I’m so tempted to play Inquisition again, but I know it’s going to end in me spending 10 hours in the character creator trying to give my Inquisitor a decent nose, running around the Hinterlands doing everything for at least 3 days, promising myself not to collect the shards and then collecting them all, trying to roleplay but selling myself out so none of the companions leave, accidentally jumping and throwing myself from cliffs, spending all of the Inquisition’s funds on lustrous cotton so that everyone matches, visiting the prison over and over on the off chance there’s a prisoner in there, never using a horse, pretending the Hissing Wastes don’t exist, feeling guilty for killing all the Dragons, not playing The Decent, not playing Jaws of Hakkon, crying over Trespasser…
Oh. And violently combat rolling away from any and all fade rifts.
so i saw a prompt on @taylor-tut‘s blog that i really like and i took a crack at writing it.
im so sorry if it’s bad lmao i didnt proofread it fhaduf
warning: injury, lance whump, insecurity, bad writing, whatever lol
word count: 2.1k
(the working title for this fic is “don’t do drugs kids”)
“Do you ever have, like, a really bad feeling?” Lance asks aloud as they, hidden by Pidge’s cloaking tech, fly towards their destination, a Galra ship. Fun. I just love risking my life, Lance thinks dryly, though even that thought is colored with nervousness.
He’s drumming his fingers restlessly on the wall of the Green Lion, his stomach churning anxiously. While he’s usually nervous before heading into battle (no, but seriously, who wouldn’t be?), this is a different feeling. Less “I’m risking my life, but for a good cause, and we might die, but that’s kind of to be expected” and more “Oh god oh god I’m going to die today”.
“You mean like when you feel like something bad is about to happen?” Shiro inquires, giving Lance a sympathetic look. “Yeah, I do, but they’re not always accurate. Let’s all be extra careful just in case, though.”
Nobody really disagrees with the idea; it’s not like they aren’t always extra vigilant whenever raiding a Galra ship. They’re in enemy territory, and it’s awfully dangerous.
“Your destination is on the right!” Pidge cuts in, mocking the monotone of a GPS. “Let’s not make this our final destination, alright?” she adds, and despite the joke, Lance can hear undertones of worry and urgency.
“Not planning on it!” Lance says, putting as much cheer as he doesn’t feel into his voice as possible. “I don’t feel like being a red stain on a Galra ship quite yet.”
“Or dying a horrible, brutal, and ridiculous death,” Keith mutters. “Seriously though, let’s hope this isn’t some remake of Final Destination.”
Hunk gasps and grabs an unsuspecting Keith by the shoulders, who stiffens but quickly relaxes, having gotten used to Hunk’s antics, and exclaims, “Keith! You know what Final Destination is? Are you going to turn purple soon?”
“What does me being Galra have anything to do with me knowing what Final Destination is…?”
Shiro coughs, and despite how stern he’s trying to sound, Lance can hear amusement laced into his tone. For all he tries, Shiro’s not that great at being the Responsible Adult he’s expected to be. “Boys,” he says. “We have a mission to complete; we can talk about Galra Keith’s knowledge of gory movies after we come back.”
Lance can’t help the snigger when he sees Keith’s utterly betrayed look. “Shiro,” he gapes.
“Mission, Mullet,” Lance reminds Keith as he puts on his helmet and books it, heading off to save the universe.
Lance grits his teeth, aiming carefully at the incoming guards and shooting with pinpoint accuracy, but he doesn’t have the time to boast. It’s not like it’s anything to brag about anymore, anyways; they’ve been in space for over a year now, so it’s no surprise that he’s actually living up to his title of Sharpshooter.
“Pidge, have you gotten the info yet?” he hisses into the comms, yelping as a blast comes dangerously close to his face, his helmet having been knocked off about five minutes ago. Pidge, in the room he and Shiro are defending, curses loudly from her end, and he hears her already rapid typing pick up in speed. “Shiro and I are going to end up overrun if you don’t hurry up!”
“Almost done, I promise,” Pidge snaps back, and Lance feels a little guilty for harrying her. “They’ve upped their game with the tech. It’s a lot harder to get in than I thought.”
