One of my Patreon supporter’s prompt requests for Hunk + anxiety/panic attack + the whole team (sans Lance) helping him through it. Get your own fics (big event happening in November with lots of fanfictions being given out for free!) by signing up for my Patreon, starting at only $3/month (less than a cup of coffee for an entire month of goodies!!!)
He’s All Right
Summary: Deep breaths, Hunk told himself. It was all right. Everything was okay. Just hold the breath in and let it out. He couldn’t. He couldn’t breathe. He… he was going to die.
Or; in which Hunk has a panic attack and the team gets a crash course in how to help.
Story snippet:
“--there you go, buddy, you’re okay, deep breaths.”
Breaths.
Breathing.
Because he couldn’t breathe because Lance could be being tortured or dead--
What Hunk faintly realized had been a hand slammed against his back again.
“C’mon, Hunk, you’re okay, you’re okay, breathe in with me, buddy.”
Lance used to do breathing exercises with him when his anxiety got so bad he had panic attacks.
But Lance could be dead.
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He could be dead and Hunk would be up in space without him and he’d never see him again and what he would he tell Lance’s parents and oh God Lance was dead he was dead and--
He couldn’t breathe again.
The hand hit his back again, another gasping inhale torn from him.
The hit had been harder that time.
Metal.
Shiro’s prosthetic.
Focus.
Focus item.
Focus focus focus.
Hunk nearly gave himself whiplash as he turned, desperate, flailing hands reaching out and latching onto metal. He could feel Shiro startle and he was sorry because he knew that Shiro didn’t really like people touching his arm and he didn’t talk about it and he really shouldn’t be touching it but it was cool and warm and smooth and no this was wrong he needed to stop he needed to let go he--
Shiro pushed his arm in Hunk’s direction.
“It’s okay, here, look, it’s okay, Hunk, you want to see my arm?”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Ch1
A/N: Heya! I’ve been really tired the past few days but i managed to get off my ass to post this lolllll. Once again, special thanks to @lunasloveliess, @oorubixoo, and @alunaii for helping me to beta-read this!! :)
I originally planned to post a new chapter once every Tuesday but god thats too tiring and i have a life (+ other wip to work on) so.... theres a change in plans! It will not have a fixed schedule but I’ll still try to keep it regular! dun worry!
Okay so we get to the next fun part of torturing Lance even more (i mean,,, thats the entire point of this fic tbh)
WARNING: Graphic depiction of violence
Lance woke up with a groan. His entire body felt sore. And his head! He rubbed the side of it, and hissed at the stinging sensation.
“What the– What happened?” Gingerly, he pressed the painful spot. A bruise?
He was in a well-lit room with tables and chairs, which were haphazardly shoved to the sides of the room, toppled or broken apart. There had been a struggle or fight or something.
The smell of iron was heavy in the room.
Lance sat up and saw a Galra soldier on the floor, lying in a pool of blood. There was no way she was still alive with that much blood and the flap of flesh dangling at what used to be her throat.
Lance seized up as memories surged back. The distress signal, the capture, the attempted escape, the millions of bottles, the monstrous creature.
Why wasn’t he dead?
He lifted his hand saw it was caked with blood. In fact, both hands were. He felt his throat constrict.
But his hands weren’t wounded. The blood was from elsewhere.
Lance ran his tongue over his lips and cringed as he tasted blood. “Where the heck did that come from?” he muttered to himself.
He did a quick scan of himself. There was no gaping wound or anything of that sort. His back felt like there were glass shards in it, but that was probably because there were glass shards. Otherwise, he was only bruised and battered with a few shallow cuts, most likely from the glass as well.
Did the creature spare him? For what reason?
Maybe it didn’t spare him, so much as it had only sought vengeance from the Galra. It was hard to imagine anyone who would be thankful for being cooped up in a liquid-filled vessel.
But what was he doing here? Did the creature bring him here? For what?
Lance sighed. He decided not to question it. He was alive. That was all that mattered now. That and how he needed to get out. The others must be worried sick.
He rose to his feet, grunting in effort. His vision blacked out for a moment, and Lance had to stretch out his arms to keep himself steady. His sight gradually cleared, although he remained light-headed. The burning sensation in his back intensified, the glass shard relentless, as every other part of his body was aching dully, as though he had been thrown against several walls.
He stumbled out of the room and winced. The corridor was drenched in blood and littered with mauled bodies.
Some of them had their necks ripped through like the Galra in the room. Others had large gash at their torso, their ribs torn apart and left open. The occasional body was missing a limb or two, which could usually be found a couple of metres away, in its own pool of crimson. There were some bodies which were twisted unnaturally, bones snapped in two like toothpicks.
The corridor walls were scratched up and bathed in dark red. Certain parts were slightly charred. They were marks made by Galra blasters.
Then, there were the claw marks on some of the walls. Those clearly were not Galra.
He shuddered.
Jesus. That creature must have gone straight up mad to wreck the place like this. The place reeked of fresh blood and death.
Lance really was lucky to be spared from the massacre. Somehow.
He tried not to breathe in the scent of blood, but it was soon apparent that it was unavoidable. With a resigned sigh, he walked through the corridor, carefully avoiding the corpses.
