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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year

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Lance never shuts the fuck up.

Keith can’t get enough of it.

It’s been like that for as long as Keith can remember. Lance was the motormouth in, like, 6 of his classes; always had his hand up with a question or answer, and comments in between. Keith had been annoyed with it, that first year.

But then he’d shared classes with Lance again.

And again.

By then, they’d had their fair share of group projects together. Keith came to know that for all he was a rambling mess, Lance was really fucking smart, and funny besides. He was also endlessly kind and supportive, at least when he wasn’t egging on their rivalry that he’d invented (and that Keith hadn’t known they’d had — not that he wasn’t an active participant, once he knew. Riling Lance up was the most fun he’d had in ages).

Keith doesn’t remember exactly when he’d started smiling whenever Lance looked at him, feeling proud whenever Lance got a question right in class. Doesn’t remember when the mild annoyance turned to genuine appreciation. He does remember looking down at his notes one day, in Algebra II, only to discover a blank page, and realising that he’d spent the whole class just watching Lance talk. (He also remembers feeling pleased instead of the disappointment he should have felt, because he figured he’d have an excuse to hear Lance talk more if he asked him to help Keith catch up. He knew he was in quite the mess, then.)

Keith knew he had a crush on Lance, after that. And Keith was never one to sit idly — he’d asked Lance on a date right then and there. Lance had, for the first time in Keith’s working memory, gone speechless. (And quite the pretty shade of red.)

The speechlessness didn’t last long, that’s for damn certain. Keith took Lance to the Applebee’s at the plaza near his house that very night, because Shiro worked there and would give him a discount. Also, Lance had once mentioned he liked the lemonade there.

Keith met Lance there because neither of them had their full license yet. He doesn’t remember what exact table they sat at, only that they must have been near a window, because Keith remembers swooning over the sunlight warming Lance’s beautiful brown eyes no less than six times. They’d ordered, Keith some sort of fried dish and Lance — Lance had ordered a four-cheese fettuccine with a garden salad and, of course, a lemonade. Keith remembers so specifically because Lance spent the next thirty minutes excitedly telling him every piece of history surrounding the dish, down to the prehistoric origins of wheat-made pasta and the disturbing account of the first pink lemonade. He’d looked sheepish after looking at his watch and realising how long he’d been talking, and Keith hadn’t known how to assure him that Lance could narrate every detail of paint drying in a wall and Keith would swallow up every word.

(Later that night, Shiro sent him a picture he took while the both of them were distracted — Lance, animatedly waving a fork in the air as he lectured, and Keith, chin in his hands, meal forgotten, looking at Lance with a face more besotted than he knew he was even capable of making.

Keith sent the photo to Lance, asking him if he’d like to go out again, confessing that he enjoyed every second of Lance’s rambling.

Lance said yes. Very quickly.)

The rest, to a degree, had been history. They’d dated for the rest of high school, staying together even as they attended university and trade school on either side of the country. It was easy, really. Lance made sure they always had something to talk about. (Lance loved university. He was enamoured with every second of it, every niche interest of his getting its fill. He switched his major fourteen separate times, chasing every one of his ambitions, and Keith loved every story he heard. He also liked becoming an expert by proxy, because that was inevitable — you could only hear about the important of spiders in the ecosystem so many dozen times before the information was reflective whenever someone brought up the subject.)

As soon as Keith got his mechanic’s certificate — and he passed his exam in the highest percentile, meaning he could practice anywhere in the country, much to his pleasure and Lance’s overwhelming pride — he took off to California, his one and only thought being that he had to get to Lance. (Not that it had been impulsive — this was planned, something they’d been waiting for. Did Keith run over as soon as he could? Yeah, kinda. So maybe it was a little impulsive. But mostly it was planned.)

Not to sound like a Disney princess, but Keith really felt like their life began once they moved in together. Keith was able to find a job at a pretty decent garage, bring in money for them immediately. Lance had his library job until he graduated, and of course then he was snatched up by the nearest ecological restoration effort — he got to spend his days crawling through the forest, fawning over every tiny bug and critter. He is so fucking cute. Keith loves him more than anything in the world.

Lance’s constant lectures never stopped, either — any interest he picked up, he told Keith about it. From his knitting club to the new beetle species he’d found at work, Keith got the pleasure of hearing about it. And it truly was a pleasure. Keith had his fair share of time being a motormouth, too — he’d bought a project bike as soon as they’d saved enough, and spent a fair chunk of free time building it back up. (Lance helped, or at least as much as he could. Mostly he sat in their garage, handing Keith tools, and talking about anything he could think of. If Keith could go back and tell his ten year old self what his future would look like… God. Sometimes he can’t even believe how lucky he got.)

