Chapter Fourteen:A Want To Be Irreplaceable
Lance is in pain, he has been for a long time. But now, he's shown the Paladins his weakness, whether he meant to or not. And now, he hears their judgement. Voltron of course, are defenders of the universe. They can't afford to have a weak link, a chink in the armour. And Lance? Well, Lance accepts the judgement. He brought it upon himself after all.
System: Nairn
Location: Space
It's cold.
I'm cold.
I'm cold I'm cold I'm cold.
I'm cold and I hurt and I… can't see.
Lance tried to open his eyes, feeling a strange heaviness where vision should have been. He tried to lift his arms, to pull at the sleep mask covering his eyes, but the limb doesn't want to seem to budge.
Lance tries again, focusing on the tingling sensation that creeps down his shoulder. It's odd. There's no pressure keeping his arm down, the thing just won't listen to him and move!
Okay, start small, he thinks, desperate to banish the thoughts of panic. He can hear Ovule laughing, hear the dismissive sounds of Keith telling him they've left him to die. They haven't, he thinks again, holding onto the flicker of hope like an anchor to ground him. It's weak, but it's there.
But it's not strong enough and Lance knows it, feeling his mind slip into the numbing chill that drags his body. He gasped as a thousand tiny pricks of ice cold pain stabbed at every part of him they could touch, all over his skin and under it and inside him, pricking and stabbing at the flickering warmth of his still-beating heart.
He heard noise beside him, the concentration of focusing as lost as his body felt, just limbs and bones, all the little threads tying him together lifeless as he remained crumpled, tucked in on himself, gasping for air like he's run a marathon. He might as well have. He doesn't remember.
His body pressed in on itself, chest tightening as he struggled to breathe. It felt as though an iron bar had wrapped itself around his lungs, constricting them with every exhale, letting less and less air in every time. His head pulsed painful, like all the blood in his body had rushed there to escape the cold, the dull throb continuing to grow until he thought it would burst.
Lance's hands twitched from where they were pushed underneath his body and he couldn't control it, he couldn't breathe. A rush of something bubbled in him and spots danced in his vision as he tried to focus.
There's a whispering in his brain that remains impressed he isn't panicking. I'm tired, I don't have the energy, he supplies to the voices, choosing to grasp on what little brain capacity he could hold onto, turning it to his fingers.
Start small.
One by one, his fingers began to move. At first it was just a twitch, sent to each that Lance was trying to curl into a fist. But the more Lance concentrates, the more he allows himself to pour energy into the small movements, they begin to move. They're stiff and they're aching, but they're moving.
He plays a rhythm with them, feeling the warmth spread between the pads of his fingers, the motion getting easier with every repeated action.
Okay, now the elbow.
It comes up easier this time, the shoulder moves according to the brains wave and Lance can't help but laugh when his own hand slaps him in the face.
It is then that he realises there is nothing covering his eyes. His palm drags the heaviness away and he's blinking upwards to a faint light in front of him. It flickers as his eyes focus. He doesn't recognise where he is, yet he knows it is in the castle, surrounded by the familiar white floors, the same white walls and giant expanding mirrors of glass that break the pristine marble, showing a glistening purple nebulae surrounded by a blanket of stars.
No wonder Lance hadn't been able to recognise where he was. He was laid on the floor. The floor of the castle's med bay, to be precise.
Lance drags his head against the floor to look at the way his body awkwardly slumped. Behind him lay the pod, the vitrified glass still crystallised in places where the thaw had taken hold, too quick, too fast, releasing its ward and dumping him onto the cold, hard floor where he is left to wake from the lasting effects of sleep stasis for the purpose of healing him.
That explains the coldness, the boy thought to himself, noting that the chill is leaving his body, enough that definitive thoughts are finally making themselves known in his mind.
They do, slow to begin with, and then it's all rushing back at full force; the anger, the hatred, the fighting, the pain. Lance braces, waiting for that to come rushing back too. But it doesn't.
The floor is too painful to lie upon, and Lance is aware enough to pull himself into an upright position. It takes a lot more effort than he would let himself admit, and by the time his back is resting against the pod, his head has stopped spinning and he doesn't feel like he's going to hurl, Lance is completely exhausted. His face is also stinging from where he fell on it. Twice.
Lance is panting, but at least the cold is gone. So is the pain he realises; and he smiles.
As his body thaws, so does his mind, and slowly thoughts begin to fill his strangely empty head space.