He needed to find his lion and bayard. Then, he’d get out of here.
Soon, Lance reached a forked road and frowned.
Which way to turn? None of them felt like the right choice. He didn’t even know where he wanted to go in the first place. How on earth would he know if he should turn left or right?
Let’s try left.
He turned that way and continued down the long corridor. Not like he could make an informed decision at this point.
There were several other turns, and he trusted his gut feeling to direct him. It came to him quicker than usual.
Was he becoming another Keith Kogane? Maybe trusting instincts wasn’t that bad since Keith’s premonitions proved right.
After about five minutes of stumbling through the corridors, Lance noticed a familiar yellow figure on the floor. His breath caught in his throat as he dashed and skidded to his knees, uncaring that they would surely be bruised later. “Hunk?!”
He wasn’t… was he? It couldn’t be!
Fingers shaking, Lance held a hand in front of Hunk’s face.
He felt breath! Hunk was breathing!
He nearly collapsed onto his unconscious friend. “Oh, thank goodness.” He pat Hunk several times. “Hunk? Hunk? Wake up.”
When he didn’t respond, Lance’s heartbeat picked up again. He did a quick check on his friend. Hunk didn’t seem to be sustaining any major injuries. Lance turned his unconscious friend onto his back and checked his breathing closely. It seemed normal.
Nothing about Hunk raised any alarms; his life probably wasn’t in danger. Lance patted Hunk’s head, and reassured that he was fine.
The fact that Hunk was mostly unharmed supported Lance’s theory: the monster only attacked and harmed the Galra. Anyone else was left largely unharmed.
His stomach twisted in sympathy for the monster.
That poor fella. It must have been hurt so, so much for it to want vengeance this badly. His heart ached for the tortured soul of the creature, even if it was a scary monster.
With a grunt, Lance grabbed Hunk’s arm and threw it over his shoulder, hissing in pain.
The glass shards. They shifted in his back, digging into his flesh.
Steeling himself, he tried to stand up but tumbled down after every try. He panted with effort. Lance’s head spun violently and his hand shot to the floor to steady himself. It took a few seconds for the world to wobble back in place.
Maybe he had lost more blood than he thought.
Slowly, he placed Hunk back down before scouring through the corridor and the surrounding rooms. Luckily, there was a trolley nearby. He pushed it beside Hunk before half-rolling, half-lifting him onto it as gently as he could.
Lance had to get back to the lions. He sighed and began to push the trolley. When they arrived at a crossroad, Lance peered down all three corridors. This place was a damn maze. He pursed his lips in thought.
Straight ahead?
Lance grunted as he leaned on the handle of the trolley and pushed forward.
Somehow or another, Lance managed to find the lions quickly but their barriers were activated. He knocked on Yellow’s particle barrier and called, “Hey, buddy. Could you open up?” After a small hum of greeting, the yellow lion lowered its barrier and open its mouth for Lance to trolley Hunk in.
He lifted the large guy with a Herculean effort and propped him up on his seat. As a safety precaution so the other boy wouldn’t go tumbling to the floor when they lifted off, Lance strapped Hunk tight with the seatbelt.
When Lance straightened up, he swore he felt his skin rip further. He hissed in pain. To top it all off, his back felt wet. Whether it was blood or cold sweat, he really didn’t know.
Lance sighed loudly. The damn glass shards. He wanted to reach back and just yank them all out. That, of course, would do nothing but make more blood gush out.
Besides, he had better things to do than make his injuries worse.
Slowly so he wouldn’t aggravate his back, he got off the ship and nodded towards the two lions. “Wait for a sec. I still need to get the bayards and armour and stuff. Keep him safe, ‘kay, big guy?” he said, patting Yellow’s leg. “You too, Red.”
When he sensed the soft rumble of acknowledgement from the two lions, he headed back down the hallway, hoping he’d be just as lucky while finding where the bayards and armour were kept.
Walk straight and a fork right up ahead… Turn right.
He turned and continued staggering through the corridor, sighing.
Just a little more.
He made yet another turn at yet another crossroad. But as he walked round the bend, he was hit by a distinct and unwelcome smell.
The rotting stench.
The more he walked, the closer he got to the laboratory, it seemed. The odour only grew stronger and stronger. Truthfully, he didn’t want to go anywhere near that lab. However, he had a strong unexplainable feeling that this was the right direction, so he didn’t turn back.
When he made a turn again, he saw the swinging doors at the end of the corridor. It was the corridor from before. It was empty, save for the spot near the swinging doors, where a large bulge sat in the dark.
Lance pursed his lips. There was a strong urge to investigate it.
You wouldn’t like what you’d see. No point looking.
He pulled his gaze away, focusing on the walls instead. After walking slightly further, he found himself staring into a room. A quick glance was all Lance needed. He spotted their bayards and armour hanging on hooks that weren’t far from the entrance.
Unlike the corridors that smelt like rotting death, this room already reeked of fresh gruesome kill. It was a literal bloodbath in there and Lance hadn’t even stepped in yet. Fortunately, it was dark. He really didn’t want to see more dead people than he must.