Keith has it made. He comes home from work every day to Lance’s beaming smile and gentle teasing about the grease on his clothes. He’s got everything he’s ever wanted. He’s happy. So fucking happy.

Except that things have been a little different, recently. For the past few weeks, he’s been coming home to his usual smile and kiss, but the idle chattering or excited rambles — Keith feels as if they’ve become a rarity. Their home used to be filled with the sound of Lance’s voice, silent only when he’s reading or focused intently on something, eyes narrowed and tongue peeking out of his mouth.

Lance still looks happy. He still curls up with Keith on the couch after dinner, socked feet in Keith’s lap and three million blankets over his shoulders. He still sends Keith a myriad of heart emojis on his lunch break. Their sex life has not suffered.

But the lectures. The constant infodumps of whatever passing thing has grabbed Lance’s attention. They’re gone. And Keith’s devastated about it.

He misses Lance’s voice.

———

Shiro is not getting it.

“It doesn’t sound like a big deal,” he says, voice staticky because signal at the shop is ass. “I mean, maybe you two are just growing up and settling down. How long have you guys been together, now? Seven years? Eight?”

“Almost ten,” Keith says quietly.

Ten years of the same thing. This change is new. It’s strange, and Shiro isn’t getting it at all.

“Exactly! Ten years! You guys were so young when you started dating, kiddo. Hell, Lance was still wearing braces, wasn’t he? I’m not shocked that he’s mellowed out a little.” He chuckles to himself. “Hell, maybe he’s finally just learnt every bit of knowledge he finally can.”

Keith frowns. “I dunno, Shiro. Sometimes I feel like he wants to say something, but he’s holding himself back. Why would he ever hold himself back from me? I don’t — I don’t want him to hold back from me. I like it when he talks.”

“Tell him that, then. The only way you’re going to get answers is if you ask him, you dork.”

“Some brother you are,” Keith mutters, pouting. “You’re supposed to solve things for me.”

“Hm. Pretty sure you’re a grown-ass man who’s capable of solving his own problems, bud.”

“Ugh. You’re horrible. I’m changing the Netflix password to kick you off.”

Shiro laughs. “Sure! No more Costco membership for you. Password sharing goes both ways, you little snot. Now hang up and call your man. I have to leave for work soon.”

Despite his ongoing frustration, Keith can’t help a smile at the familiar banter. “Yeah, yeah. Enjoy your upcoming fourteen hour shift of hell.”

“Go fuck yourself! Love you!”

“Love you too. Bye.”

It shouldn’t really surprise him that Shiro’s no help. As much as he pesters his brother as often as possible and generally finds joy in making himself into a nuisance, they haven’t seen each other face-to-face since Christmas. They’ve lived in different states for years.

But, still. There’s some part of Keith that will always think of his big brother first when he has a problem. And that part of him had the right ideas, because Shiro is unfortunately right — he really does just need to talk to Lance. There’s not much else he can do.

He spends the rest of his shift wondering how he’s going to bring it up. He has his own motormouth moments, sure, but realistically? Keith doesn’t talk all the much. He’s more of an action person. How the hell is he supposed to breach the subject? ‘Hey, Lance. I’ve noticed that you are talking less. This change has consumed my every thought. I miss the sound of your voice. How come you don’t talk to me about your life anymore?’

Yeah, no. It sounds ridiculous even in his own head. He’ll have to — plan it out, maybe. He’s not sure. He’s never had to worry about making Lance talk more before.

He’s so distracted that he nearly burns off his eyeballs, forgetting to put on his welding mask before trying to make a part he couldn’t source for an older car. His boss sends him home early, worried he might accidentally leave a blowtorch by an air compressor or something and send the whole place up in smoke. Keith tries to take it as a blessing — maybe he’ll ride around on his bike for a while and clear his head. A way to bring it up might come to him naturally.

It doesn’t. He spends the whole ride just stressing himself out. He does drive by a flower stand, and turns around to pick up some poppies and peonies — Lance’s favourite. It won’t breach the subject, or anything, but it’ll make Lance smile. Hell, maybe he’ll start talking to Keith about all the different pollinators that made this bouquet possible. That would be a dream come true.

He hasn’t come up with any new ideas by the time he makes his way home, but he’s less stressed. He sets the flowers on the counter and takes a quick shower. Maybe he’ll start some dinner? Surprise Lance, for a change. Yeah. That won’t solve the problem, but it’ll be nice anyway.

