“Anyone seen Lance?” Shiro asks, checking his watch. “We have to suit up in an hour, but I haven’t heard anything from him.”
No sooner do the words come out of his mouth does the man in question stroll into the kitchen, pausing in front of the table where everyone is gathered and clearing his throat.
“I will not be accompanying you guys on the mission,” he announces.
It takes everyone a moment to process that one. Hunk is the first to react, something clicking in his expression before he groans, resting his forehead on the table.
“Here we go,” he mutters tiredly.
Lance happily ignores him, pouring himself some food goo and taking a seat next to Keith.
“Are you ill?” Allura asks, when Lance fails to provide any further context.
“Nope! I’m just going to hang back from this mission because I Saw what’s going to happen last night and no part of me is interested in crawling through sewage. Y’all have fun, though.”
“Why the hell do you think we’ll be crawling through sewage?” Keith asks. “All the Yuvleans want us to do is find some crystal for them.”
“And I’m telling you it’s going to involve crawling through the sewage system,” Lance insists. “I’m not doing that. I’ll stay on the castle with Coran and do chores, or something.”
Shiro looks pleadingly to Hunk.
“Please translate,” he asks.
This is not unusual. Lance and Hunk frequently have to explain each other’s trains of thought to the team at large.
“Lance thinks he can see the future,” Hunk explains tiredly. “He is not a Seer. He just gets lucky, occasionally, and he’s observant. There is nothing I can do to convince him otherwise.”
“That’s because you’re wrong,” Lance says patiently. “I do so get visions. I told you about the mermaid planet when we were fifteen, remember?”
“Lance, you dreamed once about alien mermaids and the universe is so batshit insane that it ended up being true. That is not predicting the future.”
“Mhm, sure. And the fact that I knew the names of the mermaids we could trust was coincidence.”
Hunk and Pidge both look exasperated, but Keith looks intrigued.
“You can really tell the future?”
“Please tell me you don’t believe in that shit too,” Pidge groans.
Both paladins ignore her.
“Not as clearly as you’re thinking,” Lance says, making a so-so motion with his hand. “I don’t usually get full detailed visions, although I do occasionally. Usually I get bits and pieces, right before something happens. Like, if we’re on an infiltration mission and we don’t know which hallway to take to escape, I usually get a flash of images that tell me what’s down each one.”
Shiro, who had been eyeing Lance warily for the most part, tilts his head in consideration. “You do manage to lead us out of ships when everything goes to shit.”
Hunk looks at him incredulously. “You too?! What part of ‘Lance has good instincts and is crazy observant’ am I making unclear? Science, people!”
“I’m not saying I think he can see in the future,” Shiro says hastily. “But I’m not saying he can’t, either.”
“Thank you,” Lance says emphatically. “Finally, someone believes me.”
“Hey,” Keith protests. “I believed you the whole time!”
“‘Course, Mullet,” Lance says with a grin and a wink. Keith goes a little red. “I appreciate it.”
“I also believe you!” Allura says excitedly. “One of my mother’s handmaidens also spoke of an ability to see forward in time, and she often made excellent predictions about future trades!”
“Ha,” Lance says, pointing his spork triumphantly at his best friends. Both of them roll their eyes in tandem. “Coran believes me, too. Said he can feel it in my quintessence, or something. You guys are outnumbered.”
“Whatever,” Pidge mutters, but she doesn’t really look all that annoyed. “I can’t believe you’re skipping the chance to flirt with pretty aliens just because you had a weird dream. I can’t believe you’re staying back to do chores instead of prancing around the planet’s canals and comparing the water to beaches back home.”
Lance shrugs, standing up to dunk his empty bowl in the sink. “Like I said, I’m not crawling through the sewer,” he says, heading for the doors. “But y’all have fun. Let me know if you meet the ninja turtles.”
Hours later, five very grumpy, very dirty paladins stomp their way back to the castle. Lance and Coran meet them at the decontamination chamber.
“Have a shitty time?” Lance asks smugly.
“Dollar in the bad pun jar,” Keith says immediately, just as Hunk says: “Can it, Cassandra.”
Hunk sounds cranky as he says it, but instead of being offended, Lance only laughs.
“Fitting,” he taunts, “since no one believed Cassandra and she ended up being right. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it, Hunky?”
Hunk levels him with a glare, but only lasts about three seconds before a reluctant smile spreads across his face.