Lance glanced at the piles of bodies in the room and did a quick count. It was the same number of druids that had cornered him a while ago.
With a shudder, he turned away, biting the inside of his cheek. The stuff they did was pretty messed up, but surely they shouldn’t have to go through such violent deaths.
No, they did. They would have used you like an experiment if they hadn’t died.
Lance shook his head to clear it. He didn’t want to dwell on that thought. It was too frightening to think about that while standing amongst piles of corpses.
Get what you need and leave.
He steeled himself, held his breath and stepped through the doorway. Quickly, he grabbed the bayards and armour before darting back out into the corridor. Immediately, he put his helmet back on and switched on the communicator.
“Hey, guys?” he tried. “Anyone online?”
“Wait. Lance?” He heard Keith say in disbelief. “Is that Lance?”
Lance laughed at the little crack in his voice, and his chest warmed up at the familiarity of his teammate’s voice.
There was a flurry of cheers and screaming and talking all at once. Lance couldn’t catch a word they were saying amongst all the noise. “Guys. You need to talk one by one. Can’t understand a word,” he said, a sigh in his voice.
He dropped to the floor and propped his head up on his knees. Feeling a little cold, Lance hugged his legs tightly. His eyelids were heavy with lethargy.
“Shiro and I lost all contact with you!” Coran yelled first.
“I could sense your lions moving away from Regeunde. But I couldn’t do a single thing!” Allura cried. Her voice was wracked with panic and guilt, trembling violently. “I tried to go back to the castle as fast as I could, but–”
“We couldn’t move out of the base! Security was tight and we had to follow for the sentry’s cycle, so we were moving at snail pace. But we’re heading back in now,” Pidge stuttered. “We’re so sorry!”
“Nah. It’s alright now.” Lance chuckled weakly. “Sorry for worrying you guys.”
“Are you okay though, Lance?” Shiro asked.
“Yeah, ‘m fine. A little beat up, but fine. How long has it been?”
“Three vargas!” Keith shouted.
“Geez… No need to yell… My poor ears, Keith. Definitely felt a lot longer than that though. My throat’s all dry.”
“What happened?” Pidge asked. “And where’s Hunk?”
“Apparently, the druids were ordered to stop Voltron from forming. Got dragged into their ship. Hunk’s knocked out or something. He’s in Yellow so he should be safe. Should still check up on him when we get back,” he mumbled. “They’re definitely planning something. Turns out you were right, huh, Keith?”
There was a curt hum from Keith.
Coran said, his voice more composed than before, “I am able to locate you through your communicator now.”
“Hang in there,” Keith said, firm and reassuring. “We’re nearly in the castle.”
Pidge said, “The Galra will most likely have a plan ready if we come to rescue them. We need to be careful.”
Lance bit his lip. “Whatever they’ve got up their sleeves, it probably won’t work now. The entire ship’s wiped out.” His hands were cold and stiff so he rubbed them together.
“What?”
“I’ll… explain later. I don’t feel good talking about that… now,” he said, glancing around the eerily quiet corridor. “Anyway, I’ll try to move away from the ship in the meantime. In case there’s, like, a booby trap or something.”
“Right,” Allura said. “Do stay safe, Lance.”
“As you wish, princess!” Lance said playfully, even adding a small superfluous bow despite his lack of an audience.
The groans and sighs came nonetheless.
“Just hurry up,” Keith grumbled.
“Alright! Lance out,” he replied before switching the communicator off.
With sore limbs and an aching back, Lance struggled to get back on his knees. When he did, his eyes were drawn to the large bulge right in front of the swinging doors to the laboratory once again.
It sat there, ominous and unmoving, but Lance couldn’t shake off this lurching feeling in his stomach. He had to look at it. Yet, something in him kept warning him that it wouldn’t be a good idea.
It wasn’t moving anymore. Surely it was dead. Why was he so terrified?
Of course you’re afraid! It’s a body! How could you not be? You should just leave it alone.
No, it wasn’t that he was scared of the body or its death. There was something else about it. Something was very off. If he took a closer look, he should be able figure it out.
But perhaps you are better off not knowing.
Maybe.
Still, Lance found himself inching closer. His heart slammed against his ribcage, and his breath was shallow and fast, not unlike that of a terrified rabbit. He activated his bayard and his breath hitched at the transformation. His hands were tightly curled around the gun as he slid his left foot forward, then his right.
A single look was all it took.
He jerked back. “Ay dios mio,” he breathed.
That bulge. It was mangled, resembling a crumpled paper ball rather than the limbed creature it had been.
But the dark green scales and sharp claws were unmistakable. Its head had been ripped off and was sitting wide-eyed beside the body. Still and unseeing, as though paralysed with shock.
It was the monster from the lab.
Lance broke into a run. With what little strength he had left, he dashed him to the lions— to safety.
He didn’t have the courage to look around now. Not when bodies of the Galra were scattered over the floor— disfigured, mauled, destroyed.
As soon as Lance made it to his lion, he fumbled for the buttons and managed to take off. His legs were jelly and his heart was beating quickly, but whether from running or fear, he didn’t know.
