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autisticlancemcclain · 2 years

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part one

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The slow and careful creaking of his door opening is what wakes Coran from his slumber. The next thing he hears is quiet footsteps, slow and careful, like a lion cub carefully sneaking up on its mother.

Coran grumbles, squeezing his eyes shut tighter and tensing in wait. He knows exactly what’s coming.

“Coran!” comes a whispered yell, right before 140 pounds of scrawny Latino human comes running and landing on top of Coran’s poor body in a flop. “Coran Coran Coran you need to wake up –” Lance needles, shaking the Altean’s shoulder.

“Oof,” Coran groans, feeling his very bones creak. He sighs, although he can’t help the smile taking over his face. “It is early, Lance. I am old. Go back to bed. Wake me up in the morning.”

Lance’s knee digs into the Altean’s back as he moves, turning around to flop on his back (still on top of Coran, of course).

“But the sky’s awake, so I’m awake,” Lance huffs theatrically. Coran can imagine him throwing a dramatic elbow over his eyes.

"It’s the middle of the night, child. You are growing. You need sleep.”

“That’s not true anymore!” Lance says excitedly, squirming around some more. “It’s past midnight! It’s my birthday! I’m 18 years old!” He shakes Coran’s shoulder again, and Coran opens one bleary eye, taking in Lance’s blinding beam and flapping hand. “I’m an adult now!”

18? Adult? Please.

“If your argument to your newfound adulthood and lack of further growth is that you have completed 18 trips around your sun, then I have some shocking news for you, dear.”

Lance pouts at him, and Coran groans one more time, before hefting himself up.

“No need to pout, Number Four. I’m up.”

Lance claps his hands, elated, and Coran smiles fondly as he drags himself out of bed.

“Okay okay okay! Meet me at the bridge! I already went to three locations, but I need your help to get to the fourth, so meet me there!”

…Locations?

Lance rushes out of the room before Coran can ask further questions.

Suspicious.

Coran shrugs, changing out of his blue silk pajamas into his royal attendant uniform. He doesn’t have to wear it, not anymore, but he likes wearing it. It was designed especially for him, after all. (And any memory from Altea always brings him deep comfort, even with the accompanying painful sting of loss).

Coran takes his sweet time strolling to the bridge, enjoying the quiet of the night. He finally arrives after several minutes of walking, and he pauses at the door, grinning as he watches the Blue Paladin dance around the bridge.

Lance twirls around, humming to himself, stopping abruptly when he sees Coran, nearly falling right over.

“Coran! You’re here! Let’s go!”

Coran squints at him.

“Leandro Agustìn,” Coran scolds as he’s heard Hunk do several dozen times, “is that a scar on your face?”

Lance smiles sheepishly. “Location 2 was a dragon’s den, it was wicked. She thought I was attacking her at first so she scratched me, but then we bonded and we’re friends now! She even let me keep this cool diamond.” Lance pulls a diamond seemingly from thin air, roughly the size of his face. Coran raises an eyebrow. He decides not to address the fact that Lance approached an actual dragon on his own, because honestly Lance is excellent with dangerous animals and has yet to give Coran a reason to doubt his abilities, and he has remained in one piece, so Coran’s not going to push the matter.

“Lance, child, you have not yet explained what these ‘locations’ are,” Coran reminds him. “I’m a little lost.”

“Oh! Right!”

Lance strides over to his station, grabbing his holopad and hurrying back to Coran. He flips it over, showing Coran a document with nothing on it but a few coordinates, no context at all.

“So this future version of me visited me at midnight,” he says casually. “We chatted for a bit, but he told me the reason he contacted me was because there was a list of locations he needed to show me that I am not, under any circumstance, meant to visit. So I ignored him immediately, obviously. The first location was this cool beach planet about a twenty minute flight from here – the time there ran differently, so I got to spend like two days scuba diving and it was my birthday the whole time! Only, like, a half-hour had passed when I got back to the Castle. Isn’t that cool? And look, these are all the shells I got!”

