Chapter Eight:A Want To Belong
Despite his injuries, despite his fears, Lance still pushes himself to train, harder and harder. He's driven himself into an impossible corner, boxing himself in with self-imposed targets, thinking that he's not good enough, that Blue no longer thinks him good enough to be her Paladin. His time with the team is drawing to a close, but it's in his final moments of desperation that Lance decides he won't stand for being ignored any longer. The team are going to sit up and take note. He IS the Blue Paladin.
System: Nairn
Location: Outer Asteroid Belt
The pain was back again.
Lance felt it when Shiro began describing his movements as he stood there, standing opposite Keith, comparing the differences in a sturdy stance and one that, although more comfortable and natural, was weaker and would lead to being unbalanced and the inevitable fall if an opponent landed a blow anywhere on his upper body. As if to demonstrate, Keith stepped in, mid-sentence and delivered said blow, laughing when Shiro toppled to the floor with a look of surprise on his face. "What were you saying about footwork?" the Red laughed, offering a hand to help him stand.
"Did you see that Lance? Can you see what I mean now?"
"Yeah, I got it Shiro." Lance let his words flow calmly, suppressing the bite to his tone into something more neutral, throwing the morsel of anger to Anadón who was curled on the floor beside him, already bored of the instructors that replayed the simple hand-to-hand combat moves over and over, pushing their skills further while the told Lance just to watch.
Because of course he'll learn so much if he just stands to the side and watches them flirt with one another. Keith rolls in, grabbing Shiro's arm and flipping the older man onto his back, a knee on his chest, a flippant "pinned you" grinning at him. Shiro rolled them, but Keith rolled with the motion and laughed out, "pinned you again."
Lance was a sharpshooter. He didn't need this training.
{But you wanted it,} Anadón supplies from the floor, savouring the taste of anger towards him, feasting on that juicy little bite as well. {We both said you needed to get stronger, and look at you now. You have a second Mark, you're learning to read your team better, understand them better—}
Understand their annoyance better. That's something I don't need.
{No, I guess not. But that doesn't mean that you're not stronger and watching them, spar, isn't useless. Watch them, study them. Be stronger than them.}
Lance did as his Demon said, watching Keith's movements, fluid and powerful as he threw two fists into Shiro's unguarded right side, bringing a knee up in feint before a second fist. It was caught by a forearm and Keith is jumping back out of Shiro's reach. That is his play style. Attack, retreat, reassess, try again.
Shiro's fighting style was the same, it was why when they sparred they always seemed to be dancing; attuned to the way the other moved, already running simulations in his mind to counterattack and strike.
It was an impromptu training session, called upon by Keith and Shiro when they had rushed to the Training Hall, early morning to find Lance once again alone. But instead of curled up on the floor, crying his eyes out because he's weak, he's stupid, a waste of space, a no-good blue paladin…
No, this time, they find him locked wrists with a castle spar-bot, pinned beneath it, his bayard kicked from his hand, refusing to bow to the fear of the vocal command to end training command.
He was still dressed in his armour from the last time he had been in the hall, battling not just the robots, but his fears, and even Blue who had not spoken to him since. His mind felt empty without her presence and, in his anger, he took it out on the gladiators with unrestrained prejudice. It was this castle, making him go crazy, this war that he was fighting that was changing him, keeping him from his family and anyone who ever cared for him.
So he destroyed what he could, taking his blaster to their ocular lens, driving his gar into their chests and unleashing beautiful arcs of electricity that fried their systems with the unrestrained Altean Energy. Too much burned Lance's hands, but it was simply a matter of finding a balance. Of gaining control.
But he hadn't known how to throw his opponent, and when the number too great, his bayard dropping from burnt gloves and painful fingers, Lance had become trapped.
And that's where they found him, pinned and cursing, his vocal commands not to the castle system but the Black and Red paladin who ran forward, taking over when they saw the Blue Paladin failing. Again.
With the rushed commands to end the training sequence, Shiro had rushed over, dragging Lance out from underneath the Gladiator, giving him an unnecessary once-over to check that he was alright. Or, probably just checking the armour wasn't damaged so that next Blue Paladin had a matching uniform to wear when they took the job.
Afterwards was just another speech. Something about Lance pushing himself too soon after injury, Shiro's concerns about the functionability of the Cryo-Chambers and the expressed desire that Lance get back in one.
