If there was a word to describe Lance, it would be reckless.
Others would call him an idiot, a dumbass if they were feeling particularly cruel, and even just plain stupid. But Lance, personally, preferred the term 'loyal to a fault.' And that loyalty, as most people probably figured, was going to be the end of him.
It all started on the mission.
Allura had gotten word that the Galra had been taking resources from a particularly vulnerable planet. The resources were, in the end, what was keeping it together. Any more, and the planet would literally implode on itself.
Lance thought that sounded like a pretty good reason to burst through the atmosphere, donned in Paladin armor, guns blazing, ready to kick some Galra butts all the way back to Zarkon. Of course, things never go as planned.
Voltron had been formed before they entered the planet's atmosphere. Lance had been ready to do his favorite kicking maneuver Keith always seemed to hate (He was convinced they'd fall over every time they tried, but Lance had gotten better at that!) spinning around and doing as much damage to the Galra base as possible.
Then, one of Haggar's Robeasts appeared. This one was particularly hideous in Lance's very justified opinion, covered in dozens, maybe thousands, of swirling eyeballs. Lance didn't want to know if they were real or not.
They hadn't had to deal a Robeast since the Balmera, but they fell into the routine of taking way too many hits before finding a miraculous weak point. Unfortunately, Haggar seemed to anticipate it's destruction, so as soon as the Robeast exploded in typical Voltron fashion, some Druid magic was expelled from within.
It launched through the air, striking Voltron in the chest. Lance had felt it spreading through his lion, cutting off Blue's power supply and draining it, taking his control from it. He heard his own screaming mixed with the others and then Voltron was gone.
Lance's vision was swimming in and out when he had opened his eyes. Blue was still functioning, only barely, alarms blaring in his ears. Shiro had asked on the wellbeing of the rest of the team. Keith, predictably, was the only one to respond coherently. Hunk groaned, Pidge whimpered and slurred her words, and Lance didn't reply. He was too busy staring where the Robeast had been.
In place of the destroyed robot was a single crackling ball of purple Druid magic. It was steadily growing smaller, an implosion imminent. Lance had taken one look at the rest of the Lions around him, slumped over in their own respective craters. They were listless. None of them would be able to power up their lions in time.
Except for Lance. Blue was somehow still functioning. And if she was, Lance was able to save the others.
Blue shared his sentimentality, a small growl rising from her throat. Lance had smiled, glad she agreed, and whispered a quiet apology to the others should he and Blue not survive the blast.
Better him than them.
He dove the ball.
The others had screamed his name, watching in horror but unable to react as a small blue figure darted in front of the blast. Lance had felt Blue's energy leave as the lightning came straight for him, diving into Blue's circuits and ripping her apart. He hard Blue's anguished roar, heard himself scream, and then darkness.
Now Lance was alone, floating in the emptiness of space with a broken leg.
His forehead was bleeding too, but Lance decided the fact that his leg was currently twisted in a way that legs were not supposed to go was a bigger threat.
He hissed in pain, angling his body so he could at least try to get his leg in a less awkward position (it was currently pinned between the pilot's chair and the dashboard) but the jarring movement made him stop, his head swimming with pain.
Swearing under his breath in ways that would have made his Mamá slap him, Lance tried to drag himself out of the chair. Blue was offline, drifting listlessly through space. Lance had time to wonder if her air supply was limited before another jolt of pain sparking up his trapped leg made him cry out.
What had Coran said? There were first aid kits in every Lion?
Where?
Lance knew there were emergency everything 's in the cockpits of their lions. Emergency food, emergency blankets, even emergency duct tape and dental floss. You name it, it was probably somewhere in the cockpit. The only problem was where.
Lance wondered if anything was within reach because with the way things were going right now, he was going to spend the rest of eternity with his leg trapped under the dashboard of his lion.
You'd think Alteans would have been smart enough to keep something like this from happening, Lance thought grudgingly, but upon further inspection, he found that the impact from the druid magic had jarred his seat out of place. Half of it, as Lance had already noticed, was stuck underneath the control board.
"Okay, Lance," he spoke out loud, his own voice sounding loud and imposing in the empty space around him. "You can do this. Just...pull it out. That's it. All you have to do. Then, find the first aid kits. Then contact the others. No problem." Saying his plan out loud was somehow calming for Lance. Now he understood why Pidge was such a planner. It was relaxing to know what to do next.
Not that Lance would ever tell her that. He'd already teased her enough for it as it was.