“Joy,” Lance hears Keith mutter.
“Joy,” Lance agrees, shooting another robot in the face. He takes immense satisfaction out of the way the metal crumples and melts with the force and heat of the blast.
“Alright, Pidge, hurry up please; Hunk, Keith, once you’ve gotten the quintessence, make your way back to the Green Lion,” Shiro instructs as he grabs Lance and pulls him down to avoid a strike from one of the bots’ weapon, and Lance gives him a grateful nod before straightening up and crushing said bot’s face with his gun.
Not exactly what it was made for, but if it works, it works.
“Got it!” Hunk calls. “There’s not much on this ship, thank god.”
Pivoting, Lance takes out two of the four robots that had swarmed Shiro, and Shiro easily cleans up the last two, flicking his hand to remove the robot remains on his arm. Despite having his bayard back, Shiro’s always had a preference for using his arm, probably out of habit.
(Keith still insists on it being Shiro’s bayard, though. Even during his stint as the temporary Black Paladin, he’d always called it Shiro’s.)
Lance takes a momentary respite to brush the sweat and the blood out of his eyes. There’s a thin cut throbbing over one eye; he’d gotten it when his helmet had been knocked clean off by the Galra commander who’d they’d quickly taken out.
Truth be told, Lance doesn’t even remember the dude’s name.
The horde of robots has thinned out remarkably, but there’s still a fuckton of them, and he’s already exhausted. He’s not the only one either; he can hear his teammates’ heavy breathing and yelps through the comm link.
“Alright, we’re done!” Pidge shouts, sounding as relieved as Lance feels. “Come on, we have to go!”
“Lance, we’re going now!” Shiro hisses at him as Pidge runs towards them, carrying her pack over one shoulder while she cuts through the ranks of Galra soldiers with her bayard.
For some reason, it takes him a few extra moments to fully understand Shiro’s statement, and when he does, he blinks a few times and nods rapidly. “Y-yeah, got it!” he says, and he breaks into a run, following Shiro and Pidge closely.
His head is pounding almost as hard as his heart is, and his vision is starting to blur, and for the love of him, Lance can’t figure out what’s wrong, why his movements are so sluggish, and why it’s suddenly so stiflingly hot. He hadn’t sustained any injuries that would cause enough blood loss to - and suddenly he stumbles and he hears a nasty crack.
There’s a terrifying moment of absolutely nothing before fiery hot pain shoots up his leg, and he slams a hand into the wall to keep himself from falling. “Fuck,” he gasps, breath stolen by the sheer intensity of the pain.
“Lance?!” Keith exclaims, sounding concerned. “What happened?”
Lance forces himself to calm down, the fog in his brain thankfully cleared briefly by the sharp, grounding pain in his foot. “H-hurt my foot,” he manages to get out around the pain and sheer exhaustion.
And he really shouldn’t be so tired…
Then it clicks, and he remembers the blood on his fingers - poison. He’d been poisoned or drugged or something, and he was paying for it now.
Shiro gets rid of the closest robots as Pidge runs to Lance’s side, and despite Lance’s swimming vision, he can see her terrified and worried look. “Dude, you do not look good,” she says, and Lance laughs weakly.
“’s a lie and you know it,” he slurs, giggling a little. “Always look good.”
That’s funny, right? He just has to keep joking, so nobody else has to be burdened by his issues.
Pidge manages a pathetic laugh that fools nobody. Lance considers telling her to never go into the acting business. “Okay, Lance,” she tells him, and Lance is pretty sure she’s not agreeing with him, and just humoring him. “I am so sorry I’m asking you to do this, but we have to keep moving.”
They have to keep moving…? The idea of even moving his probably broken foot is almost to send Lance into tears. They’ll get captured because of me if I don’t run, that voice in the back of Lance’s head says. And it’ll be all my fault.
“Okay,” Lance breathes. “Okay.” He manages a weak smile. “Could really use s’me s’per regeneration right now.” Lance laughs again, and he’s not even sure why that’s funny. Maybe ‘cause Deadpool? Or whatever? What was the joke again…?
“All of us could,” Pidge tells him patiently, and that’s odd because she’s not usually this nice. “Let’s go, Lance.”