It is then that another piece of the puzzle clicks into place and Lance is staring at the empty room, searching for the team. He can't see them, can't even hear them. Although, he thinks they were nearby earlier. He's vaguely able to recall voices, but that could mean anything. And if they were here and they just left him—
No. If they were here, then he wouldn't be on the floor, Lance decides, and turns his focus to trying to get into a more upright position.
He's more exhausted than normal. But then, being thrown onto the floor, waking up alone isn't a normal way to wake from Cryo-sleep, and Lance is sure that there is something to do with the absent Paladins. Maybe the machine has kicked him out early for some reason or other. Especially if he still has Eyre in his system. But if he didn't, then he shouldn't be feeling this numb, this tired, this….
Lance lets his eyes search for Coran, who always stands vigil for the healing heroes, only when he spies the doctors' terminal, he identifies its lack of their resident orange-moustached healer.
A pang of something echoes deep in Lance's chest but he puts it down to a rude awakening.
So, there are no Paladins and no Altean's, he thinks, pressing himself against the pod again to push himself up. He's on his feet now, and there's no dizziness. He was expecting it, and was pleasantly surprised to find his body was now actually listening to him without its earlier refusal and blatant laziness.
Lance is smiling. And then he spots Keith.
Keith is in his own cryo-pod to the left of Lance's which remains open, still spilling out mist from where the thaw reaches deep inside the machine.
There's nothing noticeably wrong with Keith as he remains frozen, eyes closed yet he doesn't look peaceful. Lance doesn't like it, stumbling towards him; a strangled cry of fear when his feet tangle and he's reaching out for Keith to help him, like he came for him back on Torous.
"Keith! Keith wake up!" But it's useless, Lance knows that, the logic speaking beneath layers of ice and confusion that grips him and holds him tight when he hammers his hands on Keith's pod. Nothing.
Seeing him sends Lance's mind back to their spar, their fight where he hurt Keith, he took out his anger on him without thinking about it. There's no anger now, it remains only in his memory, replaced by fear as he hits his fist on the pod again.
"Did I do this?" Because it doesn't feel right.
Yes Lance hurt Keith, but he didn't think he had hurt him enough to force him into a pod. But then, no Lance wasn't thinking when they fought one another. He just wanted to prove him better, stronger, faster, more.
And he did. Now Lance is stronger, better, faster and he's healed. And he's hurt Keith who waits inside the cryogen chamber.
But where is Coran, the Doctor that always waits with the Paladins while they heal, or Pidge or Hunk who can always be hovering as they tinker with this or that, their worry never letting them stay too far from friends as they heal.
A voice asks if Lance is to blame. Or was it something else…
Wait, did something happen? Was that why there was no crew, and they're in danger, they're in battle fighting. He wouldn't know, there are no alarms in the castle after the initial proximity alert. The Comms wouldn't be transmission ship-wide, only to the Bridge where Allura and Coran could help support the Paladins as they fought in their lions. But no Lance and no Keith meant it was only Hunk, Pidge and Shiro.
Lance had to help them if he could.
The Blue Paladin forces himself on unsteady feet, managing not to stumble as he rushes out of the infirmary and into the waiting corridor wall opposite the door.
He can't keep his feet and slams into it, cursing the legs that make him act like a baby deer, just born and already trying to hop, skip, run. His legs feel too long, too gangly. His body doesn't want to stay upright and he feels the world shift as the artificial gravity threatens to drag him to the floor.
"Blue? Blue are you there?" he asks, reaching out in his mind for the familiar flicker of light that warms him. But when he reaches out, he can't find her.
Panic surges within him. "Anadón? Anadón are you here? I can't hear Blue!" But Anadón doesn't appear, doesn't call to him and Lance is alone in the castle, desperate to find out what has happened that kept the others from being there when he first awoke.
Lance's hand slips on the wall where he had been supporting himself, only managing to scrape his hand on a ledge and keep himself upright. His head pounds on the inside of his skull, like his brain wants to get out of this body and back into its real one. But this was his body, and it was going to listen to what Lance said.
He took another step, slow, calculated. He was up, he was standing.
And the corridor was tilting sideways.
The Paladin resides himself to using the walls to manoeuvre himself along, hoping that the thaw will have left his body and his muscles would have gotten things figured out by the time he reached the elevator. They kind of did.