When he tried to sit down, pain spiked through his body. Glass shards. He let out a groan and remained standing.
Lance tapped the button at the side of his helmet. “Hey, guys. How much longer are you gonna take?”
“We’re almost there, Lance,” Allura’s calm voice came in. “Wait for us outside the ship. We should be there in a tick.”
“Okay. Thanks, ’llura,” Lance mumbled as he shuffled his weight to his other foot and switched the intercom off. He was way more exhausted than he had thought. “Okay, Red, m’ buddy,” he said. “We gotta drag Yellow and Hunk out. We should be able to reach the rest that way.”
Lance managed to complete that task with a combination of nudging and tugging and dying noises. As soon as they were out, the space in front of their lions folded into itself, and the Castle of Lion winked into existence.
He heaved a huge sigh of relief. His legs buckled and he barely caught himself in time.
Careful!
As he lowered himself, he was careful not to hurt his back any further and lay on his side, tired and sleepy. Every part of his body was aching.
He felt Red being dragged and he looked up to see Blue pushing him and the black lion grabbing Yellow with its massive jaws. By the time Red had landed securely in the castle, Lance was curled into a foetal position. His eyelids were closed and he could feel himself slipping. He managed to open his eyes enough to see the interior of the hangar.
Just a short nap. After that, he’d wake up to make sure Hunk was fine. His eyelids fluttered shut again.
A loud “Lance!” woke him.
Someone touched his shoulder and he hissed in pain. The hand was quickly removed.
“Oh gods. Lance? Are you awake?” Allura asked, tapping his arm frantically. “Please be awake.”
“Hm?”
She let out an audible sigh of relief. Her voice grew a little distant as she turned away from him to speak into her intercom. “Tell Coran to ready the operation table. Bring a stretcher to Red’s Hanger. Lance has lost a lot of blood.” After a brief moment of silence, Allura’s voice was directed to Lance again. “Alright, stay awake. Open your eyes,” she said.
“’m sleepy, princess. And everything kinda hurts,” he mumbled. “Gimme five more minutes.”
“Lance, stay with me. Just open your eyes a little longer,” Allura said as she conducted a check on Lance’s body.
With a groan, Lance forced his eyes open. His vision was blurry for a moment. Then, his eyes found iridescent blue ones and locked on to them. “Y’know, princess, your eyes are really pretty,” he blurted. “Anyone told y’ that? Like jewels.”
“Alright, Lance,” Allura said absently as she ran her hands over his limbs to check for wounds. She let out a soft curse when she saw his arms. “Do you know how badly you’re injured?”
“I know I have glass in my back,” Lance replied.
“Glass?!” Allura cried.
He tried to turn to let Allura see it, but the movement sparked a sharp pain through him and he let out a gasp, too tired to do any more than that. “Ah, fudge ball,” he whimpered. “Didn’t hurt so much jus’ now…”
“Did you jostle it while on the lion?” Allura peered over his shoulder and winced. “Oh, this is much worse than I thought. There’s so much– Why didn’t you say anything?”
Lance shrugged slightly, causing more pain to spike through him like an electric current. He dropped his head against the floor and breathed heavily, trying to steady himself.
Stay awake. She wants you to stay awake.
But surely a short little nap would be fine–
“Lance!” Allura called again. “Stay awake, alright? Stay awake. Help is coming.” She placed a reassuring hand on the back of his.
Lethargically, Lance nodded but he was losing focus. When he found himself staring at blobs of blurry colours, he shook his head and tried to concentrate on Allura.
“’s Hunk okay?” he asked.
“What? Oh. Keith and Coran are attending to him right now.”
“But is he oka–”
“Princess Allura!” Shiro’s voice came. “I have the stretcher.” His worried face hovered above Lance’s. “Hey, Lance. Hang in there.” Shiro gave him his worried-dad smile and Lance returned it with a tired one.
Allura hoisted Lance up and placed him on his side on a stretcher.
“Make sure he does not roll. His back is full of glass. We do not want it to be pushed in any further,” she told Shiro as they strapped Lance securely to the stretcher.
Just as he began to close his eyes, she pat his cheek. “Stay awake, please.”
“As you wish, princess,” Lance mumbled with a quirk of his lips.
Quickly, the two of them carried Lance out of the lion. They ran into Keith, who had just sprinted over from the direction of the infirmary. He matched the pace of Shiro and Allura as he gave them a quick rundown. “Hunk’s fine. Coran ran a check on him in the healing pod. Only bruised and slightly concussed. Nothing too bad. Put him in the healing pod for about two vargas and he’ll be fine.”
“That’s good,” Lance muttered.
Keith shot him a look filled with both rage and worry.
Lance gave him a sheepish grin.
With a groan, Keith squeezed his eyes shut and tore his attention away from Lance. He turned back to Shiro. “The operation room and Coran are free. Pidge prepared the room and some blood bags already.”
“Good,” Shiro replied.
They reached the operation table. As Shiro laid Lance onto the operation table, Allura explained the situation to Coran, “There are multiple glass shards in his back and burns to his arms.”
“Can I sleep now?” Lance mumbled. No one seemed to hear him over the loud clangs of preparation and rapid dissemination of information and instructions.
