And the Hardest Part is Letting Go
// a/n: wow, hi everyone, it’s been a long time. i’m sorry i’ve been gone for so long, writing inspiration never stays for long enough for me to get things out and school doesn’t exactly help. but anyway, this isn’t a peter parker imagine like mine have been so far; sorry if that was what you were looking for! i decided to try writing for a fandom i’ve been in for a while but have never written for: voltron: legendary defender. anyway, i wrote this at 2 in the morning yesterday, so i hope you guys enjoy! (i’ll probably post a part 2 if you like it)
// pairings: mentioned keith x lance
// summary: And then he realized, startlingly, that the water here was the same color as the ocean of Varadero beach. It was almost like he was home, Lance thought, a bittersweet calm finally settling over him.
Lance supposed it was poetic, in a cruel sort of way.
Ever since he’d left Earth and become a paladin of Voltron, the thought of death hadn’t felt as far away as it once did. He was fighting against a galactic empire–one that had ruled the galaxy for centuries–and accidents happened. There were always casualties in war. The likelihood of dying was a reality as cold as the ice from his lion’s mouth, and Lance had slowly begun to accept this throughout his time as a paladin.
But he hadn’t imagined that it would happen like this.
This was supposed to be his element. The water. The calming blue of the sea billowing around him, the sound of waves that meant letting go of all his worries. Conjuring up memories of the ocean had always made him feel safe, at home, but now he was here, frigid water swallowing him whole as the weight shackled to his ankles pulled him further into the depths.
He was not going to die here.
He struggled. If nothing else, Lance fought, bubbles of precious air escaping his lips as he kicked against the chains around his feet until his legs ached, pulled against the bounds clamping his wrists together until his skin stung with the chaffing of metal and the salt from the sea. He struggled and struggled, and helplessness sunk into his chest; he had nothing, barely any armor, no bayard, no lion, none of his team to help him.
Shiro would find a way out, nagged a cold voice in the back of Lance’s mind. But Shiro was Shiro; Shiro was strong and brave and resourceful and powerful and he was everything Lance wanted to be and never would be. Lance was just…Lance, and he could not think of a way to get out of this.
He didn’t want to die here.
Not under the water, not alone. His comms had long since been destroyed, and there was no one, no one, just the empty sound of the water rushing into his ears and the soft beating of his own heart. Lance had thought–had hoped–that when he died, he would at least have someone there with him.
His team, his friends. His family. He didn’t want to die alone.
He wondered, distantly, if they’d ever find his body.
He wondered if they’d take it back to Earth. He hoped that they would, and that it might, at the very least, provide his family with some semblance of closure.
And then, it returned, like it always did when he thought of home–that crushing weight of guilt on his chest when he thought of how he’d abandoned his family, the sickening despair that came from being away from them for so long. He’d clung to the thought of seeing them again, but now, all he could do was picture their faces in his mind, imagine the sound of their voices. He wanted, more than anything, to be back home again, the warm smell of his mama’s cooking and her favorite vanilla scented candles filling the house as he and his siblings sipped lemonade on the porch and watched the water. The sweet, melodic sounds of his sister singing Hispanic tunes reverberating through the walls and how he used to join in, their voices making perfect harmony as they’d sing for the rest of their siblings or their cousins and neighbors and joy would light up the street.
Lance wondered if his sister still sang now.
They say that the first thing you forget about a person is their voice, but he would never forget theirs.
He wished, with all his heart, that he had been able to hear them one last time.
Instead, his body sunk further down into the blue.
It was cold, enough that his toes and fingers had lost feeling. It was so very cold that he thought that even if he did somehow make it out of this alive, the chill would never quite leave his bones. It had settled too far within him; his veins were like ice and his head…his head…
His head was light, and felt strangely empty–and in Keith’s voice, he heard a teasing jibe that it was not very strange at all, and he wanted to smile despite everything. There was pressure scraping the sides of his skull, clamping down hard, and his lungs felt constricted as pain sparked in front of his eyes. It hurt like hell to be holding his breath for so long.
He’d imagined drowning as peaceful. Easy.
Maybe it would be, if he would just let go.
But no, he couldn’t, for his family, for his team, for his friends, for…for Keith.
The thought almost surprised him. For Keith…he’d known, subconsciously, that the feelings towards him were far more than friendship, or even the schoolboy crush they had once been. Now he wanted, more than anything, to admit this aloud, to finally voice the thoughts he’d been grappling with for so long. But instead of the fiery heat that always came with thoughts of Keith, he now felt only emptiness in his chest.
Stupid, stupid Lance, he cursed himself mentally for spending so long on a pointless rivalry.
Now you’ll never get to tell him.
But then, the time for wishing was long past. He would hold on for as long as he could, that much, he was sure of, but after that there would be nothing more.
He tried to picture some sort of light at the end of the tunnel, but all he could see was darkness. The crippling pressure surrounded him on all sides, pressing against his body and making everything yell in protest.
He wanted it to be over.
He closed his eyes and thought of home. He thought of the rain, the sky and the stars. The bright green of Pidge’s sweater, the soft teal glow from Blue’s control panel, Hunk’s orange bandana tails and his mother’s brown hair and Keith’s beautiful, beautiful purple eyes.
And then he realized, startlingly, that the water here was the same color as the ocean of Varadero beach. It was almost like he was home, Lance thought, a bittersweet calm settling over him.
Maybe this wasn’t the worst place to die after all.
Slowly, his body went numb.
The world faded.
And after that, he was only dimly aware of the garbled sounds of a gun firing over him, the tug of familiar arms around his waist, the weight leaving his ankles as warmth surrounded him.
Then he knew no more.