Lance could stand unsupported, but there was a weakness to his legs that made his knees want to buckle and his ankles bend painfully inwards. "Shit, shit, shit," he cursed with every floor passed, hoping that this was all just one long, very bad dream that he would wake from any tick now.
But if it was a dream, then where was Anadón?
"Anadón? Anadón are you here?" Lance called again for his companion, hoping that it was only the thaw that kept him at bay, and now that it was gone, his friend would be with him once more. He searched for shadows in his peripheral, turning his head quickly to catch a glimpse of the shadow-beast that had been by his side lately, there when he needed him, whenever he needed him there.
But Lance remained alone as the elevator trundled upwards, eyes staring at the glowing lights on the walls, watching the customary flicker that joined the motion of rising to the upper levels.
Slowly, but surely, the elevator took Lance up, to the tip of the ship to where the Bridge waited. "Coran? Allura?"
Lance kept his feet as he rushed from the elevator, taking solace from the quiet, the lack of commands over the radios that didn't resound from the bridge that lay before him. "Sh—," But when Lance tried to call out, he failed to catch his breath and coughed.
"How's Lance?"
The words were a blessing. Lance felt his chest fill with relief, his eyes tearing with emotion as he pushed himself closer, one bare foot in front of the other, the light from the open doorway calling him closer.
He could hear the murmuring of a reply, the low baritone reverberating through Lance's shaken mind as he struggles forward, a wave of dizziness pulling him to the floor. Again he's on the floor, but the desperation to reach them is gone. It's okay, they're safe, they're there, they're waiting…
"And?"
It was Hunk, the familiar rumbling of his voice a comfort as it wraps warmly around Lance, carrying him to somewhere where there is no fear, to somewhere without the coldness creeping at his fingertips.
But not quite. Because Hunk's voice is clipped, it's short and blunt with anger; an emotion Lance rarely sees on the loveable teddy bear he calls his friend.
Hunk must've been really angry.
The realisation stalls Lance's feet and he's not sure if he wants to climb to his feet and enter the bridge, wondering if this anger is for him. Was Hunk angry at him?
{What do you think?}
Lance turned to the voice, his head whipping around face with a smile as he recognises who called out to him.
Anadón was beside him in all his glory, sat against the far wall, his paws crossed in front of him, head raised as a tongue flickered between his teeth, tasting the air, the tooth-rotting sweetness of happiness that Lance felt when he saw his friend.
His tail flicks back and forth, a sign of agitation that remains after Lance reaches out to smooth the feathers that stand up around the base of his neck.
"Ana—"
{Sssh, you want to hear what they're saying, don't you?} Anadón snaps lightly, narrowing all three eyes in the direction of the boy to quieten him quickly.
Lance's smile slips ever so slightly, his ear pricking up the sounds of more voices, but he's too far away to make them out. He picks himself up, not aware just how easy it is as he steps forward, unintentionally creeping forward, focusing, trying to discern words from the mumbling.
He was waiting for something. He didn't know what the something was, but whatever it was, he needed it.
It was the silence before the storm.
"Not to be the bringer of bad news…"
It's Pidge. They speak softly, their words only just gracing Lance's ears as he strains to hear if they speak of him like he fears.
At first it is only the gentle sounds of rain.
"But what if we can't fix this…"
Gentle drops of beloved water that rained from above, tinkering down upon the land, thirsted by drought. They fall to the dirt that is nothing but dry and itchy. The rivers and streams are only trenches of dust, the plants that line the embankment dying, wilted and weak as they're starved of water. The edges of their once-green leaves are faded yellow and sickly, barely rising from the ground. Cracks run across the floor where the skin of the land can't keep itself together.
Like the cracks in Lance's mask he can't keep together.
"—whatever it is. What if we can't fix this, because there's nothing to fix? What if, this is it?"
Lance isn't sure what they're talking about, but that surging something inside him won't let him think it's not about him.
"What if there's nothing wrong with Lance."
Ah. It is about him.
"What if this is him and he's had enough and he's… just done? We all saw. He tried to kill Keith. He's not on our side now—"
"Pidge—"
"No Hunk I mean it. You don't just try and kill your best friend if you're having a bad day. So yeah, we could all sit and chat about why he's angry, why he wants to hurt us. But isn't the damage already done?
"What if something happens? Like right now or later. Because right now, we're really vulnerable, like really vulnerable. It's not down to the fact we have two Paladins out of action in cryogen chambers, and yeah I know Keith is coming out in a couple of minutes, but Lance is not and even when he does, what happens when we need to fight?" Pidge continued, sharing a worry they all had.