Try to stay awake.
But he was so, so exhausted.
Just a little bit longer.
Lance still found his eyes blinking slower.
“First degree burns, I believe,” Allura continued. “Multiple wounds to his arms and legs. Blade wounds. I can’t see much of his skin beneath the suit, but there seem to be many bruises.” She pulled at a cut in the suit and exposed some of Lance’s skin to Coran.
Coran winced. “He’s very pale. He must have lost a lot of blood.”
Eyelids heavy, Lance let himself slowly drift away. No one was replying him anyway. “G’night,” Lance mumbled, closing his eyes.
For some reason, Lance was aware that he was in a dream. He wondered if this was one of those lucid dreams Rachel had once talked about. He had never had one before. However, something felt a little different. Because this dream… didn’t feel like his.
His movements weren’t fully under his control. It was as if his actions and feelings and thoughts while in this state were shared with someone else.
In the dream, he was in the druid’s lab again. This time, he was in a jar on the shelf. It was difficult to see anything outside the jar. There was a white rectangle, probably a jar label, obscuring his vision. Behind him was a white wall, and to his sides were similar jars.
Each jar contained a blue and green creature that looked like half-developed foetus, except with a long tail that was twice the length of their body. They had small jagged mouths and two pairs of beady eyes. The twitch of their eight legs, and the slow movement of their feelers were the only indicators that they weren’t dead as they floated about in liquid.
Though they didn’t look alive to Lance either.
When Lance focused on the reflection on his glass jar, he realised he looked just like them. His wrinkly skin was dark green with splashes of bright blue.
His eyes travelled to the creature on his right, who had the most brilliant shade of green on the tip of their tail. They looked rather lethargic with their feelers drooping and head slightly bowed. As though sensing someone watching, they lifted their head, and beady eyes looked back at Lance. Despite never meeting such a creature before, Lance recognised their small tail movement as a greeting. He returned the gesture politely and watched as the other creature shook with joy, a momentary relief from the tense lifeless atmosphere of the room.
Then, there was a click. With a flick of his tail, Lance swirled in the jar and peeked through a thin gap under the jar label. An involuntary shudder ran through him.
Druids.
They got to work. Some prepared the laboratory table and equipment, but Lance’s attention was drawn to the druid approaching the shelf he was on.
His eyes made contact with the creature on his right again. Their tail shivered as they floated backwards in the fluid. Fear.
He glanced around. Everyone else was shaking in terror. He looked forward again to see the druid considering them all as though they were canned soup at a supermarket.
The druid’s arm loomed in Lance’s direction. With a squeak, Lance squeezed his eyes shut and curled into a ball. For several seconds, nothing happened. He worked up the courage to open his eyes again.
The spot on his right was empty. Alarm surged through his body, and he launched himself to the side of the jar. The druid was walking towards the table with a jar in hand.
A flicker of brilliant green.
“Fivirion!” The name slipped from his mouth. The name associated with that beautiful shade of green, something in his mind supplied.
Fivirion swivelled in the jar, and their eyes stared into his. Fivirion was frozen in place.
There was a violent, wrenching tug in Lance’s gut. As if there were millions more memories between them, and this was the final sliver of a moment left that they could ever share.
Lance felt his body press against the glass of jar and his voice screaming Fivirion’s name over and over and over.
A druid twisted the jar open, and Fivirion was poured into a light blue tray. There was sufficient light for Lance to catch their silhouette in the tray, flickering and writhing about frantically.
“Vree! Vree!” they screamed, and Lance felt his voice yell with greater urgency, “Fivirion!”
He moved back and slammed against the front of his jar. His heart was beating a thousands beats per second. He was on the verge of combusting with panic. Desperate, he swished in his jar and jumped to hit the jar cap.
It wouldn’t budge.
Fivirion’s screams morphed into a screech. Lance plunged to the bottom of the jar to look through the gap.
The druid used a pair of tweezers to seize Fivirion. Dread wracked through Lance’s body with fearful familiarity, despite never having seen it before. The druid swished Fivirion in the liquid of the tray for several seconds. When he was done, they were no longer screaming.
There was the occasional defiant twitch. But the druid had them under control.
The druid picked up a small needle and drove it into them and Fivirion spasmed for several seconds before falling deathly still again.
Lance pressed his body against the glass jar again, a sense of defeat washing over him.
A large creature was rolled into the lab. It was heavily sedated, its eyes only open a fraction, allowing its bright orange eyes to peep through. Its huge furry body slumped heavily against the cage it was in.
Lance felt faint. His breathing was heavy and his head felt light.
The druids opened the top of the cage and shoved the creature about roughly as they readied it for their procedure. When it was hooked onto a monitor and several tubes, they began the operation.
They shaved the back of its head and carefully made a small hole in it. Using the pair of tweezers, they picked Fivirion up and inserted them into the creature’s skull.
By this point, Lance could watch no longer. He curled into himself and squeezed his eyes shut.
He’d be lying if he said he knew what exactly was going on.
But he knew it was very wrong. The millions of indecipherable feelings, which welled up inside him and made his feelers shrivel, told him so.
