#lance whump

From my fic:

Accidental Intentions Pt.2:

Intentional Accidents

Chapter 11 | Embarkment

The last statement was punctuated with a quick cough into the crook of his elbow, it sounded crackly and came from deep in his chest.

Coran’s grimace only intensified.

“We really must establish a more precise translation for the word ‘fine’ because it seems that we have a different connotation in Altea...”

Lance grumbled again, the rattle in his chest worsening with each noise of protest.

“I’m totally alright to finish helping you with this. It’s not a big deal, I can handle it later,” he assured, though none too convincingly since the ladder he was supposed to be holding in place while Coran worked was doing a better job keeping Lance steady.

“Do I need to find Shiro and have him make it an order? I’m sure he would agree that we need our blue paladin in tip top shape, especially with what he’s got planned for training tomorrow.”

The younger boy stiffened at that, his shoulders falling in defeat a second later because he knew Coran was not one to bluff and maintaining his pride wasn’t nearly enough of a motivation to consider calling him on it then.

“Do you require assistance back to your quarters or—“

“M’fine, thanks.”

Lance waved off the idea with a dejected wheeze and officially gave up on concealing the noises his chest was making, letting the subtle wheezes that came with every rise and fall be heard as he made his way down the corridor.

He’d been tight all day and it had only gotten worse as the afternoon progressed.

Training that morning was relatively light considering Shiro wanted to run benchmark tests on everyone’s physical abilities the next day. He had stressed multiple times how it was not a competition and just to see where their strengths and weaknesses were so they knew what to work on, eyeing Lance and Keith when he said so.

They all knew what would happen despite the warning, that it would be a competition no matter how hard Shiro tried to advocate against it. But with the rattling in his lungs only worsening, Lance was becoming concerned for the morning to come.

His asthma hadn’t acted up much while they were in space.

The castle seemed to take care of any dust particles that would have otherwise set him off and the paladin suits usually did a good enough job filtering the air inside and keeping out any potential irritants.

That left only two major issues for him to be wary of: which was 1) the lack of moisture in the recycled air, and 2) intense physical excercise.

The first issue isn’t really an issue anymore because of Pidge.

She’d borrowed an altean mug warmer and tea kettle from the kitchen and rigged up a sort of mock dehumidifier after hearing that Lance had gotten a nose bleed almost every night the first week they were there. It only blew up on one occasion, but once she figured out a way to keep the water hot without shorting several fuses, Lance was golden.

No more nose bleeds unless they planned on ever exploring another bizarre dust planet.

She’d also macgyvered a sort of breathing mask out of a funnel and spare tubing that he could attach to the kettle when he needed something more direct to alleviate tightness during an attack.

This of course was not intended to be his sole means of treatment because his inhaler was supposed to be, but he was on his last one and had to ration what was left.

It was by pure cosmic chance that both Hunk and Lance had one on each of them when they got thrown into this mess. Hunk was perpetually reminded of how forgetful his best friend could be and scarred enough by instances where he’d needed one and hadn’t had it that he made a point to carry one with him pretty much at all times.

And it was his best friend’s determination to avoid the undo stress of such a traumatizing event again (if he could help it) that ultimately saved his ass for the first few months of their stay. And thank fucking god for that because it had gotten him this far through their time in space without major incident.

Lance, however, was still very fucked.

Coran hadn’t yet perfected a medicine that mimicked what was in his inhaler and worked fast enough. The only things on hand that eased inflammation were topical and took too long to improve anything for it to be used the way Lance required.

But he was desperate enough to seriously consider stopping by medbay after dinner to steal a vat of the magical salve to use before bed leaving plenty of time to work before the morning.

Even with this menial solution, he knew that the next day was still destined to be a shitshow of some caliber because enter problem number two...

His asthma only flared during physical activity and inhibited his ability to keep doing that physical activity if he didn’t have adequate time to catch his breath. And Shiro’s usually pretty good about exercising in a healthy and controlled way, so once again he was usually pretty golden as far at that area went.

But he also usually didn’t excercise when his lungs were acting up.

And he’d also always had his inhaler.

And they also usually never did that much cardio all in one day.

Then again, Lance was screwed, so of course everything that could possibly make the situation worse... was.

Though it wasn’t until he was on his cold cabin floor, head between his knees heaving in the steam from Pidge’s tea kettle dehumidifier that he realized just how fucked he might be.

Because it wasn’t helping.

Like at all.

It was loosening up the congestion, sure. But it wasn’t doing anything about opening his airways. They weren’t getting worse as far as tightness went but they weren’t getting much better either, still uncomfortably constricted and making him wheeze.

And so he finally bit the bullet and reached for his inhaler, but his heart seized with fear after feeling how empty it was when he shook it. No. He was certain he’d had a handful of pumps left and that was definitely enough to get him through the next morning, it had to be.

But when he brought it to his lips and inhaled nothing, he almost cried.

That’s just lovely.

Lance stayed hooked up to Pidge’s breathing contraption until dinner was called. He ignored how sore his back and sides had become as he made his way to the dining hall from the sheer amount effort it took to breathe because if he stayed on that fact too long he would start panicking.