Lance grunted as another spark of pain shot up his leg. Any longer and Lance was sure the fact that it was broken would be the least of his worries.
"Okay," he breathed. "Okay. All right. On three." He took a deep breath, trying to steel his nerves, and shifted himself into a more comfortable position. He squeezed his eyes shut, gripping the armrests of his chair tightly and leaning his head back. "One…" Lance breathed. "Two…" He squeezed his eyes shut, anticipation and adrenaline seizing his throat. "Three!"
The third count came with the sound of ripping clothes as Lance wrenched his leg forcefully from under the cockpit. The scream that pulled itself from his lips died around his ears as he sat there, shivering and in complete agony. His brain felt fuzzy, unable to focus on anything but the pain.
Eventually, he managed to open his eyes. He risked looking down at his leg, half of it resting on the chair. The other half drifted over, the kneecap bending in a way that shouldn't have been possible. His Paladin armor had already been damaged, and from the way Lance's leg had been trapped, a sharp edge under the dashboard had ripped into the back of Lance's unprotected calf.
He really had to talk to Coran about getting better protection for the back of his legs.
He was getting off track. First aid kit first, mentally berate Coran later. Lance dragged himself out of the chair, unable to stand as he pulled himself towards the nearest box with what he hoped were medical supplies in it. He opened it, kneeling heavily on his good leg and shifted around in it.
Lance ended up only pulling a few granola bars (at least he hoped they were granola bars, it was hard to tell when you couldn't read Altean) and a roll of space duct tape from within. He figured it'd come in handy when he had to make a makeshift splint for his leg. He also pulled out a thin blanket, spreading it on the floor. How it was supposed to keep someone warm was anyone's guess.
Lance contented himself with the thought that Blue's previous paladin was probably very warm by nature. He scooted to the next box.
This one held a few more Altean granola bars and some weird bottle of what Lance hoped was glue and cotton balls. Buried under the mountain of cotton balls, Lance struck gold. A small first aid kit and two long boards. He could only hoped the first aid kit would have what he needed.
Lance had never paid attention during medical lessons at the Garrison. In fact, he never paid attention much at all. Before he had been promoted to fighter class after Keith left, he spent much of the period glaring at the mullet from the back of the class. Meaning, he missed a lot of crucial information he probably should have paid attention to.
"Focus, McClain," he whispered. "Think. What did Iverson say about broken legs?"
Assess the injury, something in the back of his mind told him in a strikingly good impression of his old teacher. Lance did so, gently peeling off the armor on his leg and pulling back the pant leg of his flight suit. The area around his thigh was swelling and discolored, purple streaks lining an abnormal bump in his skin. Lance reached out and gently prodded it, immediately regretting the decision as it felt like something was grating horribly against his skin. The break seemed to be clean, however, so Lance silently thanked his lucky stars.
Lance flipped open the first aid kit, reaching inside for the bandages. He gingerly stretched his leg out, wrapping his leg as tightly as he dared. Then, he took the two boards, lining them up carefully with his leg.
Too long, he thought, trying to ignore the jarring pain that came shivering up his leg from any small movements. He'd had to use his bayard to shoot them apart.
Mentally marking where his ankle met the board, Lance took out his bayard. It morphed into his gun and he took aim, carefully pulling the trigger. The wood split apart, giving Lance two perfect splints.
Wrapping his leg with the wooden sticks, the thin blanket, and the duct tape, Lance leaned back, trying to breathe. He ripped into a Altean granola bar, not realizing how hungry he actually was. It distracted him for a bit, but all too soon the last remnants of a weird cranberry-like flavor faded down his throat.
What now?
The others. Lance had to get a signal out to them. To let him know he was alive. Until Blue was back online, Allura had no way to track him down. But Lance had felt Blue's anguish in that moment, the lightning ripping into her and sucking her power dry. That would take awhile. Best to find the rest of the team and let them know he was alive first.
Lance, still unwilling to put any weight on his leg, dragged himself back into the chair. It was crooked, a corner still lodged underneath the cockpit, but it at least kept his leg elevated on the dashboard.
Lance lifted his helmet into his hands and fit it over his head. He pressed a hand to the back of it, listening to the static as the comms were activated.
"Shiro?" Lance hated how desperate he sounded as he spoke. "Hunk? Pidge? Keith? Anyone there? It's...it's Lance. I'm alive."
Static was his only answer.