Lance takes one step, and his entire vision goes white with agony. He bites his tongue, hard enough to bleed, and lets out a barely audible and pathetic whimper through his clenched teeth.
“Shit, Lance, I’m so sorry,” Pidge stammers. “Shiro, I think he really fucked up his ankle.”
“Oh, quiznak,” Shiro mutters, sounding scared as he approaches Lance and Pidge. Behind him, the robots are a mess of nuts and bolts, though with the way Lance’s vision is blurry, he’s not sure if he’s really seeing what he’s seeing. That’s almost funny, but he doesn’t even have the energy to laugh anymore.
“C’n still walk,” Lance protests weakly as Shiro slides one of his arms around his shoulders, Pidge doing the same with his other arm, but even his arms are unresponsive, only his fingers twitching when he tries to fight it. “‘M fine!” I’m so goddamned useless, he thinks miserably. Somehow, this is worse than actually walking, because it just cements how shitty a paladin he is.
“No, you’re not,” Shiro tells him, stern, but Lance can hear fear in his normally steady voice. “But that’s okay. We’ll bring you to Green, and you’ll be back in the Castle of Lions, and you’ll be okay.”
Lance tries to tell him that he’s not worried about himself, he’s worried that Pidge and Shiro and Hunk and Keith will be captured, and it’ll be all his fault, but it just comes out garbled, his lips barely moving. He can barely see as Shiro takes a careful step forward, he and Pidge supporting almost all of Lance’s weight.
He stumbles despite it, and his vision whites out, his broken foot jarred against the ground, and he gives one broken sob. His head is still pounding, his entire body is like lead, and his foot is throbbing with pain, and he can’t even move it. He’s absolutely useless, he’s going to get them all captured, and it’s going to be his fault, because he’s just a terrible paladin.
Lance’s eyes are burning with tears, nose clogging up, because he doesn’t know what the Galra will do to them.
Distantly, he hears concerned voices shouting, but it’s like he’s underwater. Everything’s muted, and he barely understands what’s going on. All he knows is that everything’s his fault, he’s fucked up again.
“‘M sorry,” he sobs, feeling his legs completely give out and eyes slide closed.
“Mmfh,” Lance says, his throat feeling as dry as a desert and his skull stuffed with cotton.
“Lance?” comes a soft voice, and he forces his eyes open, the action more difficult than it should be, and he sees Pidge’s face, tired and drawn, but relieved and happy.
“Hey,” Lance tries to say, but it’s pretty much ruined by how parched he is. Thankfully, Pidge is quick to understand, and helps him sit up, propping pillows up behind him before handing him a glass of water and holding his hand steady to bring it to his lips.
“Thanks,” Lance whispers, taking in Pidge’s exhausted expression and immediately connecting the dots.
“You scared the living shit out of us when you passed out,” Pidge tells him bluntly, setting the empty glass on the table. “You broke your ankle, by the way, and you were drugged to hell and back by something. Probably the thing the Galra commander used to knock your helmet off.”
“Sorry,” Lance murmurs, looking around the room, unsurprised to see the rest of the paladins sleeping on the floor by his bed, Hunk and Keith sleeping in positions that have to be awfully uncomfortable, covered by a blanket, while Allura is passed out against the wall, a blanket of her own tucked to her chin.
Shiro’s sleeping with his head on Lance’s bed, his arms pillowing his face, and he can see how haggard he looks. The idea that Lance is the one who caused that causes his stomach to churn uneasily.
“Sorry for what? You didn’t do anything wrong,” Pidge states matter-of-factly, adjusting her glasses and sitting on the ground next to Shiro, her back to the bed. Lance almost protests, but decides against it.
She opens her computer, and Lance settles back down, movements sluggish. Tentatively, he moves his foot, and is delighted to find that it doesn’t hurt anymore.
He watches Pidge type on her computer in comfortable silence for a good while, and for once Pidge doesn’t object.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Pidge mutters, out of the blue, not even stopping in her typing.
Startled, Lance blinks a few times before he gives a small and genuine smile. “Thanks,” he tells her sincerely.