He starts making four-cheese fettuccine and pink lemonade, because he is a sappy loser.

By the time he hears Lance’s key in the lock, he’s got the table set and the food is done. He keeps it heated on the stove, ducking into the bathroom to check his reflection as Lance steps into the apartment.

No grease smudges on his face. His hair is braided, the way that always makes Lance all blushy. He’s wearing the v-neck, too-tight black sweater that Lance likes, too. He’s got this. He doesn’t have a solid plan, or anything, but he thinks maybe if he turns up the romance then Lance will just spill whatever’s wrong. That works in the movies.

“Keith, baby? You home?”

“You have leaves in your hair,” Keith says, stepping out to meet Lance by the door. Lance smiles immediately, laughing to himself as he cards his fingers through his hair in an attempt to find them. Keith takes pity on him after a few seconds of fruitless searching, reaching forward and running gentle hands through the curly mess of his boyfriend’s hair, half to get out the leaves and half just to touch.

“Yeah — climbed a tree to check out a new weaver ant colony. Watched ‘em for hours — pretty boring, I’m sure you don’t want to hear it.”

I want to hear about it, Keith thinks mournfully. Please, please tell me about it.

“I made pasta,” Keith says quietly, when it’s clear that no more details are forthcoming. “And, uh, got you some flowers.” He tugs Lance gently towards the kitchen, placing the flowers in his hands.

“Oh, Keith, they’re gorgeous! Man, I love peonies. They looks like pink cabbages, it’s the best. And poppies —”

Yes, Keith thinks. Tell me about how California poppies were traditionally used as stress-relief medicine, but not like opioid red poppies. Tell me —

“I should put these in a vase,” Lance says instead of any of that. Keith feels like he could cry, honestly. Lance leans up and presses a kiss to his cheek, patting him on the chest. “You want to set the table while I do that? Or do you want to eat on the couch and watch a movie?”

“Table sounds good,” Keith says, because if they watch a movie then there’s no chance of Keith finding out what’s wrong.

“Okay! I’m going to get changed, too, I’ll meet you in ten.” Lance kisses him again and then rushes off. Keith waits until he’s disappeared into their bedroom to cover his face in his hands and scream silently.

Fuck! He just wants his Lance back. So badly. He wants to be woken up at strange hours of the night to hear about how trees communicate. He wants to get spam-texted as he’s trying to work, phone practically buzzing out of his pocket. He wants to hear about marketing strategies when they’re grocery shopping. He wants Lance to get distracted mid-sex by reading the back of the condom box, and then remarking with vague interest that they use the same dye in some cereals.

At the very least, he wants to know why Lance is acting so strange.

“So,” Lance says, once they’ve both settled down at the table and started to eat. “How come you’re home early?”

“Boss sent me home, I was distracted. I’m not mad, honestly. It’s been a while since I’ve done something special for you, which is a travesty.”

Lance smiles. “Dork. I appreciate it, though. Very sweet of you.” He shifts in his seat, tucking his legs up under him and leaning his head on his chin to look at Keith properly. “How come you were distracted?” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Thinkin’ about this hot bod all day?”

Keith huffs a laugh. “Somethin’ like that.”

“Tell me! I’m curious now. I have to know or I’ll die.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Mhm. That’s not even the half of it, and you know it. If you don’t tell me right now I’ll just start listing the names of royals throughout European history and how freaky it is that most of them are directly related.”

Lance is teasing. His tone is light and playful; he’s obviously trying to goad Keith into playing along and groaning theatrically. A few weeks ago, Keith might have given in easily, and started ribbing him about why on Earth he has the names memorized in the first place.

But all Keith can think about is just how badly he would love to hear that.

“Promise?”

Keith’s voice comes out embarrassingly sincere. Soft and hopeful and dead-serious.

Lance’s hand stills, mid pasta-swirl.

“You…want me to? List names of inbred royals?”

Keith swallows. It’s as good of a segue as any, he supposes.

“Yeah.”

“…Why?”

“Because I — I miss your voice, I guess.”

“Keith, I talk all the time,” Lance says, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He snorts to himself. “One might even say it’s my defining quality.”

“You haven’t been. Not recently. You used to talk all the time, but now — I dunno. The house is quiet. I miss you talking about random things. I miss hearing about your day and the million creatures you met and the people you saw on the bus home and the weirdly-shaped stone you tripped over on the sidewalk. I miss you bazillion lunch-break texts. I miss your running commentary when we watch a movie, even though you miss important dialogue and have to rewind to hear it again. I dunno. I just miss you.”