"I'm fine Shiro," Lance had said, putting distance between himself and the Black Paladin, distracting himself as he pretended to dust himself off of something along those lines, walking over to where his bayard had been kicked, effortlessly drawing out his blaster and putting it back again, turning back to the sparring ring with the intent of continuing to practice.
But Shiro had fought against such "reckless thoughts." Lance was apparently in no condition to train, not at least until after a scan from Coran. Lance insisted he couldn't do nothing.
It was anger that Shiro drew from him, raising their voices into near shouts, Lance fighting his corner, admitting that he wanted to better himself with close quarter combat training, delivering a sliver of truth to Shiro, saying how it would've helped them back in the cave, on Torous.
Lance had slipped up, revealing that it wasn't so much of an ambush as a kidnapping, but Shiro ignored that, pretending to be happy that Lance was using his initiative.
After a three sentence lecture on training alone, without supervision and needing plenty of rest first, Shiro and Keith had taken up positions opposite one another, deciding they would be the model and Lance could watch them spar hand-to-hand for now. "Either watch or I'll have Coran put you in the healing pod for another day until I know that you are at full health."
It's like Lance is a disposable NPC, but he doesn't want to be confined like a prisoner, so allows the pair to model for him, so he can watch and learn from their mistakes.
"Like this," Shiro was saying, his hands out front, moving slowly so that Lance could see when he should withdraw from a grab-attack, and how to counter it.
The pain throbbed behind his eyes with a vengeance.
{Don't cry. You're the one who will pay again.}
I'm not going to cry, Lance says in his mind, letting his eyes drag away from the two men flirting to where Anadón gnaws on a mass of shadows. It's his irritation, but no matter how much Anadón devours the negativity, there is always more to replace it.
Lance doesn't really understand the creature. He knows its hurting him, knows that its only creation was derived from the need to consume the boy in darkness.
It is a parasite and Lance is simply the vessel, the food source.
But when it shows compassion, when it keeps him strong and steady, like now as he watched Shiro ask Keith to help him demonstrate….
It's hard to want him gone.
The boy was a walking contradiction.
He was loud and rambunctious because he's constantly scared and insecure, feeling like no one realises he's actually there. He flirted with the girl-Aliens, but knew he never had a chance with them; never even bothered with the guys because why does he want the team looking at him funny like so many back on Earth.
He welcomed people into his life, but kept them from delving too deep, so as they'd never learn anything too personal about him, so they could never find a weakness and hold it against him.
And the chilling darkness inside him, the one that made him feel scared, insecure, not good enough, obsolete…
It was often his only comfort.
Now, Anadón stands beside him instead of fangs at his neck. They stand together, watching Shiro and Keith move in entrancing dance-like motions, on par with one another as the demonstrations turned into a proper spar, their movements picking up speed.
{Keith has improved} the shadow-beast said, a purr to its voice as it assessed the Red Paladin beside Lance, who starts to pick up on the holes that lay in the boy's defence. There aren't many, but they are there; stored in his memory for when they next fight and he wishes to exploit such weaknesses.
Shiro's defence is stronger; of course he is, he has years on him, too much experience as "Champion" fuelling his movements, keeping him three steps ahead of Keith. Irritatingly, Keith is keeping up.
{But we have a secret weapon.}
Lance casts an eye. Anadón's evolutions have slowed. He's still the same height as before, his stature similar to a horse, yet the differences lie in the large claws that protrude from his front toes, the snaking of his tail that has gotten longer.
Here in the bright lights of the training deck, Lance could see him clearly. His head has changed too, longer, his snout more pronounced, his lips not quite closing over sharp teeth worthy of any predator. The scales remain, but their colours have changed from simple oranges and golds to include shades of blue. They're not bright, but pale like the colour of a cloudy sky without rain.
His body is wrapped in the feathers, like fur, sharp nails tapping the floor with impatience.
His three yellow eyes glow, lidded from the boredom as the spar fizzles into a stand-off, both partners panting and sweaty, hands still raised to show they weren't backing down.
{They're holding their own against one another,} he murmurs, mouth barely moving to let the words slip out. His tone tells Lance he is beyond bored; the tapping of his talons on the floor a silent question for them to leave and find something more useful to do. They've learnt all they can from watching, but here under Shiro's watchful eye, they're not going to be able to do anymore training.
