He's always had the hammer.

It was a bit odd, considering that always even stretched back to his earliest memory of playing a childish game of hide and seek with his siblings (are they?) Marco and Veronica. Why would a toddler have a hammer? Furthermore, why did a toddler need a hammer clearly made for war?

It's a simple thing, only an engraved block of a strange metal firmly attached (by means unknown) to a handle wrapped in leather. Along the head exists a string of runic symbols that he can never (on the tip of his tongue) remember, but never fails to make him think of warm fires in the hearths, a constant but comfortable and familiar din, and an overwhelming sense of love ("What does that one mean, Mama?"). By all rights it should be incredibly heavy, but he's always been much too strong for his age, and it feels like a feather.

Unlike most other children, he's never picked it up and thrown it at something, never broken it in a fit of childish rage. In fact, he's always been an exceptionally well-behaved child, as he learned from a very young age that his tantrums are dangerous and would most probably lead to broken people instead of broken toys.

Humans are fragile. He is not.

He doesn't know why he has the hammer. He knows it is abnormal for someone to own such a weapon. He doesn't know what the warmth he feels when he touched it means. He knows that it is his.


Sometimes he wonders about his family. He knows he wasn't born into the one he was in now; he is too different. Sure, he looks like them, speaks the same language as them, plays with them, but something has always been different. It isn't until he is seven that he learned what adoption is, and that no matter who his parents had been he has new ones now.

Even knowing that he was loved by his adopted family, he still puzzles over his birth family. What kind of parents could give birth to a child that could bend steel with his bare hands at the tender age of 5? And why would they give him the hammer?

He used to ask his mother where he had come from but gave up when she would only smile at him and say "mi hijo, you came to us from the stars." He's always thought that it felt like a cop-out answer, a way of telling him that he was special rather than an unwanted child.

Still, he never fails to look up at the night sky to see if he could find his home.


Years pass, and still he searches for his origin, the hammer his only clue. He knows now that he cannot be human: he is too strong, too resilient, and no human has ever caused a neighborhood-wide blackout by being upset. His suspicions are confirmed by the way that the adults in his family guard him, making sure that his Uncle Luis is the only doctor he ever goes to, even though they must travel across Cuba to see him every time. He knows for certain when he sees the falsified information on the medical forms his family sends to the Galaxy Garrison with his application: he's never been vaccinated in his life, never had blood drawn (no needle could ever pierce his skin).

When he finally arrives at the Garrison, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and ready to go off into outer space, he keeps everything his family has taught him close: don't be too strong, don't be too fast, and for the love of God, Lance, don't do that sparking thing again! He meets his first friend and roommate within the first week, a gentle giant around his age named Hunk, who is later assigned to be his engineer. He meets his second friend (are they actually friends?) a few weeks later. Pidge Gunderson is a late transfer from some school he (she, Lance's nose doesn't lie) never talks about and has no interest in making friends during his (her) time at the Garrison, preferring instead to work on some all-consuming project that clearly means a great deal to her. Through a combination of mostly bull-headed persistence and a bit of the good ol' McClain charm, he and Hunk manage to rope Pidge into seeing them as at least acquaintances.

Lance counts it as a victory.


Hunk asks about the hammer, once.

Lance shrugs, "It's always been with me."


He never does well in the flight simulations.

To him, they're not real enough, he feels no connection to the ship he flies. He knows that if he could just get in a real ship, feel the turbulence and sway of space, and actually see the sun and the moon and the stars all at once without having to turn his head that he would be the best damn pilot that Iverson—no, the world—has ever seen.

All his confidence and bluster mean nothing when he sees the back of the head of the boy who scores the best in the simulator, who takes the last spot in the fighter pilot class, leaving Lance to be nothing but a cargo pilot with broken dreams.

He decides he'll always hate that stupid mullet.

Still, his hammer will always be with him.


When he's told that he's been moved up to the fighter pilot classes after mullet-kid washes out, he silently wonders what happened.

He hopes being a fighter pilot in the Galaxy Garrison will help him find the answers he seeks.


He is right, in a roundabout way.


When he and his friends see the ship (what else could it be?) falling from the sky, his heart stops, and then beats twice as fast, a heavy staccato in his chest. Could this be the answer to all his questions, every half-formed thought dreamt up in the late hours of the night?

As Lance hurriedly snatches everything he thinks he needs, he doesn't even hesitate to grab the hammer. Pidge raises an eyebrow. Again, Lance shrugs, "You never know when you might need it."

Rushing towards the crash site, of course they end up meeting with Keith (he still hates that mullet), who has apparently been waiting in the desert for months for this very moment. They quickly break out their intended target, who is still weak and tired, and is that a fully-functional prosthetic arm? The only thing Shiro can tell them is "Voltron."


She's beautiful. Lance steps forward to admire her better through the refractive hexagonal panels surrounding the blue mechanical lion. As the others stand back trying to think of a way past the barrier, Lance opens himself up to the feeling that has always been inside him, feeling a rushing in his mind and body as something clicks on the other end of the line. As he somehow knew it would, the particle barrier lowers, and the enormous lion's jaw opens, a clear invitation echoing through his head.

Inside, there is a chair clearly meant for a pilot, and aside from some minor complaints, no one truly disputes it when Lance makes to sit down and take the reins. Immediately, the fledgling bond Lance holds with this magnificent beast deepens, and he basks in the connection that was never there in the simulators. Grinning, he and Blue (he likes that name) come tearing out of the desert cave and out of the atmosphere as one.

There is a non-human ship in the atmosphere.

His first thought is Are they my people? His second is ohshitohshitohshit I'mbeingshotatwhatdoIdo? Just as he begins to panic, he feels a wave of calm excitement from Blue, and smiles when he realizes that it's nothing they can't handle.

The others in the cockpit loudly express their doubts in Lance's flying capabilities once he starts dodging whatever weapons that ship is firing, but they just can't handle how good we are, right Blue? A happy roar is his answer, as he and Blue do a good deal of damage to the ship before breaking off.

A sense of urgency is pressed upon him to leave, to go home, so he does what feels natural, letting Blue guide him (he tells the others as much, but they don't quite believe him). A tear in space opens, leaving him struck with the memory of a rushing rainbow. Shaking the daydream (memory?) off, he steers the lion through the wormhole, trusting that she'll keep him and the others (even Mullet) safe.


This idea just kinda struck me. I'm definitely going to continue this, so let me know if you actually want me to.