Keith keeps his eyes downcast on his plate as he speaks, and keeps it there after he finishes. He’s finished his food, already, but he can’t bring himself to look at Lance’s face.

“Keith?”

There’s a strange quality to Lance’s voice, a sort of — bewildered breathlessness. Keith risks a glance, finding his boyfriend staring at him with a dropped jaw and wide brown eyes.

“You really — you miss my motormouth?”

Keith shrugs. “I fell in love with your motormouth. Of course I miss it.”

That makes Lance’s cheeks heat, and he glances down at his plate like they’re teenagers again and Keith told him he was cute for the first time.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Keith’s not sure what else to say. He doesn’t know how to express that there’s nothing that Lance does that he dislikes, not truly. Sure, it’s annoying when Lance leaves a million half-full cups of water around the apartment, and Keith is regularly tripping over the shoes that he never puts away for some reason, but there’s nothing — every part of him is precious to Keith. Everything he does and everything he is, Keith knows he can’t live without.

“I know you love me,” Lance whispers. He looks pointedly away from Keith, pushing a couple wayward noodles around on his plate. “I’ve never — I’ve never needed to doubt that.”

Keith swallows. “Good.”

“I — yeah. You show me all the time. And, I mean, look at today! You brought me flowers home just because. You do things like that for me regularly; I never forget that you care about me. But —”

One word. Three measly letters. But it’s enough to feel like a stone is dropping on Keith’s chest.

“— sometimes I feel like I’m too much? Like, I’m kind of intense. I know that. And I can’t always tell when I’m being weird or annoying. And you’d never — you’d never string me along, I know that. If you stopped loving me you’d tell me.”

“I would never stop loving you.” Keith can’t say the words fast enough. He wants to print them out and — tattoo them on his forehead. Melt them into gold and press them into Lance’s hands. Smash them to dust and sprinkle them in the air. Whatever — whatever it takes to prove to Lance that they’re true.

Lance bites his lip. His eyes are wet. “I — I don’t want us to —”

Keith doesn’t wait for the tears to fall. He stands and hurries the two feet over to Lance’s chair, carefully pulling him up and wrapping tight arms around his waist. Lance falls into him willingly, resting his forehead on Keith’s shoulder and leaning into him.

“Three of my coworkers think I’m annoying,” he whispers, long after the food’s gone cold and the light from the window has begun to dim. After Keith’s arms have gone a little numb and a wet spot has grown where Lance’s face is pressed into his shirt. “I just thought — I thought we were friends, but I heard them talking about how exhausting I am to be around. I don’t want — I don’t want you to get tired of me, too.”

Keith closes his eyes as he exhales in a shudder, firmly reminding himself that unfortunately, being a two-faced asshole is not illegal, and Keith has no defense for hunting those shitheads down and murdering them a little.

“They are not worth the ground you walk on,” Keith whispers, pressing a firm kiss to Lance’s hair. “You have more value in your toenail clippings than they do in their entire bodies.”

Lance giggles wetly. “Gross.”

”I mean it,” Keith says, smiling. “I love you, Lance. All of you. I never get tired of listening to you talk. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

———

It takes a while. Those asshole coworkers did a number on Lance’s self-esteem, because they’re horrible, and they deserve every horrible thing that happens to them. Honestly, Keith kind of hopes their cars break down and they have to spend ridiculous amounts of money getting them fixed by idiots, because Keith has quietly blacklisted them to every good mechanic in town. (Not that Lance knows. Lance is too nice to ask for something like that. Keith, however, is a bitch, and has no problem doing shady things to appease his own sense of justice.)

Eventually, though, the apartment stops being so silent. It starts with a shark documentary that takes them three hours to watch because Lance keeps pausing it to point out specific behaviours to Keith. And then they get kicked out of a casino they go to for shits and giggles, because Lance can’t contain himself and points out how the house is strategically winning all the card games they’re calling ‘luck-based’. And then grocery store trips start taking too long again, and Lance gets distracted mid-shower comparing the ingredients of shampoo and conditioner, and then they start a small fire in the apartment because he was explaining how broccoli evolved from mustard seed and burnt a whole pan of stir-fry to a crisp.

One day, seemingly out of the blue, Shiro sends him a picture of him and Lance, fifteen years old, at the shitty town Applebee’s.

