Chapter Text
In retrospect, it probably hadn’t been Lance’s greatest idea to think his tiny, fleshy human hand would stand even the remotest chance against a steel-ton Galra brand door. There’s a reason they say hindsight’s a bitch, he supposes, but in the moment, the only thing that had mattered was he not get separated from Shiro in the middle of what turned out to be a less than abandoned base, and so the second he saw it start to close and Shiro was still on the other side, his body had moved on automatic and he made a grab for the door.
This particular mission Allura has sent them on was to take down a communication tower that had seemingly been left to rot but could be a concerning asset for the Galra empire should they remember it existed. So of course, it’s devolved into the same scenario as every other time—a mission gone wrong, a surprise enemy attack, and now what should have been an easy in-and-out destroy the evil thing of the week has turned into yet another struggle for their lives.
Which, y’know. It’s cool! All in a day’s work as a paladin. There’s gotta be some give and take what with the whole being saviors of the universe thing, though Lance could have done with a little less imminent danger this time around.
Despite the fact that Lance likes to think he’s gained some muscle since becoming a paladin, his weight is no match for the door’s unrelenting mechanical slide. He briefly manages to catch Shiro’s eye where he’s punching a sentry in the face before his whole body jerks forward with the door. Lance feels something pop in his shoulder as he clings with all his might in what would have been a very concerning way, if not for the fact that his fingers being crushed by an unforgiving block of metal is infinitely more agonizing.
Lance lets out a yell of pain and slams his foot against the wall in a futile attempt to wrench his hand free because sweet quiznak it hurts. It’s a small mercy then that his sacrifice leaves a large enough gap for Shiro to shove his significantly less squishable hand through and force open the door. Lance instantly starts to crumple in relief, only for Shiro to seize him by the arm and take off running.
By the time Shiro deems them in the clear to hide, Lance feels nearly delirious, every breath tinged with pain because it’s impossible to keep his arm wholly still with each heave of his chest. His glove feels disturbingly wet, and he really does not want to know what his hand looks like right now.
"Lance, I need your status report," he hears Shiro say through the buzzing in his ears. It’s likely not the first time he’s tried to get Lance’s attention since stopping, if the edge in his voice is anything to go by.
"Uh," Lance manages. "Not great?" He can think of a few other choice words that better fit his mood, but they’re all the kind that would result in Shiro being very disappointed in him, and he doesn’t want Shiro to be any more disappointed in him than he already is.
It’s a rarity in and of itself that Lance gets to be Shiro’s chosen partner for a mission like this. He was only brought on this mission because, as he’d argued, of the weapons in their roster, sniping the thing down would be quick, discreet, and significantly more practical than a sword, Keith. He’s actually still surprised that argument worked, though that now leads to the problem at hand.
Shiro is absolutely vital to making sure really any of their missions don’t crash and burn, and there would have been no chance of success if it had ended up being Lance on his own. But while there’s no use in regretting the particulars, right now, with his entire right side feeling like it’s burning, Lance can’t help but feel like all he’s accomplished is becoming a burden. He came on this mission because of his aim. So what’s the use of a sharpshooter who can’t even shoot?
"Alright, let’s take a look. Can you bend your hand?" Shiro asks softly. He reaches over to lift up Lance’s wrist, and Lance entirely fails to swallow down a whimper at the touch. He shrinks in on himself at Shiro’s concerned look—if Shiro didn’t already know Lance has possibly ruined the mission, he’s all but confirmed it now. Lance grits his teeth and forces his fingers to flex. At least three quarters are capable of movement—stiff, but bendable.
"Well it doesn’t look like anything’s broken, at least," Shiro says after a few beats of Lance carefully moving his hand and wrist, but then he sighs, and Lance immediately feels his stomach twist in on itself. "We should pull out, we need to get you checked."
Great, just great; good job, Lance, way to let his idol down. The panic at the thought overrides the pain, and he jerks forward. "No, it’s okay, I can still—"
There’s a sound from just beyond their hiding place, and thank God Lance has the self-preservation to immediately snap his mouth shut. He doesn’t quite stop another small whine of pain from slipping through, but it’s soft enough that Shiro only gives him the briefest of worried glances before he shifts around the wall they’ve tucked themselves behind to take stock of the situation. A Galra guard strides past about twenty feet away, clearly on the hunt for the base’s intruders. Lance hears Shiro let out a slow breath through his teeth. It’s arguably the only lucky break of the day they’ve had so far that there’s only one.
"Stay here," Shiro orders and slips out as soon as the Galra has its back to them, his arm already starting to glow by his side. Lance waits approximately four ticks before he immediately dodges out from the corner as far as he can go while still being out of the Galra’s line of sight. There’s no way he can run and catch up with his right side as it is, aching from shoulder to fingertip, much less be useful in a fight. Shiro’s holding his own fine anyway—of course he is, he’s Shiro—so Lance takes advantage of the fight to take a quick survey of their surroundings.
They’ve made it outside, which likely explains the lone patrolman. Lance has a better view of the base as a whole from here, but there’s not a whole lot to the landscape beyond the crumbling walls he’s using for cover surrounding a dingy courtyard that Shiro and the Galra are now fighting in. Shiro takes a rather nasty sounding hit from the Galra and goes stumbling back, and Lance only realizes he’s reached for his bayard when his hand flares up at the motion. There has to be something he can do from this position, injury be damned. Lance scopes out the base with a renewed fervor. This time he spies a wobbly wire structure reaching up towards the sky, and that—that has to be the communication tower.
Lucky break number two! The universe is really on a roll today.
Lance can see why this place was left behind—the tower looks like it’s been rusted through, to the point where a strong enough breeze could knock it over. In fact, it would probably hurt a lot if it fell on someone from that height. Lance’s hand twitches by his side; even that small a movement hurts, but not so bad that he can’t put up with it long enough to prove himself useful to Shiro—two birds, one stone.
"Shiro, can you lead him towards your left," he says into the helmet’s comm as he fumbles with his bayard, trying to balance it on his knee to compensate for the lack of cooperation with his arm. Shiro gives the slightest of starts as he dodges another attack, but he shifts his footing to start leading the Galra closer to the tower.
Steeling himself, Lance lines up his shot, breathes past the protest of pain that shoots through his hand, and pulls the trigger.
His shot hits true. Lance feels the briefest spark of triumph before recoil sends a burst of pain that shrieks up his arm.
"Motherfucker fucking fuck!" At least the tower takes care of the Galra. And the tower itself. Also Lance feels like he might pass out, or maybe be sick, but that’s neither here nor there as Shiro offers a wry grin at where Lance has collapsed on the ground.
"Nice shot."
"I aim to please," Lance starts to gesture, except that requires moving, and the millisecond his arm so much as twitches he remembers with frankly unnecessary quality why moving is a terrible idea. He catches Shiro’s look. "Hey, broken in one spot or a million, healing pod’s gonna fix it all the same."
"Well we don’t want you to go losing your entire arm," Shiro says as he crouches down and carefully helps Lance up into a sitting position. Lance thinks he’s grinning back, but his head mostly feels like its spinning in circles so it’s a bit difficult to tell what exactly his face his doing.
"You mean you don’t want to be amputee buddies? Shiro, I’m hurt."
Shiro huffs out a laugh. "Right. If you can make jokes like that, then you’re fine."
"I actually kind of feel like I’m dying," Lance offers conversationally, to which Shiro immediately says, “Right, okay, we’re getting you back to the ship now.”