But then, Anadón nudges Lance's shoulder with his head, gesturing to where Shiro is facing him, visibly tired from the fight, but smiling like he's pleased with himself. "How was that? Did you see?"
"I think I got it down," Lance says smoothly, his voice like silk, offering up a sense of calm. Shiro laps it up, turning back to the younger. "Again?" And they're sparring once more; Lance left abandoned to watch.
{And here I was sure that they were supposed to be teaching you.}
"Leave them be. They don't see anything else when those two are together." Lance left the Paladins to it; knowing they wouldn't notice him disappearing until he was gone and they couldn't call him back.
They did however, sharing an equally confused look. Lance hadn't spoken tothem, had he?
No. Lance had addressed Anadón.
They left the training room together, Lance's gait troubled from his still aching body, although, void of pain, he barely acknowledged it. He wasn't sure if it was the lingering effects of the medicine he had stolen from Coran, or if it was Anadón eating his pain, keeping the Blue Paladin from feeling.
It didn't matter either way. Lance's body was free of pain and that was what he focused on.
{They seem to be absorbed in their own little world,} Anadón purrs, snaking back and forth along the corridor in front of the boy that follows. Lance nods but says nothing, letting its words fill his mind, his thoughts turning sombre as it leads him further from the Training Hall. Not up, to the dormitories, the Bridge or the dining hall.
Not to the Lion Hangers, where Blue is pacing with anticipation, mewling for her Paladin that cannot hear her.
Not even to Lance's private beach in the Holo-Room where he would usually go when he felt low and empty.
No, the monster takes Lance to somewhere where his feet rarely tread. It leads him to the main Entrance Hall.
He's seventeen floors above, staring down at the grand staircase sweeping between the first and third levels, the oddly calming blue glow of the Castle's interior lights. Their glow is cast on the walls and upon the floor, lightly reflecting the hues as they flicker, much like candle light.
It might be due to a lack of power, or maybe it is just in Lance's mind, but the blue ebbs and flows like the dancing light of sunshine on the ocean's surface. He feels like he's underwater, staring at the expanding sky a million miles above…
{You miss home.}
Anadón is beside him. He leans against the railing beside Lance, who sits upon it, his legs swinging over the abyss, staring down to the floor and the shape of people moving beneath him. It might mean something if he cares, but he doesn't, and the shapes fade into the background.
His only focus is the shadow-beast that sits beside him, its head laid on Lance's lap, breathing in the sweet scent of emptiness. The boy scratches behind its ears, smiling at the purrs he pulls from Anadón's lips.
{You didn't answer me.}
"Perhaps not," Lance smiles, a fake sense of calm returning to the fact that his quick wit and snarky replies haven't been lost to him. Not yet.
{But you still miss home.}
"Of course. I think I will always miss it. It is home after all. It's where my family are."
{Are the Paladins not your family?}
"Maybe. Once. But they're not family anymore. Family cares for you. They don't care for me, and not me for them. Not anymore."
Lance lets his words face into quiet, and the conversation is over. Anadón doesn't press him and he's grateful for that, grateful that he has the monster there to comfort him in his solitude, grateful that he's understood, he hasn't been completely abandoned…
Lance just sits and stares up at the ceiling, not paying attention to his thoughts as they wander down dark and unwanted paths. It is Anadón who leads him down them, but Lance doesn't realise how strong the darkness is rooted deep inside him. He thinks himself in control of his own mind.
There's a pain in Lance's chest as he thinks of home. It is so far away, he is so far away from Earth, from his home and the family he loves dearly. But they're not waiting for him. They all think he's dead.
The thoughts are familiar and Lance is used to the pain the homesick brings; physical in the way shooting pain rides through his body, from his fingers to his chest, the tightening of his lungs as if he can't breathe. He's used to it. But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt him any less.
They have already mourned him, of course. They've dug him a grave, buried an empty coffin in the earth. They've laid flowers on his tombstone, lit a candle for him and said his name in prayer a thousand times, cried for him a thousand times, called his name in heartbreaking despair, begging, pleading for him to return home to them, safe, alive, well….
There's a burning sensation in the back of his throat. The tears want to fall, but Lance seems unable to let go of something. He's holding onto it, through the pain, through the emptiness. Desperate to hold on to the hope that they haven't forgotten about him.
