Archive of Our Own ^beta

He falls asleep on the couch, even though he doesn't mean to.

It's after a mission and he's so tired, he feels so genuinely exhausted and everything just hurts . He doesn't feel good.

"What happened to beauty sleep with your robe?" Pidge asks when she passes by.

Lance pretends to be asleep because it's easier. He's too tired.

He wakes up to a hand on his shoulder.

The room is dim when he peels open his eyes. It's night time in the castle, Shiro is crouched in front of him, gentle hand on his bicep. His eyes are kind and slightly concerned.

Lance blinks at him with heavy eyelids. His headache seems to have gotten worse, and he feels feverish and gross and so bone-deep weary. Existing now is like there are strings attached to his limbs, like the puppet in the antidepressant commercial, except it's actually a commercial for exhaustion and feeling terrible and at this point the strings are just dragging his limp body face-down across a floor.

"Come on, you'll feel better in your own bed," Shiro says, voice barely above a whisper. He stretches a hand out and Lance manages to stand on legs that feel like rubber.

He must sway or something, because Shiro wraps a steady arm around his shoulders and Lance allows himself to be pulled against Shiro as they begin the walk to the halls. He doesn't say anything, his head aches and it's like his limbs are a thousand pounds, like his legs are lead.

Shiro frowns at him in the dim hall light. "You really don't feel good, do you?"

Lance shakes his head with half-lidded eyes and wonders if this is a dream. He feels like he's a million miles away, so distant. Things are happening and he feels terrible.

"Did it start before the mission?"

Lance closes his eyes and nods. He trusts Shiro to get them to wherever they're going. This doesn't even feel real. He's so dizzy and tired.

He doesn't even remember getting to his room, because the next thing he knows he's being lowered gently onto his bed, and Shiro's pulling off his boots as Lance presses his face into his blessedly cool pillow. No face mask, no sleep mask, no headphones, that's how bad he feels.  

He's helped out of his jacket by steady hands and Shiro drapes a blanket over him.

"Get some rest, it's been a long day," Shiro murmurs. He places a large hand on the crown of Lance's head for a moment and then he's gone.

Lance sleeps.

He's woken by the frantic blaring of the alarm, Allura's shrill voice over the intercom, and he realizes immediately that the world is on fire.

His limbs are sore and stiff, he shakes badly as he struggles to sit up in bed. The alarm is drilling holes into his skull, beating it with rocks and wooden clubs, he wants to grab his head and just squeeze the pain away.

The door slides open and Pidge swings in the threshold, looking impossibly put together despite the literal three seconds since the alarm went off. "This gonna be a repeat of last time?" she calls, already running down the hall.

Her voice hurts his head. His stomach twists and a wave of goosebumps settle over the backs of his arms. "I'm coming," he calls, voice weak. He pushes himself up to stand on knees that wobble and tries to blink the spots out of his vision as he stumbles down the hall.

They're all there when he reaches the bridge, and he feels hot shame blossom in his cheeks---or it might just be the fever, he doesn't know. He draws his wrinkled jacket tighter around himself and grinds his molars together to stop the shiver that threatens to crawl up his spine. He quickly falls in line next to Keith, who looks at him like he's two feet tall and Lance honestly doesn't have the energy right now. His legs feel like they're gonna give out any second.

Shiro doesn't spare him a second glance, which is fine because he's focused on the mission. Lance is glad.

Allura rambles through an explanation of a distress signal received from an allied planet. Something about an ambush, Lance can't pay attention well enough to actually listen. With creeping dread and a foggy mind, he realizes that he should definitely speak up now. He feels like he's gonna collapse any second.

Keith nudges him sharply in the ribs. "Pay attention," he hisses sharply through clenched teeth.

Lance swallows uneasily. On second thought, speaking up might not be such a good idea. They can't form Voltron if he sits out, and he doesn't want to look like an idiot. He's supposed to be a Savior of the Universe, so maybe he can just push through.

He glances at Shiro, gaze steely as ever.

He can push through. He'll be fine.

A sharp voice cuts through the fog. "Lance!"

He snaps back to reality with a nauseating jolt. Allura and Coran are staring at him, the rest of the team is nowhere to be found.

"Get to your lion!" Allura says expectantly, and he spins around way too fast and forces his legs to move and ohhhhmygod that's a head rush...

Thaaaat's a head rush...

He somehow makes it to Blue, who rumbles as he suits up with arms like limp spaghetti noodles.

"Lance!" Keith is barking into the comms as soon as he gets his helmet on.

"I'm sorry, I'm coming."