Lance feels his entire body jolt.
He isn't meant to be out the pod. Being released was an accident, a malfunction that coughed him up and spat him out. It didn't want him, just like they didn't want him.
And they waited, until they knew that they wouldn't be overheard as they discussed his importance.
The rain falls harder.
The dirt is pulled together by the blessing of rain as it soaks into the earth. The river steals whatever it can and the riverbed becomes a stream of brown, murky water that claws its fingers into dry earth to pull out the life that is buried far beneath, hiding from the storm that will drown it. The plants can't get enough, reaching up for the rain embracing all it can before the clouds move on and they're left to dry and up and crack and grow weak.
Just as Lance feels himself grow weak, desperate not to let his façade wash away like water.
"Like, what if this is damage that can't be undone with just talking. It was quick, granted, probably started since he and Keith fought during training, just before the pirate attack. And even then, Lance blew up at us because he blew up the ship— Okay, no, he didn't, but he got angry because I shut him up, but he was fighting first and I was trying to be helpful and I am sorry," Pidge said.
No one stops them, because they agree.
And Pidge continues, words tumbling from their mouth faster and faster, boundless uncertainty for Lance who can't run, his legs won't move he's forced to listen.
"But I mean if Lance wakes up and Zarkon appears out of the blue, or the pirates or Galra— Whatever. I just want to know, how are we going to form Voltron, if we even can with Lance the way he is. It's not just the fight with Keith, he's kept himself away at the moment, he has been really distant—"
"Pidge—"
"Because honestly if we have to fight, I can't see us winning at the moment with him all—"
"Pidge—"
"Silent and sulky and weird, because pulling that spear really fuc—"
"PIDGE!"
Shiro's shout cut the Green Paladin short but and Lance stumbled a few steps back from the ferocity. He was still reeling from what Pidge implied, choking at her final "sorry." But Shiro's outburst wasn't enough to keep them quiet.
"I didn't want to say it, but it's the truth. Even if Lance is awake, there's no way he can keep fighting with us. He's shown us that."
The rain is heavy.
The sky darkens too quick, the billowing clouds threatening a tempest with winds to pull trees from their roots, the wind pulling the sea into waves that loom higher than the tallest mountains, taller than the sky itself. The wind screams as it tumbles across the earth, taking plants and rocks and debris far from its home.
"We're in danger right now, whether we want to admit it or not. We all know that Lance and Blue are fighting, or at least, they're not compatible—"
They don't want him.
"–even I could hear her pain but Lance didn't stop. He kept going, like he couldn't hear her, or… or feel her."
They don't want him.
"Our lions could feel her pain and in turn we felt it. But Lance was oblivious. Does that mean she's rejected him?"
"Or he rejected her," Pidge added. They spoke of the fears that Lance had always carried deep inside himself, a secret never to be shared. He had hoped it was only him he thoughts so, only him who saw the darkness inside him that sheltered such fears. It was terrifying to know the others felt the same.
They don't want him.
{Osito?}
Lance looks up, eyes hurting but dry, his body not ready to function right as he listens to the team discuss his importance, and whether or not they really want. Him. They don't, he realises that now—
{Osito, I'm here for you.}
"It is a serious problem," Allura agreed, and Lance could just see the understanding on her face.
His feet took him closer, Anadón beside him every tiny step of the way. His body met the light, his head peering around the corner enough to catch a glimpse of the Paladins gathered near Coran's main console, save for Pidge who was sat with their head down, legs folded beneath them to support their laptop, powered down but still open.
Allura was dressed in her formal Altean attire, towering tall over everyone who remained in full armour, her eyes cast to the stars.
Coran looks paler than usual, his eyes deliberately focused away from searching eyes.
Lance watches.
No one wants to speak. No one moves to do so.
The silence lays on his skin like poison. It soaked into his body, seeping deep into his blood. It paralyzed him, his legs locking when instinct told him to run. He didn't want to hear this. He shouldn't be here.
He didn't want to hear this.
The void in his mind stretched out, the black cliff stretching up, further and further from the chasm of shadows and darkness. He could see his friends; see the ones that had unintentionally carved out the chasm that stood before them as they stood before it, looking down to the void, to the darkness that swallowed the earth far below.