Panic welling in his chest, Lance tried again, calling Hunk's name. His best friend, he knew, would respond to him. He was probably worried sick and searching frantically for any trace of the Blue Lion.. Hunk would answer him. He had to.
Just static greeted him.
He tried calling Shiro next. His personal hero, the man that had always been there to talk to since they had flung themselves into a wormhole that sent them far, far from Earth. Far from home.
Lance let himself feel the incoming homesickness. He missed Earth. He missed the scent of cinnamon that always seemed to follow Mamá everywhere. He missed Papá and his never-ending love for soccer. He missed the rolling of the Cuban waves, the sands caking between his toes. He would even go as far as saying he missed Veronica, as bossy as she was, and little annoying Marco, who was turning ten this year.
Or had he already turned ten? Had Lance missed his baby brother's birthday?
The thought made Lance's heart sink.
He shook his head violently, trying to focus. He had to find the others first. No use in getting side-tracked.
"Pidge?" He called out again. Pidge would answer him. Of course she would. Pidge was like his little sister - small and bright-eyed and wonderful. She'd never treated him the way the others on the team, aside from Hunk and Coran, sometimes did. Lance did screw up a lot, but she at least let him stand up and try again.
Unlike Keith.
But Lance was desperate enough to call Keith's name too. He was willing to put aside the bitter one-sided rivalry for a moment, if it just meant he could get back to the castle in one piece.
"Keith?" Lance wet his dry lips. "C'mon, is anyone out there?"
His only answer was static.
Cursing in Spanish, Lance took his helmet off and cradled it in his hands. He had an urge to throw it, toss across the cockpit and let it crash against the walls, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.
He really wished Blue would come online soon.
Lance scrubbed a hand down his face. Dried blood had crusted on his forehead and hairline from the cut there, and he leaned back. Ocean eyes hardened into a glare directed at the ceiling.
How did this happen?
The obvious answer popped to mind instantly. Lance was a dumbass. A big, dumb, loyal dumbass and for that it cost him. He'd broken his leg and was now drifting in space who knows where. For all Lance knew, he could be heading straight to Zarkon's base and he'd be none the wiser. Although if he were, Lance wouldn't mind. He'd content himself with the knowledge that it was him and not anyone else that had gotten captured. He'd seen what the Galra had done to Shiro. He didn't want that to happen to anyone else.
Besides, Lance wasn't much use anyways. He didn't need Keith to tell him that on a near day-to-day basis, he knew that himself. He had his incredible marksmanship, but when it came to literally any other form of combat, Lance was basically useless. He didn't have a doubt that if he wasn't as good at shooting as he was, he would have been the first booted from the team.
It would have been like Total Drama Island, (an old TV show Veronica used to watch all the time) but with less voting and more of a general understanding that Lance sucked. He was useless, and he was better off like this; floating aimlessly through space. If Blue wasn't with him, Lance knew with a sinking feeling in his gut, the others wouldn't even be trying to look for him.
Mamá used to tell him that he would do great things. She would coo it in his ear late at night when Lance couldn't sleep. But if 'great' meant being the weak link in a chain of wonderfully talented people, Lance would rather go home.
Keith was good at everything. Running, climbing piloting, he was everything Lance wasn't. He'd even beaten Lance a few times at sharpshooting, (a feat the Red Paladin never let Lance forget) and the thought had made Lance feel even worse than he already had.
He was just so useless.
Mamá would have disagreed. She would have slapped him and berated him for thinking about himself in a way like that. But she didn't understand. No one understood. Lance just felt so empty all the time. A void inside of him that could never quite be filled. He was usually able to bury these feelings under witty jokes and flirty pick up lines he threw at Allura from time-to-time, but drifting through space with Blue inoperable and going who knows where left Lance alone with his thoughts.
He hated that more than anything else.
In the Garrison, Hunk had always been there when the thoughts had gotten too bad. After all, Lance had felt so empty for so long, he forgot how it felt to be truly happy. To smile and joke around without feeling something else inside of him cracking. Hunk, however, chased the thoughts away, however briefly. He let Lance rant and cry into his shoulder, and afterwards they'd marathon Star Wars.
Lance's lips turned up at the thought. Star Wars was the first movie series he'd watched when he moved to America from Cuba. Hunk had chased him down one day, and in broken Spanish (Lance's English at the time was horrendous) insisted they'd watch it. Lance had been transfixed at the thought of space travel. Ultimately, it had been the deciding factor that had put him on the course to the Garrison.