His body aches, the suit is rubbing and pulling at all of the wrong places on his skin, his helmet makes him feel dizzy and trapped.

It's going to be a long day.

Keith, Shiro and him are on foot, exploring the planet while Hunk and Pidge stay in the atmosphere and scan for lifesigns.

They leave their lions in what looks to be a cave of some sort, but honestly Lance is trying too hard not to throw up and cry to pay attention to landmarks.

They walk over the sprawling jungle landscape, there's greenery everywhere and the colors all around are making his head spin.

( This is getting to the point that you should say something... )

You'll be fine. Keep going. Almost there.

( They don't care, don't think they care that you don't feel good, just keep going. You're okay, you're gonna be okay, you're strong, keep going, keep going )

"There should be a distress beacon of some sort around here, keep your eyes peeled," Shiro prattles on, and Lance is trying his best to listen but he feels woozy and distant and so, so tired . For the last five minutes, he's been trying his best not to trip and fall, and he picks up his head when a flashing red light catches his eye between some trees.

The last thing he wants to do when he feels this unwell is talk, but he takes a shallow breath and says, "Guys, I--"

And his knees buckle and his body chooses that moment to pitch forward into the ground.

Lance

Lance.

" Lance! "

His eyesight is failing, gray-tinged, everything sounds like he's underwater.

Helmet off. Cool hands, on his face, on his neck. Gentle.

" God--he's burning up, Lance, why didn't you say something-- "

Propped up against a tree, rough on his back, feels so dizzy.

" Shiro-- "

His vision finally steadies and he just manages to catch a glimpse of his teammate's worried faces before the trunk caves and the tree swallows him.

" Oh-- ”

" Lance! "

The world goes dark this time.

.

Heat.

There's a fire.

He opens his eyes to an intricate carving, dug into the pressed dirt below. It's part of a larger piece, sandy-brown and carved almost relative to hieroglyphs, except these are all interwoven, like a channel for something. The center seems to be the fire, a massive wooden mass that burns so brightly that it hurts Lance's teeth.

His neck aches, his head weighs a thousand pounds, he finally tips his face up when the roaring in his ears becomes too much.

Oh, god.

He's in a massive clearing, surrounded by dark jungle. There are creatures, everywhere. People with tails, pointed faces like foxes, his chest feels like it's stuttering, stopping. They're chanting. Not in a language Lance knows, those aren't words---

His wrists.

He's bound to a tree. He's tied to a massive tree, ropes slicing into his wrists above his head, fingers throbbing with the lack of blood, ropes around his ankles, much in the same fashion.

This can't be a dream. This feels too real. The heat from the fire is so intense that his skin feels like it's smouldering, is hard to breathe.

One of the fox-people is standing. He comes close to Lance, and Lance feels so weak, so tired, he's scared--

"He wakes."

Everything is suddenly deathly still. The chanting stops so Lance can only head the ringing of his ears and the throb of his pulse in his temples. His back aches, his legs shake, the only sound is from the fire that crackles madly.

The fox person has paint on his face, streaks of blue and green and red, on his snout, below his eyes, tracing his jaw. The sky is darkening behind him, an old filtered purple-blue, dim and daunting.

"Lance!"

That's Keith's voice. He knows that's Keith's voice, he'd know it anywhere.

It takes almost all of his energy to lift his chin from his chest. At his 3 o'clock, through blurry eyes, there's Keith and Shiro, helmets ripped off, in their flightsuits, led in by large walking stone-people. This planet...

Lance wants to cry. The ropes burn, His heart sinks, he feel is so weak.

"Lance!"

Shiro is shouting now, Lance can make out their faces as they near the fire. Streaked with the same paint that the fox-person has in front of him, they look panicked and roughed-up but relatively unharmed.

They're okay. That's... That's good.

His suit--

His suit. It's gone.

His chin hits his chest again, he looks at himself and sees nothing but his boxers, now tattered and dirty.

What...

The noise is back, the people are screaming again, chanting, he tastes blood and he's going to throw up.

"Order!"

"It's okay, Lance," Shiro shouts across the dirt engraving. "Just hang on, bud--"

There's a thunk and Shiro's been clocked by the butt of one of their weapons, Lance can feel the panic rising up his throat. Keith looks like he’s about to fight but a threatening glare from one of the stone guards tells him that he's next.

Shiro lifts his head, eyes hardened. "What do you want with us?"

It's like this is a movie, and scenes are just skipping. Fast-forwarding, scattered puzzle pieces, Lance can't seem to put this together.