Lance could see the edge. He wasn't standing, he wasn't teetering.
He was hanging on for dear life.
Each of them turn, one by one, staring at Lance with dead eyes and dead faces, blank and unfeeling when eyes settled on him, he who clung to the cliff with bleeding fingers.
Pidge's eyes fall to the hands that hold on, that are holding on, staring at them with the weariness of one who is fatigued from the whining of a small child. "Let go Lance, just let go." He can't let go he, won't, Pidge help me, I can't hold on.
"Then don't," Hunk says. No I can't.
"Then get up," Allura says, because she can't stand there, can't stand around and keep waiting for Lance who won't pull himself back up to the cliff edge and take his responsibilities and accept the weight of being a soldier. "They can do it, so why can't you?"
It's hard.
"Of course it's hard. What, you think that we don't have our own problems, have our own fears and worries every time we board a lion or face a Galra soldier?" Shiro's eyes glow Galra yellow in anger, and it takes everything for Lance not to let go. No, I'm not going to let go.
"Then pull yourself up Lance. Pull yourself up and pull yourself together. You can't keep slacking, you can't keep taking things easy, we're not kids, this isn't a game, Lance this is WAR!"
Lance flinches from the anger, his face turned to defend against the yellow eyes; the glowing arm that he fears will be raised against him.
When he opens his eyes again, he meets his gaze with Coran's. He is tired, tired of always picking up the pieces and fixing the human that should be more than this. "You have to be more than this to be a Paladin. Just because there is a healing pod and I can fix your body every time you break it means I should."
Coran—
"We just don't have time to find a replacement, we're too deep in the fight to and you're making us put that all on hold for your problems?" Coran scoffed and the human emotion of irritation was hard to swallow.
Lance didn't fight the man's words, didn't fight the truth of the matter. They all understood this, they knew not to get hurt, they were strong enough not to, but Lance…
Lance was Lance and he wasn't as strong as them, no matter how much he wished he was. No matter how much he trained, how much he fought, how much experience he tried to gain with every rise of his bayard against enemy and foe and friend.
"And me."
Lance winced, not wanting to look but finding himself unable to keep his eyes from Keith anyway. His face was tight in anger. Lance can see the raging fire inside him, feel the heat of the loathsome glare that burns his fingers, burns his hands as he tries to hold on still.
I didn't mean to hurt you—
"You tried to kill me," he growls, his voice painful to hear. No I didn't, I wasn't thinking I just—
"Hurt me."
Keith sounds hurt. And for a moment the anger is gone, replaced by a despondence that Lance doesn't think he's ever seen on the boy before. "I thought you love me–"
I do—
"Then why would you hurt me? If you really loved me, you wouldn't hurt me, you'd trust me and you'd…" But the words fade and the anger burns the sadness to ashes. "You even fail in that. Love."
He spits the word like a curse and Lance flinches. He wants to pull away. He has to pull away.
But there, held in everyone's hands, was the silver thread of Lance's life line.
It is his mask, his shield, his very person as the Pilot of Blue, the Blue Paladin of Voltron, Defender of the Universe.
There's no shelter from the storm. He's left there to hang to cling on for dear life as the winds howl, the rain buffets him and he's screaming for an end before he can no longer hold on.
Lance's can't see past the icy raindrops that pelt his skin, each leaving little purple welts along his arms, his body, his face. He can't shield it, because he's holding on, screaming at the Paladins before him to help him, help me—
"Me? Help you? Why should I?"
No, no stop it, Lance begs with nothing to lose, not his pride, not his mask that is ripped and torn. Now all that's left is his life and his love for his family.
Please. Help me, he cried, lips moving around the words that get caught in the rain.
He hears laughter. "You're so stupid, don't you realise that? Can't you see we don't want you anymore, that the team doesn't want you? They sent me here to get rid of you once and for all."
Lance doesn't want to hear it, but Keith kneels beside him, a hand on his throat to keep eyes on him. "They wanted me to kill you, you know. Quick, easy. Hunk told me to be merciful, Pidge doesn't care. But I found a way that I can be free of you, but so you still suffer."
Lance shakes his head, crying, but Keith won't stop. "It's punishment, for not being good enough. Because you're never good enough. You don't even deserve to stand in my shadow, but you're still there, like a parasite, running around everyone like a puppy, trying to be loved when noonecouldcareless."
Please, please, he begs, trying to hold on, desperate to hold on, fighting his mind to return him to the Bridge where the Paladins are gathered.