I was looking at old pictures, the text reads. And you were right. It is strange that Lance was so quiet. I can’t imagine how that would feel. I’m glad you two worked things out.

Keith looks over at Lance, who’s singing a the periodic table song to himself as he washes the dishes for Keith to dry, and smiles.

He’s glad they worked it out, too.

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seldomscilence16 · 1 year

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Its mermay, its the day of my burth, and Im determined to post this dang it.

So Heres a fanfic that I pulled out of nowhere and everywhere and the hole.

It was a tossup of which fandom to use, but eventually it fell to this, (thanks to my friend for picking a number) but let me know if you'd like to see something else if you like it!

Voltron Fantasy esc au!

(Ps; a picture of a fish with a bite taken out of it inspired some of this so... yeah)

(And you can thanks autisticlancemcclain for the brown-eyed lance. )

(Pps guess who found out how to cut her posts? *insert that weird double chin face crinkling grin*)

Stars reflected off the water and cast moving shapes along the sand in beautiful light. A tan hand reaches out, but like always, the light simply dances, out of reach and teasing. A sigh heaves from the figure sprawled on the sand, tail fin curling lazily in the shallow water. He knows he should continue on, should get further away from shore.

He's so tired.

Tired of living on the run, of hiding, just… tired.

He rubs at his face and forces himself to turn, to swim further out, to ignore the call of the moon and continue on his way. He reminds himself he truly can't dally long, not if he wishes to stay ahead, and free. Or as free as one can be when you look over your shoulder as often as he does. He should be used to it by now, being alone and terrified and tired, it's been years since…

"Come on Lance. Can't even think it?!" He groans and pulls at his hair at his own brain's stupidity.

Whatever, he just needed to keep going. He'd find safety someday, everything would come to a head and finally end eventually, and then it will all have been worth it. It had to be… after everything they'd done and everything they lost, it had to have been worth it…

Something shifts the water around him, knocking against his own currents, he tenses, going into high alert mode. His insides feel coiled tight, warring on whether to fight or flee. He's never one to coward away, but unlike popular opinions of him, he was not an idiot incapable of knowing when someone has him beat. Lance slows his breath, trying to hone in on the threat through his senses. The current comes again, behind him a little to the left, larger mass than his own, going slower than he had been. But that meant nothing in the grand scheme, this could very well be something with the speed of a sailfish or worse, Lance couldnt underestimate it.

He swallowed thickly, he needed to think about this carefully. Swimming away at top speeds could make him prey if this was simply something looking for food. On the other hand, should this be the very reason for his life on the run, not booking it could very well mean another nightmare to escape. And in the unlikely chances of this being just a passerby, Lance could exert himself for no reason and make himself vulnerable. Whatever it is is only getting closer, Lance had to do something now.

A deep centering breath, he pulls one hand through the water, the other forming a strong hold, a familiar glow appears as a curved shape takes form. His stance is second nature, his hold firm and steady, his movements fluid. He takes his aim, somewhere behind him not quite towards the threat, but close enough, it will tell him all he needs to know. On his exhale, faster than most eyes can track, a projectile lands home. The rock formation explodes, the threat stops, for one moment, two, the currents pick up and Lance bolts.

At the very least, he supposes they are not quite as fast as him, but they did not flee. Lance could have stayed and fought, but something in his (over paranoid but usually right) gut, told him not to. While he couldn't tell you exactly what his gut was thinking, it hadn't told him to fight. And that was enough for him to-

He changes directions, using a coral formation to propel himself to the left. A steady chant of curses goes through his brain as he pushes himself to go faster.

Two.

There were two quiznacking threats now. He shouldn't have stopped, he should have found a hiding spot or… he shouldn't have stopped. How had he missed them? One was practically leading him to the other. He was screwed unless he could somehow lose them but the chances of that in such open water with like no activity?? Quiznak! Seriously Lance, only you.

Something flies past him, skimming by too close for comfort, a heat, a sizzle. His mind reminds him of that numb feeling unhelpfully, he doesn't need reminders of why he should avoid those. So he had been right, the threats were threats, and once again, he was quiznaking screwed!!

He twirls to avoid another shot, wracking his brain desperately for a plan. Any plan, come on brain, it had to be easier to evade this than to escape later! He does another sharp turn, anything to make it more difficult for them, but he knows he can't keep up this speed forever. He was running on low to begin with, he needed to think of something now!

