Archive of Our Own ^beta

If there was one thing Lance wouldn’t admit, it was this. He had a deep love for suicide. The concept enamored him. From the first time he watched a movie with a graphic death, to his own, he loved suicide. The idea of taking your own life, of people feeling guilty for what they’ve done to you. In a way, it turned him on.

Lance had a problem with self harm. He didn’t do it because he was depressed, really. He liked to see his insides. In his dreams, he would use his hands to tear open his stomach and touch his organs. In real life, he would stay awake till the early hours of morning, then hide in his bathroom with a towel and cut himself. His thighs, of course. He could wear shorts to cover the bandages and scars, but sometimes he liked to wear tank tops and short sleeves.

He didn’t want anyone to worry about him. He wasn’t in danger. There were no real plans to kill himself. He wasn’t going to kill himself, he just liked the pain. He wouldn’t admit it, but he liked when he got hurt in training. When he bit his lip too hard and made himself bleed, he feigned being upset because the rest of the team was there.

When he was thirteen, he stole five dollars from his mother. He spent that money on shaving razor refill blades. They were sharp and easy to hide. That was the first time he cut himself deep enough to see yellow past the red flesh. He carried his blades around everywhere with him. In a little tiny Altoids box. Thirty little blades wrapped in paper with a handful of little bandages. The box fit in his big jacket without anyone noticing. When he went to space at seventeen, he had that box.

Then he got hit in battle. Lasers, oh, they felt good. One little second being hit by a laser left him with a second degree burn. As it healed, he would touch it and press on it, he’d put so much pressure on it he would brim with tears. But he couldn’t stop. Once it healed, he was very disappointed.

One thing that no one told him about cutting yourself, well, you get very self conscious. You worry that every touch could lead to discovery. That makes you distance yourself from others. As much as Lance flirted, he knew he would stay a virgin forever. Sex intimidated him. What if he was too ugly. What if his body was repulsive. The ugly, bumpy scars. What if he was too fat. He was already pretty skinny, but what if that wasn’t enough? What if he was too annoying. What if his breath was weird or he didn’t keep up his hygiene good enough because no one ever taught him how to do it right? One little doubt, it lead to many.

Another thing no one tells you (what, like there’s a guide?) about self harm is that you get scared when you unintentionally hurt yourself. Once, lance got cut by his teammate’s sword in a fight. It left a gash on his stomach. He felt guilty. “I didn’t step in on purpose,” He kept telling everyone. Of course, they believed him. No one would purposely hurt themselves. Keith, said teammate, even apologized. A little unlike him.

The last thing, though this one was more of a Lance thing, is that he was scared that if he got too injured and couldn’t fight anymore, his team would be mad at him. “You did it on purpose,” he was scared to hear those words. If they thought he did an accident on purpose, what would they say if they found out the things he really did on purpose?

Keith Kogane. His teammate. They both piloted the red lion. Keith, not anymore, but it counted. They both came from earth, they both went to the Garrison. They had so much in common, right? His stomach did loops when he was around Keith, it was that same erotic feeling he got when he hurt himself.

Lance didn’t really know romance. He knew he was feeling it for Keith, but how on earth would he approach him? What if all his worst fears about himself and his body came true? Was Lance really unlovable?

The night Lance died, it was quiet. He wasn’t depressed, he wasn’t suicidal, he wasn’t any of those. It was just… something he wanted to try. He needed to try it one day. Zarkon was dead, Lotor was happy with Allura… everything was fine. Keith was with the Blade of Marmora, he was safe. Shiro could pilot the black lion. They didn’t need Voltron anymore. They would find a new Paladin if things went south. He wouldn't play if anything was at risk.

Lance, really, was just playing around. He willed his bayard into a gun. For a while, he just sat in bed caressing his gun. It was fine. Something he did a lot, when he thought about killing himself. His TV was playing some cheesy Altean romance, which he watched with attentive focus.

“Lesia, I love you!”

“You loved the idea of me! No one loved me when I changed! And now, I’m my old self again, and you love me again,”

“I loved you when you changed,”

Lance stares at his screen with a starstruck awe. His face was red at the show, imagining Keith talking to him like that. Deciding not to focus on that anymore, Lance fumbles with his gun. Unsafely, he has his hand on the trigger when he rests his chin on the barrel of his gun. He sits like that as he watches the show. Just like he likes, sooner or later a character is standing on the ledge of a balcony.

They’re going to jump.

“Lesia! Don’t”

“Lesia, please, I have never lied to you!”

“Lesia!”

Then an alarm blares over the castle PA. Lance doesn’t know what it means, and he never will. Because in his moment of alarm, his finger slips. For a split second, he thinks about gun safety. Shiro had shown him that so long ago. What was it, a year now, that they had gone to space?

The laser bullet shoots right through his chin, his head launches back and hits the wall by his bed, and his arms fall limp at his side. The bayard shrinks back to its handle.