Lance watches. And he waits.
No one wants to speak. No one moves to do so.
Everyone except Allura.
"Then we need a replacement."
The words swipe the floor from under him. Lance's vision swims and he feels violently sick. But the fear, the shock, the anger, panic, dread, resentment, horror, outrage….
The everything inside him, somehow keeps him standing. Either that, or its stumble noisily and tell the Paladins he is awake, listening to their obviously private conversation and face their anger.
He doesn't want to, so on his feet he remains, hands curled into Anadón's side for support, keeping himself upright and silence. Anadón pressing back against Lance, sharing the light in his eyes as they stares at the Paladins of Voltron, a deep growl rumbles in the back of his throat.
"And you're suggesting—?"
"Myself," the Princess said, answering the Black Paladin's question, stepping closer to him, as if taking the spot light. Because it was hers now, standing tall and proud as all eyes fall on her, finding the answer to the question they had all been asking for so long. Even Lance had understood this as a solution, but he had never spoken about it, never called light to eh obvious when it would push him aside.
"I am adept at flying the Lions; I already have a bond with all of them as Princess of Altea, daughter of their creator. I can get Blue to let me pilot her and, if the need arises, I can form Voltron with you."
The silence dragged out slowly, but no one disputed her words. No one says anything.
Not in Lance's defence, not for the Blue Paladin, not for him who was weaker and a burden and now just someone to be pushed to the side, because, honestly, he was no match for the Princess.
"Alright. Then Allura, as of now, you are the Blue Paladin."
Huh?
Just… just like that?
Lance chokes out a laugh. It's quiet and subtle and not a laugh at all. It's a dying, strangled sound that barely make it past bloodless lips that struggled with trying to pull air in while Lance just wants to let it all go and never breathe again.
"When Keith wakes up, we can try a mind meld and strengthen our group bond so that if, and I say if," Shiro said, looking around to everyone. "If we need to form Voltron, and if you need to fight with us Princess, it should be easier."
Because of course, they couldn't let Allura get hurt. She was the Princess. She was the New Blue Paladin. She was important to them.
Not like Lance.
Lance, who was choking on his tears, his feet dragging him backwards, trying to stay upright as Anadón took his arm in his maw and pulled him back, away from the voices, away from those that once promised to fight alongside him, now stand against him with levelled spears and masks of indifference.
The betrayal hit hard. Harder than Lance thought possible.
It hurt to realised he wasn't as important as he thought he was.
He thought he had longer with them, more time for him to get stronger, to prove to them and to himself that he had the right to stand beside them, to fight beside them.
They were his family.
And they had abandoned him.
It would've been kinder to kill him.
Now Lance is stuck to become the person he feared he would be, filled with a despair he can't control.
He's not thinking. His limbs moving awkwardly, without instruction from himself or his mind, shattered and broken, succumbing to the darkness. All he knows is that he can't listen to this anymore. He has to go.
The storm that came and destroyed him is just rain once more. Rain on his cheeks, on his chest, pouring out of him in salty tears. The sea of emotion found cracks in Lance's mask and there's no buffer as it pours. He's choking on sobs; his drool and snot making a mess of his once beautiful face but he doesn't care. Because no one cares.
It's the same pain that clouds him when he sleeps, when he's rolling back and forth in his bed trying to find a solace from the pain inside him. It's the same plague that haunts him in the waking hours too. When it gets too hard to hide from the team and he locks himself away in his holo room to cry his eyes out and sleep the pain away without being found, without disturbing the others.
But Anadón is with him now, whispering to him softly as they tread down the dim-lit corridors of the dormitories. {Forget it Osito. Forget them too. If they have cut ties, we no longer have to stay here where they can hurt us.}
Lance doesn't hear him. His head is listening to his other monsters; all the other voices that live inside him, that have been telling him for months now that he knew this was coming. He knew this was coming and he hadn't stopped to prepare. He thought he had more time.
They should've given him more time.
But now, Allura was the Blue Paladin. She would bond quickly with Blue, sharing a stronger bond than he had. She was well adverse to combat, both in space and on the ground. She was a lot stronger, a lot quicker and a lot smarter than Lance, so even if she was a little out of practice, she was already better than the one she replaced.
Now she was a Paladin, Voltron was stronger because of it.