1d75 dice results- 35: My muse dies in your muse’s arms.
@myexistenceisscience
The soft splatter of something wet on his cheek stirred him. Rain?No- there wasn’t rain here. It was too cold- only snow fell here,but it was so cold that the snow didn’t even melt on his skin.
So what was it? What was wet and falling? Why was it falling? Why wasit so damp and- it tasted of iron and something else, he realized asone of the splatters brushed his lips.
He cracked open his eyes, aware of arms trying to bodily haul him upand move him across the snow. He could feel the biting cold throughhis armor, licking at exposed portions of flesh as blood gushed outand stained the pearly white fluff around them. There was heat at hisfront- wreckage? Something had… Something had exploded, he thought.
Yes, something had- it explained why his front was hot, and why thecold feeling was growing in his limbs.
He blinked slowly, eyes feeling like sandpaper. Purple skin loomedabove him, white hair whipping in the wind like a blizzard untoitself. Lotor was bleeding- blood stained his hair, and was drippinga line down his face and onto Hunk’s as he pulled the heavy humanslowly away from the wreckage.
Hunk tried to breathe deep, but his attempt sparked something in hischest that sent him coughing, hard and sputtering, splatteringcrimson on his lips. Black dots danced in his eyes, and it tookseveral shallow breaths to chase them away.
“Lotor…” He breathed, honey-brown eyes locked onto theex-warlord’s gaze. There was a gurgle in his chest, an ache in hisribs. Something punctured, maybe. More than just the red tidespilling from his middle. “Lotor… You’re bleeding…”
It’s not always war that you can’t save everyone in. Sometimes it’s from themselves, sometimes it’s the ecosystem- but there is always someone you can’t save.
And some of them, usually the least likely of them, are experiences that stick with you for a lifetime.
It never got easier, being unable to save someone. It led to guilt, even if it was not actually your fault, and anger- anger to deep and so sour that it often led to explosions. Sometimes the burning of the fuse was short, and the explosion brief and small and easily handled. Sometimes the fuse sat untouched for weeks- until the tiniest, littlest thing brushed a spark onto it, and it set the whole thing ablaze.
Hunk did not remember his first time failing to save someone. There had been times before, certainly. A soldier he’d been pulling to his Lion only to not make it in time- a wound he was stitching shut, only for it to be naught.
None of them stood out quite so much as this particular instance.
The planet Vugati had sent out a distress signal- naturally, Atlas had been the first to respond. Vugati, upon arrival, had been in the middle of a complete environmental and planetary disaster. They had only a day to get as many Vuga off of the planet as possible- with the terrain cracking, crumbling, and falling into pits of venomous black magma below their feet.
More than half of the population had been lost already- it was a rush against the clock, and they had no ships in which to evacuate. They had to get them as quickly as they could from the unstable ground to the few, sturdy spots where they could land their lions.
Which was where Hunk had found himself in his predicament.
His arm strained. The muscles under his armor were bulging, cords pulled tight as he strained. His other arm held a child firmly to his chest, trying to shield them from the heat as they wailed, screamed for their parent.
The hand his straining arm held was scrabbling at him, claws trying to grip his slick armor and get purchase to pull themselves up.
Hunk’s breath fogged the inside of his mask, and he gave a growl, his legs straining under the ledge he’d wedge them in when they’d fallen. He tried to use whole body to pull upwards, but there was no use in it.
The Vuga were heavy- the children themselves weighed about two hundred pounds. The adult hanging off his arm was upwards of his weight limit- with both arms, he could have pulled him up, but there was no chance with a single arm.
::Guys?:: He called into his communications link. The heat was starting to bother him in his suit, his hands slipping just a little in his gloves. The suits were made to withstand extreme cold temperatures, not so much extreme heats or acids.
The sobs of the child nearly choking him were deafening. ::Guys please, I need help. I went down with a dad and his kid into a crack- there’s Lava, and I can’t carry them up all together. Guys?::
Silence crackled back at him.
Vugati was ripe with volcanic interruption. The only one that Hunk could feel was his Lion- and Yellow had already taken off and was heading towards him. But she couldn’t land- she couldn’t touch down, or they’d all be in the magma.
“Baima!” The child shrieked, giving a firm squirm against Hunk. “Baima! Baima!”
Baima was the Vuga word for father, and there in such equivalents according to his translator. The child was screaming for his father.
Every wailing cry from the ash colored child broke Hunk’s heart, and no amount of gentle shushing could quell the child.
The ledge under them gave a creaking groan, a thick splinter of heat webbing out from under his hip, and the hand scrabbling against his tightened but ceased at clawing.
“Okay, okay. We… We need to hold still, okay?” Hunk’s voice projected out of his helmet. “I need you both to hold very still. We’re going to be okay.”
“Ganbi?” The older male on the edge of the cliff raised his voice.
“Baima!” The child sobbed. “Baima! Baima, you have to climb up!”
“Ganbi.” The adult’s voice was a trembling semblence of calm. Something forced- something that set off warning lights with every word said. “You need to be good for the paladins of Voltron, okay? Be good. Sleep when it is time, remember wash, and to eat all of your meal. Be good, Ganbi. Be good for your Baima.”