“Alright, alright, touché. I still think you just made an educated guess. But I’ll give you that one.”
“Sure thing, bud. I’ve Seen the day you and Pidge believe me, you know. I’m going to be very smug.”
“More smug than right now?” Allura asks.
Lance smirks. “Exponentially.”
Shiro doesn’t let Lance skip any more missions because of his Sight. “If a mission is going to suck, then we get to suffer as a group. Team building,” he reasons.
He still doesn’t quite believe that Lance can See the future. But he does start to take Lance’s input in mission planning, so long as Lance can actually rationalize his predictions.
“That’s not going to work,” Lance says firmly, tapping the path Shiro has drawn down a hallway on the blueprints of the Galran cruiser they’re planning to infiltrate. “If we split up, Allura is going to get ambushed and hurt.”
Shiro inclines his head. “Reasoning?”
Lance pauses for a moment to study the blueprints further, trying to figure out why he knows that to be true. He saw the altercation in a vision, of course, but over the weeks of planning with Shiro he’s found that his divinations often follow a largely logical path of reasonings, Sherlock-style.
“This is a Druid-heavy cruiser,” he says finally. “See how the energy systems are rerouted to neutralize more power outbursts than usual? That means a lot of raw quintessence outside of its usual transport containers, which means Druids. And you know how freaky they are about trying to isolate Allura and take her for her quintessence abilities. She shouldn’t spend a second on this ship alone, and especially not down the corridors that are most heavily fortified and monitored. She’s our strongest, but in this case it will only make her a target.”
“Sounds good to me,” Shiro says, placing a proud hand on Lance’s shoulder. “We’ll work out something better, huh?”
It’s no secret that Lance spends at least two nights a week at the observation deck; missing his family and falling asleep to the projection of Earth’s steady turn. The team has quietly worked out something like a schedule, making sure he’s never there alone, and everyone makes sure he knows he knows they love him and are there for him.
Lance pretends to be oblivious to the schedule. He saw it in a dream before he’d even met most of the team, but he likes that they try so hard to keep it quiet anyway. It’s sweet.
“Do you know why I’m like this?” he asks one night, when Coran is the one to follow him in.
The advisor takes a moment to consider the question carefully, humming softly.
“I felt something different about you the second I saw you,” he says eventually. He huffs a laugh. “That’s half the reason I was so defensive of you.”
Lance snorts, remembering Coran’s flailing and threats. “I thought it was because I made eyes at Allura.”
Coran grins, checking him gently across the shoulders. “That, too, lad.” His expression turns more serious, pondering. “But I’ve always been very in tune with the energies of the universe, the balance of quintessence in every single thing that takes space. My father taught me to sit quietly with the space between things, to feel how they fit together. You, my dear —” he shifts to look at Lance directly, jewelled eyes meeting deep brown — “your quintessence reaches farther than most. For whatever reason, your soul is stretched wide, across space and time. Everyone’s is, to some degree, but yours more so. For whatever reason, when you came to be, the universe saw fit to grant you the burden of Knowing.”
He takes one of Lance’s hands in his, squeezing gently. “It’s a lot of responsibility, child. But there’s no one I would trust more to shoulder it with grace.”
Usually, Lance’s Gift is harmless. It doesn’t matter who on the team does or does not believe — it never has a great enough bearing on their life and mission to make a massive decision.
Until Lance stops mid-attack, freezing in his lion, shout ringing through the comms.
“Lance, come in,” Shiro demands. “What’s wrong?”
Everyone’s screen flickers for a moment before Lance’s comm feed pulls up, brown eyes wide and panicked, terror written all across his face.
“We need to pull back!” he says frantically. “Now, now, now!”
“We can’t pull back now!” Pidge protests. “That ship has the closest guarantee to finding Matt than any other we’ve found so far, and our intel guarantees we outmatch them!”
“I Saw differently, they have —”
Pidge bares her teeth at him. “If you think I’m giving up on my brother because you think you can tell the future —”
“You have to trust me,” Lance begs. “The entire fleet is a setup. All the fighter jets are manned by sentries, there’s not a single soldier on board the commanding ship. It’s a giant bomb. The second we touch it it’s going to blow so big it’ll start a new solar system. Please.”
“Lance, now is not the time —” Shiro interjects.