{And what of us? What will we do now?} Anadón asked as Lance reached his room, stumbling into the door before it fully opened, his mind still preoccupied with its own destruction. The medical suit was torn off with prejudice, Lance forcing himself into his clothes in a hurry, a plan already formulating in his mind as he fought with his trousers to pull them on.
{Osito—}
"We have to leave. We can't stay here."
The shuttle pod still bore the scars of Keith and Lance's less-than-peaceful space flight to Torous. Keith had inflicted more than enough damage playing jenga with the towers, but the junkyard pirates had added their own flare of artistry, with the giant scorch marks all up one side, courtesy of their main ship and its guns. But at least the thing can still fly, because that's the reason that Lance needs it.
Lance shimmies up the wing, grabbing one of the larger bags first, cringing at the sound he makes as it smacks into the ship instead of into the main hub. He tries again, and the luggage lands perfectly on the passenger seat. He grabs the other one and they're both in the ship, Lance sliding in afterwards, shifting the bags so he still has plenty of room to sit down and actually pilot the shuttle.
Anadón watches from where he is perched on the other wing, a low rumble in the back of his throat as Lance climbs out again.
"You can help me you know," the Human bites angrily, waving at the last bag by the shuttles wing, directly under where the shadow-beast is sat.
Anadón regards him with a sort-of smile. There's warmth at seeing the boy more himself than he has been in awhile. Anger is hot and delicious, a different taste to the constant cold that rolled on his tongue when Anadón feasted upon the boy's sadness. Depression was bland and tasteless, but filling, and although Anadón cherished the feeling of being full, he enjoyed the bite of heat that came when Lance threw shit to hard or growled angrily in the back of his throat, just like his shadow-companion.
"Oi, perezoso. I'm talking to you. Help me."
{I cannot help you, Osito. I don't exist}.
The words jar Lance's movements where he's waving for the bag. It's only a moment, but Anadón can taste ice on his tongue, before a sweet silkiness of fake happiness. Then the taste is gone and Lance drops from the cockpit, striding over to the bag with a huff. "Yeah, I know."
The pair of them return to silence after that. It's still heavy from the reasoning behind the tasks that Lance undertakes, but his movements neither slow nor quicken as the thoughts remind him that he's running away.
Instead, he chooses to focus on his supplies. The two bags that already sit in the shuttle are packed with clothes, only a few spare changed and one of his Paladin under suits that is programmed with thermal technology that will regulate Lance's body temperature on weird climate planets. There's two blankets, traditional medical supplies and a glass tablets with data stored to help Lance traverse the Universe alone. They have vast stores of maps, with different solar systems and nebulae recorded, so Lance can at least keep track of where he's going and figured out where he's been. There's planet fauna, flora and denizen records, as well as Galra information, meaning Lance is already going to avoid Talladega, which is a Galra infested system roughly a journey of six Quintant away.
It would suck to be picked up by the Galra. He was running away to escape pain, not be tortured by the quiznaking cats that seem to think violence was the answer to everything.
The other bag is packed with freeze-dry cubes of food goo and a containment of water to return it to its gross, gooey self; roughly a month's supply. Two if Lance halves his rations, but he's hoping to find a suitable planet long before then. If not, then at least one that can supply him with enough supplies before he has to move on.
Lance's last bag resembled a satchel, one that he strapped to his hip, pulling back the seal to check that it did indeed contain the several vials of Eyre he swiped, as well as Eleiryian for emergency only, and a handful of freeze-dry cubes, plus water.
And that was all the boy had packed. Any other comforts would be a luxury and Lance couldn't afford them. But he couldn't quite bring himself to toss all his possessions, instead packing them up and stashing them in his holo-room in one rushed trip to avoid being spotted.
The others were yet to find it; he doubted that they'd stumble miraculously on his possessions. Maybe, when he found somewhere to settle, and he reached out to them, he'd be able to take everything with him. Maybe.
Lance grabbed the last bag from underneath Anadón, climbing back into the shuttle and starting up the warm-up procedures ignoring the pressure that has been growing in the back of his mind. It is someone he knows, someone he loves, knocking gently.
Lance can practically see them, thrown back into memory, at home on Earth, staring down the hallway to see their silhouette through the frosted glass. He can see the waterfall of their curly hair that he had fallen in love with. He can almost hear her voice calling out to him, head tilted slightly as they stare at one another through the glass.
"My little cub?"
Lance couldn't keep his eyes off of Blue, looking to where she sat just across him from the hangar.