“What?” The child sniffled a dry noise. “Baima, wha- what are you talking about?”
Hunk knew.
He shifted, and he tightened his grip around the thick wrist until his fingers felt like they were bruising. “No. No, no, you just stay right here.” Hunk’s shoulder gave a pop so hard that his vision gained black dots. “Just- I’ve got you okay? I’ve got you. It’s going to be fine. Just… Just hold on.”
“Yellow Paladin. Thank you.” The hand that had clawed at him for a better grip now clawed at him to let go.
And damn it, Hunk held on. He held on as tight as he could, his muscles straining against an alien beyond his weight limits, beyond his strength limits. His shoulder popped, his tendons strained and tore, and his fingers lost feeling- and Hunk held on, grinding his teeth against each other as he refused to let go. Refused to let this father die to save them- not when it wasn’t necessary.
Another crack in the ground made his shoulder drop two inches, and his arm spasmed as he cried out- and then his fingers were empty.
“Baima!” The child shrieked, smaller clawed hands reaching past Hunk’s face for the hands no longer visible.
Hunk wanted to say that death for the father was instantaneous as it might have been for a human- but it was not. The screaming started seconds after there was a slushy sounding splash, followed by heavy thrashing and the attempt to try and climb the crumbling sides.
Hunk could only flop his likely fucked shoulder over the kid, and curl around the kid as tight as he could while the screaming and muffled sobs of “Baima!” echoed in his ears like a haunting chant.
It took what felt like entirely too long for the kid’s father to die. And by the time he did, the kid was eerily silent.
“We’re going to die...” The kid whispered. “Like Baima...”
“You’re not going to die.” Hunk whispered furiously, his arms tightening. “Not now. Not until you’re old and whatever passes for wrinkly among your people. You’ll be okay, Ganbi. You’ll be okay.”
And the ledge held- held until a thin leonine paw shoved into the crack and extracted them out- Lance bailing him out with the Red Lion’s agile limbs.
The time it had taken between the fall of Ganbi’s father and the complete extraction with Red had been only three minutes.
It didn’t hit him until several weeks after Vugati had ruptured into a bunch of unlivable space lava, long after his arm had been repaired and Ganbi had been returned to his remaining family.
His arm was taking a while to fully recover. The pods could heal most of it, but the tendons themselves had to go through physical therapy of sort to get back to their full functionality.
He dropped things, sometimes- his tendons would tremble and seize, and tools would tumble from his hand, or he’d drop cups and plates. After he shattered his favorite mug, he’d given up the goat and gone to the medical bay and gotten some help.
The medic had small exercises for his arm- lifting small weights, extending his hand, flexing his fingers, rolling his wrist. He had to squeeze a ball and hold it tight in his fist for the count down of a timer, and that timer would slowly increase as his strength did. It was small things that helped in the long run- but it was a slow process to get better.
He did most of his exercises while he was doing other things.
Lifting weights was easily done while he was reading, or eating, or even doing simple cooking tasks. Flexing and extending was done almost as second nature.
The holding the ball for the time period thing was a little bit harder. He had to work himself up, thirty seconds, forty five seconds, and so on.
He was doing good- better than good- until the one time that he wasn’t.
Hunk was in the middle of reading a report in his room, while the counter next to him slowly ticked upwards on time. His eyes scanned paragraph by paragraph, keeping his mind and body calm while he held his hand in a tight fist. Near the middle of the paper, however, his arm twinged from the shoulder down, and he dropped the ball- three seconds before he hit his three minute timer on the goal.
Hunk stared at it for a while, at the clock mocking him, and the ball rolling across the floor like a dark black menace.
Sometimes it only took little things to trigger the snap. To some, this would be a little thing. To Hunk, it was not a little thing.
He was on his feet before he knew it, his fist balling and smashing into the reinforced wood of his desk. His vision tunneled, his mind hyper-focusing on one thing and one thing alone. Anger. He was angry, so, so angry. Angry at the ball, angry at the clock, angry at the stupid planet that had it’s ecological disaster- he was a burning fury of rage and he could see nothing past the tunnel of fury and the tears pouring from his eyes.
And when Hunk was burnt out, he sat in the center of the wreckage that had been his desk, with his knuckles bedecked in splinters and cuts and his palms poked from the hard screws used to once hold it together, and he sobbed.
Most of all, Hunk was angry at himself. Three minutes- he had been three lousy minutes away from having gotten the boy’s father out, and he’d have taken all the torn muscles in the world to be able to go back and fix it. To not have to hear the kid’s echoing wails while his father burned alive and cried for mercy, for it to end.
Three minutes- and the kid still would have had his dad. The cliff would have held- it would have, he knew it would have.
It may not have been Hunk’s fault- but it was his shoulder that gave, his hand that had given before the dad had pried himself free. It wasn’t his fault, but it sure felt like it was, deep, deep down inside his core.
Locked away inside his room, Hunk let himself grieve for the child, for the nightmares he’d have, both of them would have, and for the pain the father had suffered because Hunk hadn’t been strong enough.