"He is your weak one. We will give up his spirit to the planet, his soul will leave his body and bless our crops for the future," the creature says, well-articulated and enough to make Lance's heart crawl into his throat. He can barely comprehend a word, but soul will leave his body--

"Lance!"

Is this a nightmare? Is this a fever dream, this has to be a fever dream--

"Lance!"

He's a sacrifice.

"My people, like up and leave your mark on this sacrifice."

His body is lead. He's tied to a tree and he’s hot and cold and Lance knows in his heart that he's about to die.

He makes eye-contact with Keith across the clearing. His heart twists, Keith looks terrified. Lance's chest shudders. He didn't realize that he was crying, but he can feel the tears in his cheeks, the chills running up his back. "It's okay," Keith mouths, and Lance knows that it's not. It's really not okay.

I don’t want to die.

"Your sacrifice will not be in vain, weakest Knight of Voltron," the creature says to him lowly.

Something pinches on his leg, He takes a sharp breath.

Shiro yells, Keith's voice is hoarse.

He lets his head hang and sees through hot tears that there is a knife sticking out of his thigh.

Lance doesn't know if the person who is screaming is him, but it's torn-up and agonizing and sad, it's painful, he--

The blood. His leg is gushing blood.

It drips down his bare calf, down his ankle, his heels and into the dirt below. Into the cracks of the carving, and the ground is lighting up, it glows.

He can barely hear Keith and Shiro over the cheers of the creatures, he can barely hear their voices. His ears are roaring, his limbs tingle in their restraints, the ropes are raw, he's gonna pass out, he's gonna pass out

A different creature takes the leader's place. They look him in the eyes. Their eyes are black, beady, like marbles-- Lance used to play marbles when he was little, near the beach in a parking lot with cracked asphalt, hot sun rising off the asphalt in waves, his cousins--

There are hands on his neck.

The creature's eyes don't blink.

Lance can't scream, he can't breathe

Get off get off

The edges of his vision to dark, his heart is beating so fast it's not, his cells are screaming, he's squirming against the ropes and his skin is cut, raw, he's trying to kick, to bite, His tongue hangs uselessly, He can't breathe he's gonna die he's gonna die

His vision blacks out and he can feel his legs go slack, screaming screaming screaming

Lance.

" LANCE !"

Shiro. Shiro is howling. Screaming, Shiro is screaming his name.

He hacks and his lungs gulp in air, his chest burns and aches, he's sobbing, tears stream down his face. The air is going on and out so fast, he thinks his trachea is going to rip, he needs air. He keeps choking.

His leg throbs, he tries to slow his breaths. His head is hanging, he can see the blood seeping through all of the channels that make up the symbols in the hardened dirt, flowing closer and closer to the fire, the fire that roars and burns

"Hang on, Lance, just hang on," Keith calls, and he sounds like he's close to tears.

Is Keith crying?

Lance's airway feels flat now. Like a crushed paper towel roll. It was crushed, his windpipe was crushed.

There's sweat all over his body, mixing with the dirt, he can feel it run down the small of his back and soak into his waistband. He knows he's really sick, he's freezing, and he doesn't know when he started to shiver and shake, but his body is certainly trembling now.

"Stay awake, Lance!"

The situation is crumbling around him, he's probably on the verge of having a panic attack but he's too sick to understand that. He feels open his eyes just in time to see an unfamiliar hand yank the blade out of his leg.

The world whites out.

It comes back and the tip of the blade is tracing up and down his navel.

"Look at me."

Lance can't.

Pain explodes across his cheek, someone has struck him, he feels the sting and then his chin is grabbed and he's face-to-face with... with someone, they look so, so evil , and he shudders and nearly vomits.

The grin that spreads across their cracked lips will haunt his dreams for months.

The blade is drawn sharply across both arms, and he might cry out but he just can't tell anymore.

He's never felt more dizzy or light in his life. The blood splatters, fat red drops filling the crevices below him. More and more, he watches. He lets his eyes slip shut.

He doesn't understand.

"Lance!"

Lance

Lance.

Lashes, across his stomach, seeping, and then he's falling forward into someone's arms, strong and unwavering.

They're on the ground--

"Lance, can you hear me?"

Shiro. It's Shiro, but he just can't open his eyes. He just can't. His head lolls and he feels so dizzy, his stomach burns and his head spins violently and two strong arms pull him and lift him up. He's cradled to someone's chest, and his head bumps against a shoulder, Shiro's shoulder, his skin is on fire, he can't breathe---

"I've got you, Lance, you’re safe. You’re safe. We're going to get you help, okay? Just hang on, buddy. Stay with me."