Lance is still fighting the darkness. He may have welcomed Anadón for comfort, he might not be able to dismiss his words when it involves the Paladins. But there's something about home that he can't give up on.
Home.
Of course he wanted to go home.
Home was with Mama and Luis and Maya and Jeremy and Ariesa and Milo and Esmeralda and Isabel. Home was with warm sandy beaches and long walks in flip flops that left blisters on his feet and sunburn on his toes.
Home was the nights in front of the TV, singing along to songs that blast out the radio, dancing along with Mama and the girls who sing a little out of tune, giddy from laughter as the teaches his niece how to do the hand jive.
Home was sat on his windowsill, writing songs and strumming out little tunes on the worn out guitar, covered in stickers and sharpie doodles that he had found in the back corner of Papa Maltino's Thrift Store, traded for three dollars and a dish of his mother's homemade lasagne.
Home was the campfire on the beach with his friends, chasing each other with seaweed and splashing about in the surf until they were cold and shivering. Home was sliding under the blanket, toes to the fire, sharing stories and singing songs as the passed around beer they had smuggled away from their parents without them noticing.
Home was juggling groceries in brown paper bags, trying to open the door with one hand and not drop everything with the other. Home was Thanksgiving with a slightly burnt turkey and the entire neighbourhood turning up for a taste of Mama McClain's finest cooking.
Home wasn't here, in space in a ten thousand year old spaceship that found itself in the throes of war, shot at, blasted at, targeted by angry purple Aliens that wanted nothing more than to destroy the entire Universe and enslave it's people to continue building its Empire.
Home wasn't being a soldier in a War that no one else knew about, fighting day in and day out just to keep on his shoulders, just to keep himself breathing, keep fighting, still surviving as he fights for a place in the Universe against friend and foe alike.
Home wasn't being pushed out of a friendship with Hunk, pushed to the sidelines by a better soldier, a better fighter, being ignored by the person he had always called his Hero, being looked over by the very people he cared deeply for.
Home wasn't being taken for granted, being a placeholder, being a seventh wheel.
Home wasn't slowly losing his mind to a darkness that was greater than himself.
Home wasn't here.
Home was faraway.
{We can go home Lance, we don't have to stay here, with the Paladins, who don't care for you.} Lance hears the words, his body finding that flicker of light the creature holds out for him. "I want to go home," he says, tears tracking lines down his face.
{Yes, we can go home. Let's go back to them.}
"I want to go home."
{Then we'll go. Leave your body here and we can go back to them, back to the only people that have ever cared for you. Back to the family who want you, need you, love you.}
Lance nods numbly, ready to let go—
"Paladin?"
Lance jolted upright, hands clawing on the railing as his body tilted forward, the looming height too… 'beneath him' as his body leaned to greet it. How? When did he—?
Lance pushed back, his heart thundering in his chest, throwing his legs back to the floor, moving away from the seventeen floor drop, the only movement his body allowed him as he woke from the nightmare of falling. His body stilled, impossibly cold, not sure if he was imagining the dark laughter that brushed against the nape of his neck. "Anadón?" But the shadow-beast wasn't there.
"Paladin? Are you okay?" It is a Trigamon that calls him, him who pulled him back from the edge of falling. Their fur is light blue, the familiarity a scratch in the record in Lance's mind, unable to name him in his mind. Another two are with him, identical except their fur markings of green and silver. Again, familiar but nothing that sticks out in Lance's mind.
His head throbs at the strain of trying to remember, hands on his head, blocked by his helmet he still wears. Wait, he's still wearing his helmet?
"Blue Paladin?" The Aliens call to him, concern in their words. Lance hears his own voice. I can't let anyone see my weakness. I can't let anyone think Voltron is weak.
"I'm sorry, I was watching the stars," Lance says, looking back to the ceiling and beyond to the vastness of space. He notes the glimmering light is gone, the walls no longer refracting light like a vision underwater, now just the smooth white metal of the Altean Castle. It was in his mind, he thinks sadly, searching for the feeling of calm, but it has been taken from him. Anadón still hasn't reappeared.
"You watch the stars from here?" the silver Trigamon asks looking up to the ceiling, its ears turning this way and that as they speaks. The inflection of their voice is gentler than the first two. Female.
"Not always. But here is quiet."