He had to work twice as hard to cover up the sound of his lungs straining while they ate, not feeling the slightest bit hungry with how anxious he was that he wouldn’t be able to get his symptoms under control before the next morning.

“Is everything alright number three, you’ve hardly touched your dinner?”

“Food goo’s just not that appetizing tonight, sorry,” Lance managed without sounding too hoarse or crackly, his voice lower than Coran’s so as not to attract the attention of the others.

“Have your swollen capillaries anything to do with—“

“My capillaries are just fine Coran,” Lance sneered quickly.

His glare was deadly but the older man wasn’t budging and didn’t bother to keep his voice down as he probed and Lance continued to push the pile of green sludge around his plate through the entire ordeal.

“What’s this about something being swollen?” Shiro asked, looking woefully confused of which set the other paladins off in a fit of laughter.

None of them had been listening and couldn’t even begin to guess what he was referencing.

“Who is swollen?” the Princess added from the other side of the table, eliciting a resounding uproar from the others as Lance’s interrogation continued.

It seemed that as more pairs of eyes bore into him the harder it had become to fight the tickle at the back of his throat and avoid coughing.

“Lance’s lungs appear to be in distress and it’s giving the boy some discomfort. I believe I sent him to his room earlier to take care of it before it became an issue but it seems—“

“I did take care of it. My lungs are fine now Shiro,” Lance countered, his face burning for a slew of reasons now: embarrassment, dishonesty, fatigue. He just wanted to go back to his room and stick his face in a funnel for however many hours it took until his lungs didn’t ache so badly.

“Hmm, why do I somehow not believe that’s true?”

He could deal with Shiro’s doubtful frown, not like it’s the first time it’s been aimed at him.

“You really should be honest with us Lance, you’re health is not something to be reckless with.”

The disappointment in Allura’s smile was a little harder to withstand.

“Is the tea kettle not staying warm enough? I can take a look at the wiring again...” Pidge offered absently.

“Tea kettle’s perfect, only had to use it for a couple minutes before I felt better,” he said facing Coran and narrowing his eyes.

“It is the duty of the Princess and I to make sure our paladins are well, so do not give me that look, it is most displeasing.”

“Yeah? Well, ya know what else is displeasing? Betrayal!”

“You are so dramatic.”

Lance was almost grateful when Keith rolled his eyes at him.

“See Shiro? That’s how you know he’s okay, right back on his bullshit—“

“Pidge! ”

“They’re not wrong, bud,” Hunk agreed, the threat of an another burst of laughter serious now. Lance didn’t feel like laughing though, not when his chest wasn’t expanding nearly as much as he needed it to.

“You’re all traitors as far as I’m concerned! I’m outta here, thanks for the food I guess,” he grumbled and whisked whatever was left of his goo into the trash before setting off for the kitchen to wash his plate, promptly tuning out the voices calling him back to the table.

His lungs were on fire and once he was out of ear shot he indulged himself in clearing his throat but it soon devolved into a flurry of painful coughs that had been building and torturing him as soon as he’d left his room. They were dry and raucous and left him slightly winded once he finished.

“That’s... not good, not good at all,” he murmured to himself, his voice rasping and crackly as he strode off towards medbay.

The walk making his chest sting with how urgent his strides were, but he didn’t dare slowing. He didn’t even wait until he got back to his room to smear the sticky blue substance across his chest once he made it there.

It had an immediate cooling affect on his skin, the slight sting a nice distraction as it started the slow process of remedy.

A full night was more than enough time for the medicine to do its job, convinced he’d feel good as new when he woke up. And if worst came to worst he would just take it easy during whatever Shiro had planned, which wouldn’t technically be him tapping out or anything, just him being careful.

With this resolve, he took the longer route back to his room to ensure he’d avoid running into anyone, determined to keep the true state of his predicament disclosed until it became an actual problem.

But that also meant twice the amount of walking and it would be an understatement to say that he was merely out of breath when he finally got back.

“Dios... mío...”

It was indeed a rough and long, long night.

He got up to refill the teapot twice and isn’t sure the cream ever performed any miracles, his chest just as tight when his morning alarms started going off as it had been the day before except with sorer muscles.

It didn’t hurt to take a deep breath anymore but every task he had to perform from the moment he rolled his aching body out of bed until he was due at the training deck left him panting.

That’s how Coran found him on the bench of the training room. Breathing too heavy amidst his urgent guzzling of a water pouch to quell the need to cough from the effort of getting himself there.

“How are the capillaries today, lad?”

He finished the pouch with an enthusiastic ‘ah’ and held up his hands as if to convey that he was innocent. Coran studied his hands like they were coated in evidence anyway.

“I am superb Coran, thanks for asking. How are you?”

“That was not the question that—“

“D’ya ever end up getting that air vent fixed?”

“Lance—“

“Alright, everybody! Come to the center for one moment while I go over a few things...”

“Sorry Coran, catch ya later I guess!”