Shiro opens up about his unrequited feelings for Keith to the last person he ever thought he would: Keith’s boyfriend, Hunk.
He doesn’t mean to, not really. But Hunk is hurt, they’ve been trapped for hours in the cold, and Shiro’s gotta keep him talking somehow. If this is what Hunk wants to talk about it, Shiro will bear it. And maybe it’ll do him some good, too.
Shiro opens up about his unrequited feelings for Keith to the last person he ever thought he would: Keith’s boyfriend, Hunk.
He doesn’t mean to, not really. But Hunk is hurt, they’ve been trapped for hours in the cold, and Shiro’s gotta keep him talking somehow. If this is what Hunk wants to talk about it, Shiro will bear it. And maybe it’ll do him some good, too.
Hunk POV, Heith established relationship with sweet af Shiro unrequited feels. Oh, and throw in cuddling for warmth? Just cuz I’m soft as heck.
1d75 dice results- 8: Your muse accidentally fatally injures mine.
@goofbcll
It was an accident. From start to finish, it was one long accidentand neither of them had meant for it to happen.
It had been a mistake, he realized way too late.
Letting his double check out his Bayard had seemed innocent at first.They were similar people after all- sure, Hunk was older than hisdouble, and generally more jaded at times, but they were similar.Hunk had just had time for his Bayard to take the form of a physicalweapon when he needed it to.
Naturally, upon finding it out, everyone had been curious to check itout and play with it.
Hunk’s war hammer was not so much a hammer as it was a tool ofdeath.
Most war hammer’s weighed between sixty to seventy pounds- Hunk’shammer was double that and then some. His hammer sat at a hundred andeighty pounds. His weapon was unwieldy to most folk, human and alienalike- but there was a reason that Hunk’s bench weight was veryclose to the world record. His hammer wasn’t something light tosling, and when he swung it, something always died. Always.
Which was, he supposed, ironic.
He’d given his double his war hammer to check it out, had laughedat him jovially when he’d struggled a little to heft the weightthat he was not accustomed to, sassing him and flexing at himplayfully. Hunk was known for being a shit when the mood was right-and watching his double huff and puff as he tried to adjust to theweight was about as funny as someone trying to pick up Thor’shammer.
Naturally, his double had mock swung at him for his insolence,laughing at him all the while.
They both forgot one thing. Hunk had absolutely no room to dodge,already low dexterity, and he had no armor on besides his tank top.And his double? His double was not so used to the weapon’s pullweight when he tried to lurch it to a stop.
The blow collided with his ribs and carried Hunk off his feet beforehis double could pull the hammer to a stop.
It wasn’t as great a swing as Hunk himself could have pulled off-there was no great velocity behind it, no massive upheaval ofstrength. The problem was- his double had used the pointed end of thehammer, designed for caving in thick breastplates or bursting throughalien armor.
Hunk’s side burst into a flurry of red gore, and down he went, ribsshattering into a sad pulp against his organs as he gasped, eyesflying wide. He coughed, and it was a retched, wet noise that he feltdown to the depths of his insides, his entire body struggling to turnover so he could breathe, get air- something.
“There’s no exit wound, the bullet is still in you.” Coran + Drabble?
Injuries drabbles:
Prompt: “There’s no exit wound, the bullet is still in you.”
Hunk winced at the pressure of a gauze pad on his stomach. He glanced over at Shiro sitting across from him, currently putting some stitches into Keith’s arm.
“Well,” Coran hummed over Hunk, arms hefting up the heavy Samoan and moving him on the medical bed without any issue. He rolled him just slightly, and deft fingers probed along his back, looking him over. “Well,” he started again, “We can’t put you in a pod.”
It always amazed Hunk just how strong the older alien was. Coran didn’t look it, but he could lift Hunk clean off his feat if he wanted to. “Why not?” He croaked weakly.
“He’s bleeding.” Keith protested. “He needs a pod.”
“I agree.” Coran nods. “However… There’s no exit wound; the bullet is still in you.” He settled Hunk down, and trotted over to get one of his scanners.
“I-inside me?” Wheezing, Hunk turned his head, following the ginger Altean.
“From the angle, it’s likely up against one of your ribs. I don’t think it struck anything vital, or you’d be dead, so that’s good news!” Coran chirped. “If you give me just a second, I can find some of your primitive earth methods for removing bullets. I would use a magnet, but Kutari bullets have barbs on them that discharge with concussive force when they’re pulled backwards! It would rip you open on the way out and you would bleed to death.”
The matter of fact tone made Hunk feel faint. Okay, it might have been blood loss too. His vision wobbled, blurring towards one big color as Coran trotted back to him.
“Looks like it should be as easy as opening up your belly, digging a bit, and fishing it out, and sealing you up with some stitches!” He waved the datapad eagerly. “I can get you a topical numbing cream, but you need to be aware of the pain so you can let me know if the barbs are hooked on anything vital.”
“I don’t think that’s how humans work.” Shiro admonished lightly. “We can’t feel our insides like Alteans can.”
“Oh.” He frowned. “How inconvenient! You can feel your outsides but not your insides? How strange. Well, Hunk, It looks like you can have a numbing agent after all. Hunk?”