But then, maybe she's not calling out to him. Maybe it is all in his head, just wishful thinking that wants to give him a reason to stay. Maybe it is and when he goes to pull open that door, he'll be met with an empty doorstep and cold winter winds that push into his house and draw the warmth from it.
Lance doesn't open the door.
He's found this warmth, small and fleeting, but he needs it and he's not going to lose it. So the door stays closed, his gaze turned away from her once more. He doesn't want to think about Blue, who has not turned to him.
Besides, he is not hers anymore. She has Allura now, and she's proud of it, sat tall, head held high like her brothers and sisters, proud that she now has a real Paladin to pilot her. Allura was far better than her previous, sorry excuse for a Human who just so happened to be with the other Paladins. She had to pretend to accept Lance, so he could ferry the true Heroes from Earth to Arus, where the Castle of Lions had been waiting….
Blue hasn't spoken to him since he learnt to draw out his gar.
Lance doesn't break the silence.
He turns and settles in the pilot's chair, giving a glance to Anadón who remains on the wing, glaring angrily at the lack of space for him in the shuttle's main cabin. Lance doesn't say anything as the shadow-beast paws over, grumbling as he shakes his feathers and allows his body to shrink down, back to the cat-like shape that he had taken when he and Lance had trekked across Torous together. He sits himself upon the mess of bags that take up space on the passenger side of the shuttle, grumbling about {cramped} and {lack of space.}
"You're not real remember," Lance offers with a sly smile, buckling himself into the future, trying not to think about the exacts of his actions. He didn't want to remain on the ship whilst Allura piloted Blue. Coran would take control as back up for flying the castle, something Lance surely couldn't do, whilst he would remains just to stare out the windows as Voltron defeated Zarkon. Faster too, now that he was off the team, not holding them down, not pulling them back.
And Lance would become obsolete. He'd be nothing but a book end, a garden ornament, an extra mouth to feed that Voltron didn't need…
Anadón pokes out his tongue. {I'm as real as you make me,} he says, replying to Lance's little jab.
Lance replies in kind. "Then I would make you useful enough to at least help me carry my own shit into the shuttle pod."
{If you could do that, it would make you a god.} Lance tilts his head, thoughtfully. "True. At least I have the looks for one."
{Which one? Hephaestus?}
The banter is light and enjoyable. Lance would sober if he realised he was enjoying talking to himself over anyone else, but he doesn't. He's calm, free from any damaging emotion for now and it's something he hooks his claws into, tight. It's a breath of fresh air for him, who has only been feeling hatred and pain for god knows how long.
It's the cryo-pod. He always felt relaxed afterwards, and the feeling is complete bliss, even if his rude awakening wasn't something he wants to experience again. The healing factors lend themselves to more than just the physical plane and for that he's grateful. And remorseful knowing he's leaving it behind.
{We could steal one and take it with us. I'm sure they wouldn't notice. }
"I don't think they'll notice me missing either."
The banter was warm, brushing away all of the uncertainty of what Lance was doing. But at his own hurtful words, reality comes crashing back down, silencing him before he could muster up a pun or something to ignore the pain and continue their conversation.
But it's gone and he knows it.
{Lance?}
"I'm good, I'm good, it's just…"
It's just that he was running away. He wasn't confronting the Paladins about the fact they were shoving him aside, replacing him as Paladin. They were kicking him out the picture and what? He was just meant to shut up and accept it.
He didn't want to, but he didn't want to hear it from them. So he was leaving before they could tell him to piss off and stop holding them back. He's running before they can drop him off to a backwater planet, saying Earth is too far and Lance hasn't done enough to warrant a trip home. It's too far for them and they won't because—
Anger comes back with vengeance, boiling under Lance's skin. It was the energy that curled his fist around the handles, flicked the switches on the dash. The glass came down, sealing the shuttle cabin with a hiss of air and clicks. The thrusters flared to life with another button smash, the pod rattling as he pulled back on the controls, raising it up, then pushed forward and watched as the hangar slipped past until all he could see were stars.
A thousand stars and a thousand possibilities that lay before him.
Lance ignored the watering of his eyes and smiled to himself. If it was forced, or fake, Anadón said nothing.
He just smiled knowingly when Lance slammed his hand on the boosters, both of their backs hitting the seats as the shuttle launched forward on nitro engines, their laughter the only farewell to the fading sight of the Castle of the Lions.