The Trigamon nods, almost knowingly, her ears dropping down slightly. She reminds Lance of Anadón when he was simply a shadow-cat. She has the same round eyes; yellow, flecked with green marks. Her fur holds the same colour of forestry, lightening around its large owl eyes and at the tips of its jowl.
"Do you want to join them?"
The question is odd and it throws Lance off balance. His mind jumps to home and his family, a fear bubbling up from the emptiness, wondering if the alien has the ability to read his mind. Had she heard Lance's thoughts about wanting to leave the team, or had she simply called out to stop Lance from jumping.
Was Lance… going to jump?
Unsure what he should say, Lance forced a smile. "I don't know what you mean, I'm sorry."
"The others," the Trigamon says simply, glancing over the ledge, pointing down below to the figures of his friends gathered in the Entrance Hall with the rest of the Trigamon guests.
Friends. The word is bitter, even in his own head. They're all there, full of smiles, not a care for the missing Blue Paladin who stands far above. But he can't show them he is better. It would disrupt the balance of Voltron, it would be his fault. {But you don't care for them. Why do you remain beneath their feet when you don't have to?}
It is Anadón's voice. Lance searches for him, but he is still gone. Only Lance and the three Trigamon remain.
"Will you join them?"
"No." The answer is quick and blunt. No, Lance does not want to join them. He doesn't want to fake smiles anymore, he doesn't want Shiro's help or Keith's glares. He doesn't want to pretend he's okay, he doesn't want the others fussing over him or listening to their stupid pitying remarks that hide their true desire underneath. "Give up already."
Lance casts the Paladins a long hard look, something clicking in the back of his mind. Shiro and Keith are no longer in the training hall. He can go train again, get better, get stronger. He can prove that he is meant to be a Paladin and they'll be forced to stop wanting to replace him.
"You don't want to be with them?"
Lance looks down at the inquisitive little runt with all its questions and fake concern. He keeps the anger from his expression, closed behind cold eyes. She looks up at him, head tilted like a young child that cannot understand when it's not wanted.
Her eyes are too wide, too big, an unsettlement squirming inside the Human once again. It's like she can see right through him.
"They're busy," he says, voice curt, face turned. Leave me, he thinks, but the creatures ignore the standoffish attitude, the three of them moving closer. "They're saying goodbye. We're leaving soon."
"Your ship is finished being fixed then," Lance supplies, biting down on his lips in self-directed anger. It was in his nature to be polite, even as he stood there, wanting nothing more than silence and solitude away from the inquisitive little shits that can't pick up on the way he stands, his arms folded, his eyes deliberately cast away to avoid a continued moment of conversation.
"The ship is fixed enough for us to return. Then it will be discarded. It has served its purpose." When they turn back to him, all three of them watching with wide round eyes, Lance pulls his copyright smile, widening it when the Trigamons smile back, still oblivious to his growing hatred towards them.
They know, he thinks angrily. They know I want peace and they're not leaving me alone, just like everyone else who wants to "help" who are just nosy, who can't trust me on my own because they think I'm going to kill myself or screw up or—
{Calm Lance, they are not the ones you hate.}
Anadón is beside him once again, his body pressing against Lance's to keep him standing, a gentle nudge to his hand that holds his bayard, although Lance didn't realise he had drawn it.
Neither had the Trigamon, who still watched the Paladins say farewell to their crew far below, the three of them talking quickly clicking to one another in small voices Lance didn't care to hear. He stashed his bayard back in its storage module before they could see that he, a Paladin of Voltron, sworn to protect the Universe, had almost raised his weapon against them.
"Blue Paladin—"
"If you'll excuse me, I have somewhere I need to be," Lance interrupts bluntly, turning without a backwards glance, Anadón at his heel as they, once more, head to the Training Deck to practice and progress.
When the doors to the training hall opened, the team was met with the sight of Lance, once again battling the castle combatants without his bayard. But not pinned or cussing beneath the body of a gladiator like last time, but calm and collected as Anadón stood beside him; a second pair of eyes that helped keep him balanced, focused in the moment of sparring.