He'd found out Shiro existed, the incredible trainee that had graduated a full two years early and was already set to go to Kerberos for a information retrieval. Lance had been fascinated and had tested in to be in the same class Shiro was in.
Then he was to be nothing more than a cargo pilot.
Lance felt tears prick at his eyes. The only reason he'd even gotten to be fighter class was because Keith dropped out. Otherwise, Lance would have stayed as a supply drop for the more skilled pilots like Keith.
Lance leaned his head back onto the headrest of Blue, closing his eyes. He had to stop thinking of the what if's and could have's and focus on right now. Because Blue was injured, he was floating in the middle of space and was being, predictably, useless and wallowing in self pity.
There wasn't much he could do in the way of repairs. He had a broken leg and could only drag himself across the cockpit. He was lucky Blue's gravity was still working, otherwise the initial trapping under the dashboard would have been a lot more painful.
Lance placed his palm against the ceiling of the cockpit and concentrated. Searching for Blue's aura.
"C'mon, girl…" He whispered. Blue had to wake up. Otherwise he'd be stranded out here forever, and-
Lance pulled his hand away. Tears were pricking at his eyes again. There he went, being selfish and thinking more of himself and less of Blue. She was the one who was more hurt in this situation. She'd been hit with Druid magic head on, after all.
Selfish. Worthless.
The two thoughts felt like tiny daggers being driven into Lance's skin. The full gravity of his situation finally came crashing around him as he leaned forwards and sobbed,months of pent up emotions finally leaving him. He'd been holding this in for so long. Nowadays, there was no time to cry. No time to feel bad for himself because it was selfish to do that when Pidge's family was missing, Shiro had near daily nightmares, and Keith had no one to look forwards to seeing when they got back to Earth. Not when Hunk struggled to keep Lance's demons from consuming him.
That wasn't fair. Not to the team, not to the millions of others still under Galra control.
But damn, it felt good to cry.
Lance sobbed, tears pooling in his ocean blue eyes as he thought of home, of Mamá and Papá, of the Garrison hallways that always smelled like lemons, and his Abuela's delicious chocolate chip cookies. Lance was homesick and depressed and he'd rather be dead than let himself go another day like this.
But he had to. He was a Defender of the Universe, like it or not. He had to be strong.
But it was so hard when his mind was always telling him he was better off dead, better off back on earth as the dumb cargo pilot that got promoted to fighter class by luck. Better off being insulted and chatsized by Iverson every day than here, being so obviously useless that even his own teammates knew it.
Lance cried, days of stress and sadness lifting from his shoulders. He pressed the back of his hand over his eyes, trying to stem the flow of tears. Should anyone see, they'd know how weak he really was. He had to keep fighting. For Mamá and Papá. He had to be brave.
"Be brave," Mamá's voice echoed.
Brave. Lance repeated the word several times in his head. Brave.
It was bravery (and adrenaline) that made Lance tackle Coran, taking the full brunt of that bomb back on Arus. It was bravery that made him speak up against Keith as he attacked the Galra base on the Balmera without thinking about the consequences to the planet. It was bravery that saved the team with countless good shots from his sniper rifle.
He wasn't useless. He couldn't be. Not if they kept him around this long. Not if there were things that only he could do. He was still there. Pidge still invited him to movie marathons, Hunk still tried to teach him how to cook, Keith still made attempts at conversations with him, and Shiro still tried to teach Lance (to no avail) how to fight. Coran still covered him in blankets when he fell asleep looking at the star charts, and Allura still smiled at every one of his dumb pick-up lines.
Yes, Lance was useless in some ways. But there were things only he could do. Only he could lighten the team up with a witty joke, or fly his lion smoothly in water. Only him. And it was with some miracle Lance pulled himself together, drying his eyes with his sleeve.
"Be brave." Mamá said again. And if bravery meant combating the horrible feelings that plagued him day and night without pause, Lance would do it. He would fight them and he would win.
He took a deep breath at the same time Blue's circuits hummed to live. A comforting blue glow surrounded him and he laughed, wrapping his arms around himself and letting more tears stream down his face.
He felt Blue reach out through their bond, concern for her paladin radiating off her. But Lance only sobbed in relief as he activated Blue's distress signal.
"I'm fine," he said, and for once, he meant it. "Let's go home."
And it was only half an hour later before the Castle wormholed into sight, and the Green and Yellow Lions appeared, streaking towards him to tow him back to the castle. Back to the ship.
Back home.