“We have every guarantee from the Blades that my brother may very well be on that ship!” Pidge says shrilly. “I know you think you can see the future Lance, but I just can’t trust that!”
“I’m not asking you to trust it,” Lance says again, more and more desperate by the second. “I’m asking you to trust me. And I promise you, Pidge, if we move forward than every single one of us is going to die.”
Tears drip from Pidge’s eyes. Her face crumples.
“Why are you making me choose between my brother and the team?” she sobs.
“Please trust me,” Lance begs again.
She swipes a hand across her eyes.
“If you’re wrong, I’m never going to forgive you.”
As soon as she says the words, Lance is yelling for everyone to pull back. Shiro echoes him, and the retreat back to the castle. As Allura opens a wormhole, the entire fleet starts to blow, every explosion tripping the ship next to it, until the entirety of the blackness of space is ignited in bright white flame and incinerating debris.
They barely make it through the wormhole in one piece.
“I still don’t believe you,” Pidge says stubbornly, once her tears have dried and they’re all safe in their hangars.
Lance smiles softly. “Thank you for trusting me anyway.”
Hours after everyone else has fallen asleep, after the last movie for movie night has ended, Keith and Lance sit facing each other on a mound of blankets, knees pulled up their their chins and arms held tightly around their legs.
“Your turn,” Keith whispers.
Lance hums. “How many questions do I have left?”
“We passed twenty forever ago. I think we’re just getting to know each other, now.”
Lance hides a grin in his pajama-covered knees. “Yeah.”
“Good. Ask your question, doofus. You’re taking forever.”
“‘Kay. How come you pretended not to recognize me when we were rescuing Shiro?”
Keith’s face flames. “I really didn’t recognize you!” he insists.
Lance shakes his head. “We had four group projects together, and you smirked at me after no less than twelve flight sims. I’m not buying it, Samurai.”
Keith holds his gaze for several minutes, glaring stubbornly. But finally he deflates.
“Fine,” he concedes. “I remember you. But if I tell you why I pretended to forget, you have to promise not to get mad, okay?”
“Fine, fine. Just tell me already.”
Keith looks away. He’s quiet for long enough that Lance reaches over to pinch him for not answering.
“Jesus, okay! I’m getting there.” He bites his lip. “Do you remember that dumbass line you used to say? About threading the needle?”
“Uh. I didn’t get it for a long time. I thought —” he grimaces, accepting Lance’s oncoming diva fit — “I thought your name was Taylor. So.”
To his surprise, Lance bursts out laughing.
“You dumbass! Did you really?”
“It was a valid assumption!” Keith defends. “You said that people called you tailor! What was I supposed to think?”
“Our names are right next to each other on roll call,” Lance chokes out, wiping a tear from his eye. He flashes a teasing grin as he slowly starts to calm down. “Guess there’s I reason I usually did better on the practicals, huh?”
“Oh, shut up,” Keith says, scowling. “You barely did better.”
“Neck and neck,” Lance teases.
“Yeah, yeah, cargo pilot. Whatever you say.”
They’re both quiet for a moment, silence interrupted only by Shiro’s horrible snoring and Lance’s occasional giggle.
“It’s your turn,” he says, once he’s finally gotten himself under control. Keith rolls his eyes, but asks anyway.
“How come you don’t flirt with random aliens anymore?”
To his surprise, the question makes Lance flush darkly. He looks away, picking at his nails.
“I, uh, Saw that I end up with someone soon. Feels disrespectful to flirt knowing I’m gonna be with him any time now.”
Keith’s breath hitches. “Him?”
“Them,” Lance corrects hastily, but the damage is already done.
“Game’s over,” Lance says hastily. “I just had a vision. If we keep playing you’re going to choke to death and die after I make an excellent joke, so. Better safe than sorry.”
“You’re so full of shit,” Keith accuses, but Lance has never been wrong before, so he hesitates.
Lance notices, doubling down. “Yep. I try to give you the Heimlich and everything, but it doesn’t work. You die in minutes. Gotta prevent that.”
“Fine,” Keith says sullenly. “I guess we should go to sleep then.”
“Probably,” Lance agrees, audibly relieved. “Don’t want you to die or anything.”
His face is red until the second he falls asleep.
Lance has his impulsive moments, sure. But the real impulsive members of the team are Keith or Pidge, no question about it. They are the king and queen of dumbass, split-second decisions.