His opponent was disarmed too, ducking in low to aim for Lance's chest. He kept himself high, dominant foot forward as he angled his body, making himself a smaller target. The blow flew past, Lance reaching out with his right to punch the gladiator in its ocular sensor, his favoured target. But the fist missed and he was forced back, waiting for the second fist to swing at him. He grabbed it, carried its momentum up and round, pinning the gladiators wrist behind its back. Anyone would feel pain and surrender with force on the shoulder – enough would break it – but the gladiator wouldn't register until Lance slammed his elbow down on the back of its neck, crippling its movements, the robot stumbling to the floor accompanied by a little power down frequency, signifying Lance had completed the "block and control" training simulation.
The Blue Paladin let out an excited whoop, turning to Anadón to revel in his victory, only then catching sight of his gathered audience. Hunk and Pidge stood with wide eyes and bright smiles, Keith simply shocked. Shiro just looked angry.
"Lance, what did I tell you about training alone!" he snapped, closing the distance towards the sparring ring, pointedly searching for Lance's bayard, yet the boy still had it on him, simply tucked away on his hip.
"You told me not to," Lance growled, not bothering to hide his irritation, matching Shiro's tone as he marched closer.
They were here to stop him, always getting in his way. He wanted to grow stronger, for them, but they never gave him the chance, always babying him, always thinking they knew him, never letting him have his own space—
{Calm Lance. The time will come.}
Man and beast stood together, their shared anger facing the Paladins that approached. Shiro's eyes were wary, brought about from the tone of the Blue's voice; clipped, short. Angry.
He stood up taller, his tone softening a little. Maybe it was with Lance's deadpan attitude, or the drawl in his voice that was very unlike him.
So? He was angry at Keith. Angry at Shiro. And tired. So damn tired.
The boy's mind pulled him back to the balcony. He'd rather much be there than here.
"Lance—"
"I want to train Shiro. You can't keep stopping me. I'm healed already; never mind the cryo-chamber." Lance felt his body tense, returning to a fight stance to prepare himself against the Black Paladins orders.
They're keeping me from my full potential. They're holding me back so when the time comes to replace me—
"It's not about stopping you; it's about you pushing yourself. Training is good, and you're getting better I can see that, just from that there," Shiro says, nodding towards the Gladiator that still remains crumpled on the floor. "But, Lance you're doing it by yourself. What if something happens? What if you're knocked unconscious or your hurt yourself bad and no one is here to help you?"
"Keith trains by himself, and you never say anything to him about it," Lance said, folding his arms to give them something to do, his fingers twitching as he struggles to contain the growing anger inside of him. Anadón can smell it, practically taste it, but he devours none, letting the emotion grow in strength. Soon, it will consume the Human boy.
"I trust Keith to be able to take care of himself," Shiro said, moving closer, words faltering, but Lance had already heard it: The unspoken comparison that always lingers over Lance's head whenever the Red Paladin is brought into play.
I trust Keith. I just don't trust you.
Now, Lance was a team player, always looking out for the group when they treated him like dirt they could sweep under the carpet. It was only Keith that would insult him directly and he accepted that, because everyone, even Voltron needed a black sheep to vent on from time to time.
If he was to be useful to them in anyway, he thought he could be the black sheep, the jokester; the court jester who refused to fall to the weight of reality. He wanted to keep them happy, to take their pain and let them focus on the war because that was what mattered. Victory.
Victory over his own feelings, his own importance because Lance wasn't important. He wasn't even a real paladin, just a stand in, a substitute until they found a successor—
{Focus Lance. You're losing yourself.}
Lance grounded himself in the anger, eyes on Shiro who didn't trust him. He had never called out his inability as blatantly as he had been doing. And now, in front of the team, challenging Lance to fight him, to break their bonds so they can wipe their hands of him.
Well if that is what they want.
"Fine, you don't trust me. What else do you want to get off your chest?" Lance shot back. Carelessly. Unthinking.
But Shiro started this fight first. He's just as bad as Keith, always thinking he's right, tossing Lance to the side like a bone for a dog, not even stopping to think that Lance has something to offer, that Lance is there, not to slow them down, but to help.
"That's not what I… I didn't mean…"
Shiro stopped. Reassessed. Tried again. "It's not about Keith training by himself, this is about you."
"Why? Because you don't think I can do it by myself? Or is it because it's me."
Shiro's weariness returned; his voice soft. "Lance, what do you mean by that?"
"You know very well what I mean," Lance spat, anger like poison on his tongue. Shiro reeled back in shock, Hunk and Pidge alarmed in his peripheral, but before any of them could ask Lance if he was okay, Keith stepped in.
