf flexing, knee bending.

And he took a step.

It was by no means with his usual grace, more like a plodding camel, but it was a step. He brought his left leg to match it and then took another.

And another.

White and blue metal moved in tandem with tanned flesh.

He was staring so hard at the ground, determined not to misstep, that he nearly stumbled in surprise when there was suddenly not just smooth floor in front of him but pairs of shoes.

He lifted his head up and came nearly face to face with Shiro.

"I did it," he whispered.

"You did it, buddy," Shiro murmured, and a moment later strong arms were wrapping about him, tugging him in close.

That was the cue as suddenly everyone was there, squeezing in on the group hug with smiles and cheer. Lance could feel tears of relief and happiness dripping down his cheek, not just from his success with walking once again, but the sheer love and support that was literally surrounding him that had gotten him to this point.

He was the Blue Paladin, the right leg of Voltron.

And thanks to his family he was standing tall once more.

xxx

Author's Notes:

Commissioned fic for Floranna exploring Lance's recovery following the loss of an eye and a leg from a rogue gladiator bot. It was definitely fun to dive a bit into a prosthetic and actual loss of a limb and the research behind monocular vision is quite fascinating. People who suffer the loss of vision in one eye generally can regain almost normal vision in under a year with practice and training of their remaining eye, minus that one obvious literal blindspot on that side.

Wanted to get the whole team in on it but with a special little pullout for Shiro because yeah, prosthetic pals gotta stick together. I also snuck a few of my own personal headcanons in here that some of you might spot from other fics ;p

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