When Lance gets a vision, mid-fight, on a planet so overrun with Galran soldiers that ‘outnumbered’ does not begin to cover it, he kicks both of those losers off their thrones by a goddamn mile.
“Lance!” Allura yells, once she realizes he’s breaking formation. “What the quiznack are you doing?”
“The witch controls it all,” he gasps out, to quiet for anyone to hear. He ignores the shouts of his team, ignores their questions, ignores his own guilt for leaving them so abruptly, and books it, as fast as he can, straight towards the cluster of Druids. They stand in a perfect circle, all perfectly still, tendrils of lightning quintessence pouring out of them faster than Lance can track, all tunnelling towards where Zarkon stands suspended above them all, sending deadly bolts of attack at Voltron and their scrambling allies down below. Every time a Druid drops, their very life force drained from them, a new one fills their place, as quickly as possible.
But Lance doesn’t need to see what’s in the centre of their circle with his eyes. He’s Seen it. He knows who lies in the middle of the cluster, who is pulling the strings between the entire empire, who has been this entire time.
As he runs, he feels his bayard warm in his hand, feels the form change from the barrel of his beloved gun to something sturdy, smooth, curved. When he glances down, he sees the familiar contour of a bow.
But Lance trusts himself. He trusts the universe, and the responsibility Coran says it has granted him. He knows it would not lie to him.
He stops hundreds of feet before the cluster of Druids, standing firm as they all turn to face him in unison. He does not flinch when they raise their arms towards him, does not move when Zarkon turns to face him, raw quintessence lighting up his arms as he takes aim directly where Lance stands.
Lance breathes in. He aims the bow high in the sky, not at the Druids, not at Zarkon, but where he knows the arrow will arch gracefully, and make it’s deadly decent: landing dead in the centre of the Druids, where Haggar stands, unfocused on the sky above her.
He hears a wicked shriek echo louder than any person every could, just as Zarkon’s final blast hits him square in the chest.
His own agonized screams drown out the terrified yells of his team.
You’d think it would be quiet, death. It’s the absence of life, after all. The cease of all movement. The end of one’s time.
Lance feels every one of his cells as they sizzle and fry, his very molecules tearing themselves apart as the blast of quintessence breaks easily through his armour. He feels every part of his body and soul incinerate out of existence.
It sounds like one long, shrill screech of brakes stopping abruptly.
“There’s no way he’s going to survive that! It’s a waste of time to hope!”
“How can you say that? How dare you say that?
“You think I want to? You think I want this? His very soul was fried, Keith! He is my best friend, he is my brother, but I am not going to put myself or anyone else through the pain of hoping!”
“The pain of hoping is the only thing that can make the pain of giving up feel better!”
Coming back to life is shockingly silent, in contrast. Still, too. He knows he’s not dead — he can’t be, if he’s thinking — but he can’t feel any further than that.
It’s barely noticeable, when he can finally feel again. The faintest brush of a hand through his hair, a whisper, the press of lips to his forehead.
“You’re going to make it, Lance. I’ll kill you if you don’t, you dumbass, selfless bastard.”
By the time he can finally move again, he feels like he’s lived four thousand lives. It’s the barest twitch of his finger, but it makes someone gasp, and then there’s a hand grasping his.
“C’mon, Lance,” it says quietly. “Prove me wrong, okay? About Seeing and living and everything. Please. Show me how wrong I was. I’ll even let you gloat forever, okay? I’ll never complain again. I’m sorry.”
Lance tries his hardest to move further, to squeeze Hunk’s hand; hell, even to twitch his finger again.
“That’s okay,” Hunk assures quietly. There’s a slight pressure on his head, briefly, and the scent of Hunk’s face cream and motor oil, and then it’s gone.
“Take your time, okay? I’ll be here. We all will.”
The first person Lance sees when he finally opens his eyes again is Allura. He can’t make his mouth move, can’t call out, but he doesn’t have to — she smiles softly at him, never moving her hand from his hair.
“It’s good to see those eyes again,” she whispers. “We’ve missed you, Lance. You think you can try moving your hand? I’ll help you, if you like.”
Lance screws his eyes shut — not because he wants to, he doesn’t, he’s only just opened them, he never wants to close them again — but he can’t seem to stop himself. It takes so much effort just to lift his hand a millimeter up from the mattress it rests on.