He pulls out a huge bag of shells, also seemingly from nowhere. Coran blinks at him.

“Oh, wow,” he says, leaning forward to inspect them closer, “these are beautiful shells! Excellent eye, my boy!”

Lance beams at him. “Thank you! They were fun to collect.” He sets the bag down carefully on his chair, then turns back to Coran. “The last location I’ve been to so far was this piercing place! Look!” He sticks out his tongue, showing off a blue stud nestled proudly in the muscle.

Coran grins. “That explains the lisp.”

Lance closes his mouth, smile sliding right back into place. “Yep! I don’t mind it though, I look so cool. My sister has a tongue piercing, I’ve always wanted one, so I was so pumped to pull up at the parlour.”

“Those sound like excellent adventures, Lance.”

“They were! The rest of the coordinates are too far to reach in Blue, though. That’s why I need your help!”

“For wormholes?”

“Yep! The next set of coordinates is in the Seflarn quadrant.”

“Oh, that’s quite a distance away,” Coran agrees, walking over to the podium. He stands with his hands above the controls, and Lance sits on the floor (he has informed Coran in the past of his hatred for chairs). Coran’s eyes glow as his palms make contact with the controls as his quintessence connects and intertwines with the quintessence from the Balmeran crystal. In one second he’s envisioning the notorious emptiness of the Seflarn galaxy, in the next, they’ve arrived. Lance is the first of them to move, rushing forward to the control board and leaning as far as he can over it.

“Whoa,” Lance says as he takes in the galaxy before him, “this bitch is empty. Yeet, I guess. Damn.”

Coran doesn’t know what half of those words mean, but he understands the sentiment. “Yes, child. This galaxy is very, very old. Most of it has already faded away. In a few thousand years, it shall simply be empty space.”

“Hey, what’s that over there?” Lance asks, pointing to a growing flash of bright light a ways to the left. Coran squints at it, considering, and they both realise what it is at the same time, gasping.

“A supernova! Happening right now! At this very second!” Lance exclaims. Coran rushes over to join him by the giant window, so he can see it better.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a star go supernova,” Coran comments.

“This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Lance breathes, and Coran chuckles.

“I take it you’ve never seen one before?”

Lance shakes his head, not taking his eyes off the star for even a second. Coran smiles, quietly taking in the boy’s wide-eyed wonder. To say Lance looks awed is an understatement.

It’s very sweet.

“Coran, Coran, look! It’s really starting to explode! Oh, wow, it’s so bright!”

Coran glances at the star, briefly, but finds himself looking back at Lance. He’s seen a supernova before, but it’s been a long time since he’s seen Lance look so elated. He knows which sight he will cherish more.

Lance continues to supply a running commentary, eyes glued to the fiery explosion. As the life of the star comes to an end, and the light finally fades away, Lance looks back towards Coran. He is shaking with glee.

“That. Was. So. Cool!” he yells, pumping his fists.

“That it was, dear boy,” Coran agrees, although the brightness he’s envisioning did not come from a star. “That it was.”

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autisticlancemcclain · 2 years

Text

part one

part two

———

Hunk wakes up groggy and confused. Why is he awake? He doesn’t usually wake up in the middle of the night. That’s more Lance’s thing.

Wait.

Lance.

He shoots straight up, heart pounding, turning desperate and bleary eyes to the oven’s clock. He finds, to his horror, that it is currently three in the morning, meaning three hours past midnight, meaning he fucking missed the chance to wish Lance his first happy birthday of the day.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” he curses, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and rushes the finish icing the damn cupcake he apparently fell asleep trying to decorate. It’s not like Lance will be mad at him, or anything. But the two of them have had the midnight birthday wishes tradition going on for years, and Hunk is upset to have been the one to break that streak. And on such an important birthday, no less!