He opens his eyes to the ceiling of a lion, he's cradled in someone's lap, there are hands running through his hair. His heart is beating too hard in his chest.

People are pushing on his legs, his stomach, holding rags and towels that blossom an angry red, Keith's face, in and out.

"Lance, can you hear me?"

He can hear Shiro talking to him, but he can't talk back.

He sees a pod, and there are hands pushing him into it, promises that they'll be right there when he gets out.

Lance thinks he must be dead.

-

The next thing he knows, he's falling out of the pod and into Shiro's arms.

The injuries are gone, but he feels...

He still feels horrible.

"Unfortunately, the pods are unable to treat illnesses, only injuries," Coran speaks softly as he lies back on a metal table.

He's still freezing. Shiro hasn't left his side.

"What's his temperature right now?" Shiro asks. He looks horrible, bags under his eyes but Lance can't even begin to imagine what he himself must look like right now.

"One-hundred and three point seven," Coran recites. "In earthly Fahrenheit, that is."

"Is there anything we can do?"

Coran frowns. "Unfortunately, we have remedies suitable for only Alteans. The best we can do is keep watch and try to cool the poor boy off as best we can."

Lance looks up at Shiro, who gives him a sad smile. "Hey buddy, let's get you to bed."

Shiro wraps an arm around his shoulders and they walk painfully slow out of the medbay and through the halls. Lance feels like he's about to collapse with every step, legs trembling like a newborn sheep or something. Shiro holds him tightly and does most of the walking.

They reach his room and he curls up in bed. "I'm sorry," he murmurs.

Shiro sighs and the bed creaks, Lance can feel the slight dip. "It's not your fault," Shiro says, voice like gravel. "I just don't know why you didn't say anything before."

Lance shivers. "I..." didn't think you'd care. Didn't think it would matter.

"Look," Shiro says, "I'm not sure why you thought going on a mission when you were this sick would be okay, or any we would think that okay, but it's not. I just--" he blows out a breath. "I'm not trying to sound harsh, Lance, I just--we were really worried. You were not okay."

"I know," Lance says smally. Tears start to well in his eyes. He feels so stupid. He's an idiot, such an idiot --

Shiro places a large hand on his back. "You mean a lot to us. We would have helped you if you'd have said something, this isn't boot camp--"

"I didn't know."

"What?"

"I didn't know if you would believe me," Lance says wetly. "I didn't know if you would believe me, or if I was going to be a burden, and I didn't want to seem stupid or like I didn't care. I know it's been rough lately, I just--I thought I could keep it t-together--Shiro, I'm sorry --"

"Oh, Lance."

He starts to cry.

Heavy sobs that hurt his chest, He's can't help it, he just wants to go home. He doesn't feel good, he wants to go home, his skin burns, he feels like he's on fire. He wants to see his mom, his siblings, drink homemade soup out of a coffee mug, he doesn't want to be in space anymore. He's so tired, he doesn't feel good, he doesn't want to be in space. He wants to go home.

"Shh, Lance. It's okay."

"Shiro," he croaks, "Shiro... please." A chill knives up his spine and he chokes on a whimper. "I wan' to go home."

A hand rubs circles on his back. "I know. I know, Lance. I'm sorry, I..."

The tears on his face make him dizzy. Just let him go home, please, he wants to go home. He misses his family.

"Shiro, please," he whimpers. He tangles shaking fingers in his sheets, cries into the open air.

Shiro's voice sounds funny. "It's okay, Lance. Listen to me, you're not a burden, okay? We're gonna take care of you, it's gonna get better. It's okay."

He can't stop crying. He curls up and buries his face in Shiro's knees, shudders and breathes shallow.

Hands on his back, on his head, soothing voice, Lance's chest aches. "I know. I know."

Someone else comes. "Keith, can you--"

He still cries. He's ruining Shiro's pants, but Shiro pulls him closer when he tries to move. "Shhh. It's okay. I know you don't feel good. Try to relax."

Time moves thickly, in globs like peanut butter. He lies against Shiro for minutes hours, days.

He opens his eyes and he's upright, someone's trying to pour water into his mouth. He chokes and it spills down his shirt a bit until his throat catches up with his mouth and he swallows. It feels gross.

Something damp and cool runs across his face, soft fabric. "Shhh. You're alright, Lance. We've got you."

Time passes.

He opens his eyes to darkness, to steady breathing. He's curled against someone's toned chest.

They're warm and the arm that wraps around him is big and comforting.

Shiro.

"Shh. Just rest, Lance."

He does.