“Good!” Allura says, and when Lance forces his eyes open again he sees that she’s smiling much brighter, now, although tears drip down her cheeks.
“You’re so much closer every day, asteraki. In a couple weeks you’ll be all healed up, I’m sure. Okay?”
Lance still can’t make his mouth move, but he manages a hum. That makes her smile wider.
Allura is not entirely correct. He is not entirely healed in a couple weeks. But he gets closer and closer every day. After one week, he can move his hands, even though they shake. After two, he can speak, although his voice is raspier than the desert.
The first thing he asks for is an update — did he do it? Did it work?
“Zarkon and Haggar crumbled to dust,” Shiro assures him. “The second your arrow struck. Ten thousand years caught up to them, I guess. The Druids died, too. The Empire hasn’t really gone anywhere, but it’s in chaos. No one knows what to do. Planets are revolting left and right.”
He squeezes Lance’s hands, lifting one up to press a kiss to his knuckles.
“You did it, kiddo. You and that goddamned gift of yours.”
It takes months. Months of physical therapy, if speech therapy, of disgusting nutrient-rich diets and fine-motor training that frustrates Lance to tears.
It works, though. Over time, he starts to come back to himself. Not everything is fixed — he needs hearing aids, now, because he was so close to Haggar’s final scream that it shattered his ear drums. His hair is bleached white, too, and lightning-shaped scars run up and down his skin — Shiro jokes that they should start a club. He’s unbelievably lucky that he regains all the mobility in his hands. He still speaks in a stutter, and he likely will for the rest of his life.
But he’s fuckin’ alive, goddamnit, so he’s sure as shit not complaining.
His visions stop coming, too.
“You were right, though,” Hunk says.
“You really could see the fuckin’ future. I’ll be damned.”
“This moment was slightly less depressing in my vision,” Lance says, grinning wryly. “All I got were those two sentences. Who know I almost had to die to get ‘em.”
Hunk glares, flicking him lightly in the forehead. “Too soon, buddy.”
“It’s been half a goddamn year since I got nuked!”
“It will be too soon for the rest of our lives. Your lucky I didn’t build you the safety bubble I wanted to build you, you menace.”
“He really was going to,” Pidge pipes up. “I had to pry the blueprints from his hands.”
Lance tips an imaginary hat. “And I thank you for your service.”
“Whatever, goober,” she says, rolling her eyes, but she’s smiling.
There’s nothing strange about the knock on his door. Keith knocks as he always does: just one singular knock, to make people on edge, because he thinks it’s funny.
Because he recognises this feeling, the intense feeling of déjà vù mixed with clear memory — one of his old visions is playing out.
And there’s only one outstanding vision of his that takes place in his bedroom, with Keith, as he’s folding laundry.
“Come in,” he squeaks, desperately trying to compose himself and fight the blush off his face and failing horribly.
Keith steps in and immediately starts helping Lance with the laundry, even though he’s horrible at it and always insists that closets have more space if you roll up clothes instead of folding them.
He’s quiet for a long moment, rolling laundry until Lance smacks him, and then begrudgingly folding it.
“Did you See this?” he asks eventually.
“Yes,” Lance admits, because he sees no reason to lie.
“Then you know what I’m going to say.”
Keith’s hands finally still, and he sighs, finally looking over at Lance with a smile that shows the barest peek of his crooked incisors. “That doesn’t make it easier, somehow.”
Lance’s belly curls, like he always does when Keith smiles at him like that. He tries to remind himself that he is a grown ass man and he does not need to swoon like a preteen when his crush looks at him, thanks. He forces himself to set the laundry down and take a step towards Keith.
“You should say it anyway.”
Keith hums, closing the distance between them and placing on hand on Lance’s hip.
“Is that how we’re gonna play it, Sharpshooter? You’re not gonna have mercy on me?”
Lance’s breath hitches. “Not for a second.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Keith mumbles, and then his other hand cups Lance’s cheek and he doesn’t waste a second before pressing their lips together, firmly, like he knows Lance can take it.
“I’m in love with you, Lance. I want to be yours. Sound alright?”
“I suppose I could live with it,” Lance rasps, completely unable to dodge the flick that Keith aims for his head when they stand so close.
He decides he doesn’t mind, though, not when Keith shuts up any further teasing with another press of their lips together.
It’s just as good as Lance knew it would be.