He finally finishes icing the cupcake, sticking a candle in it and shoving a lighter in his pocket. He slides the cupcake onto Lance's favourite plate (it’s the only plate in the set with a tiny chip on the side, and as with most broken or disliked things, Lance loves it for the simple reason that no one else does), and pauses, taking a deep breath. He’s already late. It’s done, it cannot be undone. Continuing to fret about it will only make him frazzled and upset, and he doesn’t want to be frazzled and upset. He wants to celebrate his best friend’s birthday. Once he feels calm enough, he heads over to Lance’s room, peeking his head in.

No Lance.

That’s not unusual. Lance is the worst sleeper Hunk knows, and likes to wander around. There’s a list of other places he tends to frequent, and Hunk checks the list off one by one – observation deck, pool, Keith’s room (not that Lance would ever admit to spending a ridiculous amount of time hanging out with Keith, but Hunk knows better), Pidge’s workshop, the long-range training deck, the sewing room – but Lance isn’t in any one of them. At this point, Hunk is starting to freak himself out again, so he decides to stop and approach the situation a little more rationally.

Lance could be anywhere, really. He likes to explore. Hunk could spend another fifteen minutes searching for him, or he could just borrow Pidge’s B.L.I.P. reader and find him immediately. Hunk doubles back towards Pidge’s workshop, quickly locating the device and booting it up.

Ah, Lance is on the bridge. And he’s with Coran, apparently. Hunk quickly makes his way over, finding Lance and Coran deep in conversation about the differences in Altean and Terran precipitation.

Nerds.

He clears his throat to make his presence known, and is a little pleased to see how quickly Lance lights up as soon as he sees Hunk. He knows Lance loves him, obviously, but nothing boosts your confidence like someone’s first reaction to your presence being overwhelming joy.

God, Hunk loves his best friend.

“Hunk!” Lance greets, waving him over. “Come sit with us!”

“Happy birthday, Lance!” Hunk says as he walks over. He holds the cupcake in front of him, which makes Lance clap his hands and then hold them out expectantly. He hands Lance the plate, and Lance wastes no time squeezing his eyes shut and making a wish before blowing out the candle.

“What’d you wish for?” Hunk asks, like he does every year.

Lance makes a face at him, like he does every year. “It’s like you want my wish to not come true.”

Coran looks intrigued. “Humans have the power to negate wishes simply by hearing them?”

“No, no, that’s just a superstition,” Hunk assures.

“No it’s not!” Lance argues. “The only time my birthday wish didn’t come true was the time I told you I wished for a pet black widow in grade three!”

Hunk just shakes his head in fond exasperation, deciding not to mention the fact in no universe would Mrs. McClain ever allow tiny, clumsy, excitable baby Lance to have a deadly venomous spider as a pet.

“Anyways,” Lance continues, changing the subject. “Guess what I’ve done for my birthday so far!”

Hunk raises an eyebrow. “In the three hours since midnight, you’ve managed to do something specific?”

“You’d be surprised,” Coran comments, chuckling.

Honestly, Hunk has known Lance long enough that he doubts it.

“I got a visit from my future self telling me a list of places I shouldn’t ever visit so I visited them and they were so fun!”

Hunk blinks. Huh. That is surprising. He stands corrected.

“And I got a bunch of cool shells and I met a dragon and she gave me a really cool face scar –” Hunk does a double take, noticing that yes, Lance does have a new scar running from just above his left eyebrow to just below his cheekbone, what the fuck – “and also this huge diamond and I got this tongue piercing and I got to watch a real live supernova! Isn’t that the coolest thing in the world!”

Hunk barely understood the last couple part’s of Lance’s sentence, as Lance had his tongue stuck out to show off his piercing, but he gets the gist.

You know what? This isn’t even the craziest thing Lance has gotten into. It really isn’t. That title remains for the time trained a raccoon to attack on sight and almost got Hunk’s childhood bully scratched to death. (They were 9 at the time.)

“Alright,” Hunk says tiredly, because being friends with Lance is really just Like That sometimes. “I’m assuming you’re trying to hit every location on the list?”