A dark mass is in front of him, not there one second, solid the next. He crashes hard, bouncing off in a daze and sinking as he tries to regain his senses. Something metallic in the water tells him he's bleeding- did he bite his lip or hurt his nose?- his head spins as his breath heaves in too quick a rhythm. Something wraps around his throat, claws digging far too close to a gill, it's enough to restart his adrenaline, as he struggles and claws at the appendage. Still it takes a moment for his eyes to truly take in what's before him.

A monster. One of Haggar's creations, he recognized it from a past battle- it's not a new one, she cant make anymore she- how was he supposed to fight off three threats alone!? When one usually takes all-

He'd have to… or die trying…

His tail glows- this thing is disgusting it has a hole what the heck why isn't it dead ohdiosmiomaybeitishesscrewed- and he lashes out quick as a whip, the grip loosens and Lance breaks away. The other two threats have arrived behind him, left over soldiers from an empire slowly buckling but ever so fricken loyal, he's surrounded. From the looks of it, capture is now an option, and one they don't seem keen on choosing.

This would be Lance's final battle.

He can't see the moon from here, or the stars, but he sends a prayer anyhow. That his friends are safe. That this war can end. That it's not all for naught. That his precious Blue will find a worthier Paladin.

Light builds around his hand, taking the form of his namesake. He would go down fighting then, and hopefully take some with him.

~i'm sorry I suck at fight scenes~

Ragged breathes through parted lips, blood twirling as it meets the water, bubbles as he twirls his lance. The soldiers were down, floating lifelessly and making his stomach clench, but the monster seemed unaffected. It truly looked undead- a hole in its side, tears and worn down flesh- but perhaps it simply rotted as Haggar's magic faded, its mission the last thing it can comprehend.

His tail reminds him with every move that it has taken damage that needs attention. His torso aches with bruises and burns and cuts, his gills are overworked and tired as his heart. Much more and he'll keel over, his vision already blurs, he can't push through much longer.

The monster lashes out, a black line of numbing heat that Lance throws himself out of the way of. His lance changes to a bow and he lets loose a flurry of projectiles, he growls as they each hit home on his large target, but seem nothing more than a nuisance. The thing's arm cuts through the water and sends a current strong enough to knock him back. He rolls and slams into a convenient rock, oxygen lost as he finds the sandy ocean floor- when did they get so low?

Lance's head protests as he moves to get up, but the monster is already there, pinning Lance to the rock, slamming him into it every couple seconds. His strength is leaving him, his head aches something fierce, and his vision is dotted in black. This was the end. He'd tried, made new holes in un-bleeding flesh- was it flesh? Seaweed? Magic clay?- defeated two more soldiers, but he couldn't persevere. There was no coming back from this one, Lance the Blue Paladin, would be no more. And his last image would be a melting faced rage monster.

His eyelids waver closer and closer together, ready to join the light of the moon, when a literal light flashes instead. It's jarring enough to make his eyes pop open, a green and yellow swirl that hits the monster dead center and sends him flying. Lance hits the sand again, too weak to do much else but watch his blood mix with the water and multicolored blasts hit the monster.

They were so familiar too, strong yellow, clever green, fierce red, brave purple, uniting pink, calming orange… huh…

A hand cups his cheek, he..hadnt meant to close his eyes, blue meets brown and why is that so important?

".e……Lance…….…okay…"

Accent, soothing, familiar, safe.

"Is..okay?" Another, rougher but comforting and…

"..'s..ay buddy…ot you."

He forces his eyes to focus if even for just a moment, and the blurred colors become familiar figures, friends, his family. Voltron. How had they found him? They hadn't been meant to meet yet, not until it was safe for the lions to return. 'Safe' hummed in the back of his mind, a wave of comfort that had tears springing to his eyes.

"It's okay now Lance, we got you."

Hands are oh so careful as they lift him, tails supporting his own as they pull him through the water. He glimpses floating chunks and swallows the bile that rises in his throat. They'd gotten it then.

"You did good Lance, without your arrows I don't think our attack would have worked." Was Shiro reading his mind??

"Coran should have a pod ready, he swam faster than a duflax when he saw what state you were in." Allura assures, eyeing him worriedly.

"Thanks…for coming guys." So strange to talk to them, when he hadn't in so long not since they got split up, and went into hiding. "Never thought i'd see you again." He admits quietly, tears floating from his eyes.

"Nope, not thinking like that ever again." Hunks' own tears joined, though he suppressed his sobs so as not to jostle Lance.

"Youre home now, you made it."

#fic #voltron legendary defender #angst #mermay #au #langst #blood mentions #short #happy ending #team as family #found family #brown-eyed Lance

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