"Don't speak to him like that! Look, whatever's up with you at the moment is your problem, but stop taking out on him. He's just trying to help."
"Oh, and you are too?" Lance growled, turning agitation on the Red. "You think, just because you think you know more than them that you know what's going on. But then, I've bet you already told them," he said, eyes narrowing into a glare. "I bet you told them as soon as I turned my back, all of you, having a lovely little tea party without me while you talked about all my mistakes—"
"I didn't say anything," Keith growled, stepping closer. Lance's stance changed instinctively. Keith noticed, eyes on the boy's clenched fists, but said nothing.
"You made me promise and I kept that promise. But then you clammed up and you didn't say anything to anyone, so of course we're going to worry about you—"
"Worry about me?" Lance scoffed, his smile fake. Always fucking fake in front of them, lest they see his true feelings, his fears, his weaknesses.
"Yes worry about you! These past few days have been stressful enough, and this is the third time me and Shiro have caught you in here when we all know you still need to heal properly. We even said, "don't train until Coran has checked you over," but you didn't listen and you're back here.
"Recklessness is meant to be my flaw Lance, not yours."
[But this recklessness is expected of the Red One. I did not think you capable.]
Blue's words. Blue's disappointment.
Keith saw the damage the memory brought, Lance's anger suddenly replaced by an intense sadness that washed through his body like a flood, draining him of energy. His stance dropped, his fists released into empty hands that hung limp at his sides.
"Lance—"
"Just drop it alright. I'm not going to discuss feelings with you, because it's convenient now," he said, voice taut, turning his gaze to Anadón who spat its black tongue out at the Red Paladin, turning back to give Lance a warm smile. The boy didn't reciprocate, only lifting his head when he heard the sounds of the Paladins closing the distance that stood thick and un-breachable between them.
Shiro was staring questioningly at Keith, but the Red's eyes remained on the Blue. Lance made a point of ignoring him.
It was Hunk's turn to play diplomat. "Lance, what's going on," he asked, voice soft and calm, like one would speak to a cornered puppy. Lance isn't a puppy. He's a beast with his back to a wall, and any minute he's going to lash out.
"Nothing Hunk, leave it be," Lance says, his voice like steel as he speaks, eyes on Anadón and no one else. His monster watches him, not doing anything to devour the flames of rage that flicker inside Lance's heart. He thinks he can hear a voice calling to him, the other Paladin's raising their heads too, but they can't hear her, she's only in his head.
But she's not because she's refusing to speak to him, she hates him, he's nothing but a disappointment—
"Lance—"
"I said leave it Hunk," Lance growled, turning his glare to one who had once called friend. Something reminiscent of guilt surged at the look of shock on the boy's face, but Anadón gorged on it before Lance could be sure. At least that was one less feeling to feel.
Hunk dropped whatever concern he had, sharing it with the others. Lance rejected their looks as he turned to his only friend, listening to his calming words, listening to the inflection of his tone, lulled by his words, letting them wash over him.
He liked the warmth of the water that wrapped around him, not soaking deep enough to quell the flames, pulling him down in the warmth.
His fists clenched and unclenched in uneven pattern, his heart beating too fast, too loud in his chest despite the warmth that Anadón wrapped him in. He felt his feathers brushing up against his neck; he heard the tapping of his claws upon the training deck, the cool smooth sound of his tail dragging on the metal, the gentle rustling of his black cloak ruffled in a non-existent breeze.
Lance's brain was on fire, but Anadón kept him calm, kept his emotions in check as he stood there, dissonant. With the team but entirely separate.
They were speaking. He was vaguely aware of sounds just outside his understanding, their lights flickering in the dark as his eyes fell closed. Sweat rolled down pale skin, the lasting taste of blood upon his tongue, the heaving of his lungs that hide behind the armour of cool, collected Lance who said nothing, saw nothing, heard nothing.
Until his name was called.
The boy looked up, to familiar faces, wearing masks. Only Shiro was brave enough to call out to him, to be the one that Lance directed his anger. "Lance, are you listening?"
How chivalrous.
"What's there to listen to? We're here to spar or fight robots. We've done it plenty of times; we don't need an inspiring war speech before every session." His tone got varying degrees of emotions, but Lance rolled his eyes.