“Of course!” Lance says cheerfully, and honestly? Hunk won’t lie. It sounds kind of fun. Besides, if Lance’s future self hasn’t popped back up to stop them, then it’s probably okay.

“Prepare yourself for the next wormhole jump, lads,” Coran says, and off they go.

When the wormhole aftermath clears, they find themselves right in front of what looks to be a very busy Earth, if Earth was pink and orange.

“The coordinates for this location are some of the more specific ones, like the third one, so it’s probably a specific place on the planet,” Lance explains, “so we’ll have to take Blue.”

The three of them make their merry way towards the Blue Lion’s hangar, and Lance pilots them down to the planet’s surface with no issues (and only one random and nausea-inducing barrel roll, but Hunk allows it because it is Lance’s birthday and he’s allowed to do dumbass things on his birthday. That’s, like, the rule).

Lance leads them through an incredibly busy city, through crowded roads and twisted alleyways, until he stops right in front of what seems to be a tattoo parlour.

“Sick!” Lance cheers. “More impulse body modification! Awesome!”

Hunk and Coran share an amused look.

“Do you even want a tattoo?” Hunk asks.

“Yes, obviously. I want, like, 200, but I’ll settle for maybe six.”

“You’ll be here all day, child,” Coran reminds him.

“Ugh, I forgot about stupid time,” Lance pouts, making Hunk huff and nudge him in the side.

“How about we get that matching tattoo we’ve been wanting to get for a while?” he suggests.

Lance brightens immediately. “Yes yes yes! The goggles?”

They had the idea when they were about fifteen. They’ve been friends all their lives, a team in every possible way, but there had been something especially exciting about being on an actual team together, for the first time at the Garrison – the engineer and the pilot. They’d wanted a way to commemorate that, and both wanted a symbol that was common between them but different enough to be individual, as well. They’d come up with the idea of aviator goggles and welding goggles – same concept, entirely different functions, entirely intertwined. As dorky as it was, Hunk found it charming.

“The goggles,” he agrees.

They make their way into the tattoo parlour, luckily pretty empty at this hour, Lance explaining the concept to Coran as Hunk sorts out payment with the receptionist. Twenty minutes later, they’re both sat on giant, leather chairs that remind Hunk of the dentist’s office.

“Where are these tattoos going to be, gentlemen?” the artist asks.

Hunk and Lance turn to look at each other.

“Any ideas?” Hunk asks.

“What if he got them on our legs? Like, side of the calf, right above our ankles?”

“Hugely specific,” Hunk notes. “Why that place particularly?”

“Our first team was the engineer and the pilot. Our new team, our most important team, is the Legs of Voltron. I think it’d be a cool reminder,” Lance explains.

Hunk grins at him, and then nods at the artist. “That sounds perfect.”

The artist – who almost looks like a humanoid octopus slash iguana, and works on them both simultaneously which is so cool – gets right to work.

Lance and Hunk inhale sharply at the exact same time, because holy shit, that hurts more than they expected. Like, they’re Paladins of Voltron, sure, but yeesh. It turns out that a very sharp needle stabbing in and out at 3000 times per minute and dragging through their skin actually does hurt a whole lot, Jesus Lord Above.

Lance reaches out a hand, and Hunk does not hesitate to grab and squeeze it. They keep their hands clutched the whole time the artist works, which honestly doesn’t take long because the tattoos aren’t that big.

On their way back to the castle, after the artist flashes some sort of light on their fresh tattoos which heals them immediately (space is so cool, man), Coran sends Hunk a photo to his holopad, one he took while the artist was working.

It’s a picture of Lance and Hunk, hands held together tightly, grinning at each other as their matching tattoos are nearly finished. It’s abundantly clear how excited they are, how much they care about each other. Hunk makes it his lockscreen immediately, thanking Coran profusely.

It may be Lance’s birthday, but that photo is honestly one of the best gifts Hunk has ever received.

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