They were just like Coran, babying one another. It was war; there was no room for training wheels. Keith had the right idea in constant training, pushing himself, progressing and learning. Lance would never tell him that though. No, he wouldn't tell him anything anymore, he wouldn't trust any of them anymore.
"It was just an explanation," Pidge said, giving as good as they got. So it looked like Shiro wasn't the only one brave enough to stand up to him. Even if it was the green ankle biter that didn't do much more than go invisible and electrocute robots. Shit, Lance did more than them and he still got kicked to the curb.
"I was explaining the programming again, only because you weren't there when me and Keith discussed it," they said, throwing a hand towards the computer that never left their vicinity. Cross-legged, they sank down in front of it and began typing and rambling at once, the words flying over Lance's head, testing his patience as the Gremlin mocked him with subtext.
"So, I was talking with Hunk about the Comms system, because although it's all well and good we can hear one another, that line of transmission can always be hacked or interfered with, just like the jamming signal Lance encountered back when we were facing the pirates," they said, followed by a meaningful peek in his direction. Lance's face of thunder warned them back to their bubble and they didn't look at him for the remainder of the explanation.
"But I was thinking, why stop at just a secure Comms system, when I can get the visors to give us so much more information. It's just on trial basis at the moment. I was running the programme through a beta tester whilst Hunk and I were on the asteroid, but it wasn't really testing the perimeters of the electrocardimeter and the scopes that I've uploaded into our suits. Well not yours Lance, I haven't had a chance to grab yours off you." They rightly remembered not to lift their head. It didn't matter. Lance wasn't paying too much attention.
There was vague understanding from him, but he wasn't in the mood for standing around and talking. If they were here to train, he wanted to get to it and shift the weight off his chest. Sparring with the castle combatants helped relieved his stress. He was beginning to understand why Keith always found himself here.
Green was still talking.
"Okay, so Shiro, I know you wanted to do a team exercise first, we haven't been able to considering the Trigamon have been here, and yeah I know they're gone now, but if we run these tests, then I can fix the bugs in my spare time. I just want to watch the meters for a bit before I turn them on and let them record. If not I'm collecting inconclusive data and that helps no one." Pidge was rambling about this that and whatnot. Whatever. It made no sense to Lance so he didn't even bother focusing.
However, his mind caught on a few words. What did she mean the Trigamon were gone? But Lance was just talking to one- to three of them up at the top of the Entrance Hall. They others were there, below, with the team but… what? No, it didn't make sense. What was happening?
"—ance, did you get that?"
They're all staring at him. Lance stares back, but offers no lie. No more lying. No more faking it. They were going to see what they were turning him into, whether they wanted to or not.
Keith mumbled some insult under his breath, Lance ready to bite from the jab to his intelligence. It was minor, probably something he would've once brushed under the carpet. But Lance wasn't himself. He hadn't been himself for a long time.
"Watch it Mullet."
"Or what? You'll teach me a lesson?"
"If you keep it up, yeah I might," Lance growled, readying himself to bait Keith into a spar. That way at least he could physically show the boy up. Then he might not be Shiro's favourite and they'd start taking him seriously. It could actually work.
"Stop it the pair of you. If you two want to keep fighting, then do it in the sparring ring and stop it with all this childish bickering."
Lance scowled angrily at Shiro who stepped in before the vocal spat could turn physical.
He was ready to retort to his careless words, but Lance got a hand raised to him instead. "We're here to train and that's what we're going to do." He turned from the Blue then, back to his other favourite. "Pidge, how long will it take to get Lance's suit calibrated with your programme?"
"A few ticks."
"Alright. While you're setting that up, Hunk, Keith and I will warm-up. As soon as you're done, we can work on your experiments. Then afterwards we can bond or whatever and put this problem behind us."
He means me, Lance thought bitterly, hands in fists once more.
Meaningful glances were shared all round. Shiro's eyes stayed on the Blue Soldier longer than the others, questions plaguing his mind, but with the boy's current attitude, unlike him and unexplained. He didn't feel like he could ask in front of everyone without receiving more defence against the matter.
Keith's words confused him, as did Lance's disputing replies, but neither would lie about… about what?
Torous, was the answer and he already knew. Something more had happened than either had agreed to speak about, and the change in Lance that followed told him that what had happened wasn't good...