He jogged to the center of the floor where the others were gathering without a second glance and prayed that Coran gave up and left soon.

They were starting with what they usually did at the garrison. A mile warmup run which translated into several agonizing laps around the training deck.

Lance was a strong distance runner despite the occasional limitations from his stupid lungs, but Keith was not. Much like his personality he was best at being quick and rash and not particularly apt at rationing his energy or knowing how to pace himself.

So of course he took off at a dead sprint as soon as they started. Lance eased himself into the intense pace by hovering at his heels for the first lap with Shiro trailing behind them at a slightly slower but steadier pace.

It wasn’t that Lance couldn’t handle a 1600 meter sprint. He’d ran track at the Garrison and was more than experienced in sprinting middle distances, but his lungs weren’t quite as down for that type of workout at that moment.

They were tighter than ever and he could feel the mucus building up with each stride, slowly but surely coating the inner lining of every single pissed off airway.

The only comfort he found was that the mile seemed to be tough on everyone. It wasn’t like they’d had a terrible amount of cardio practice during their sojourn in the cosmos when their main mode of transport aside from the castleship were massive mechanical lions capable of moving a hell of a lot faster than any human could.

Hunk and Pidge stuck together in the beginning but as soon they passed the first mile Pidge started hanging back, Hunk following suit not long after.

Shiro was doing fine and stayed in the middle of the group to keep an eye on everyone, he gaze trained mostly on Lance as he looked for signs of distress.

But he and Keith seemed to be holding up well. They were maintaining each other’s speed for the first couple of laps, stealing taunting glances at one another every once in a while and taking turns pulling slightly ahead, neither willing to cave until they came up on the halfway mark.

Keith seemed to be fatiguing and let up. Lance dropped back to match him because there was no use in exerting anymore unnecessary strain than he already was.

The ache in his chest was making it hard to get enough air in, but he continued to ignore it, switching to breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth to try and get into a good rhythm again.

He’d run feeling worse a handful of times, still he figured he should play it safe and slowed his pace even more, hoping Keith would follow.

But he didn’t. He kept at the speed he’d readjusted to and didn’t appear to have any intentions of giving it up. Lance considered catching back up but the ache in his chest was smarting fiercely and he didn’t think he could handle that without a little breather.

Freaking mullet.

Shiro appeared at his side then and matched his pace, his words coming effortlessly even after the change of speed. Lance was jealous. He wished his lungs could manage that.

“If you need a break you can sit out a lap or two, this is just to see—“

“—where we’re all at, I know,” he spat hurriedly between heavy breaths.

“And I’m fine, just pacing myself.”

Shiro didn’t seem convinced in the slightest.

“Okay, but seriously take a break if you need to,” he urged before setting off after Keith.

“This... is torture... like seriously!” he could hear Hunk saying in the distance.

Lance agreed.

“I thought we’d... escaped these... now that... we’re in freaking space...”

They were close enough that Lance could drop back and stay with them for the rest of the run, but his pride wasn’t that easily squashed and wouldn’t allow him to abandon his death wish.

“Apparently not,” Pidge huffed breathlessly.

He was one of the better runners of the group, his lean legs were made for it, and yet here he was almost at the back of the pack.

Hunk had too much bulk to move nimbly, but he could hold his own on distance circuits and even used to join Lance for the occasional workout at the Garrison’s indoor track.

Pidge was no slouch either when it came to running considering how one of the only things they had in common back at the Garrison was their affinity for cross country.

But he shouldn’t be this far behind. Not when this was one of the things he was irrefutably good at. It was something that came natural, something he didn’t have to work to excel in, just to get better and keep shaving down times.

And if he couldn’t handle a simple warm up run at his normal caliber when his lungs felt shitty, how was he supposed to trust himself in battle when they acted up? There aren’t any ‘breathers’ in war.

It’s this fear that makes his legs pump harder, the distance between Shiro and Keith’s boots getting smaller and smaller with each harsh pant. His lungs protested the pace but there was only one straightaway left after they finished this lap. He could do that. He had to.

He came up on Keith’s right without any warning, the other boy startled at his sudden presence, but Lance didn’t look up from the ground to catch if there was any warning in his expression too. He could feel the glare of disapproval he was getting from Shiro without even having to look.

The spreading tightness in his chest seemed to burn as more of a tender ache as he pushed well past the previous day’s height of inflammation quelled only partially by Pidge’s tea kettle. Stopping or slowing wasn’t on his radar. And he couldn’t see the difference one lap would make anyway.

Lance vaguely heard footsteps trying to catch up as he surpassed them but soon the only sounds he could make sense of were his own grating breaths.

He couldn’t tell if he’d put much distance between them in the end or if either had closed what he did manage, just that he couldn’t feel his legs once he was finished.

It took a couple extra strides to slow down and come back to the world. And when he did it wasn’t even on his own accord but from the shock of Shiro’s hand squeezing his shoulder as he stood hunched over his knees, his gaping breaths apparently audible enough to cause concern.

“You okay? Saw you holding up pretty well with Keith before, but you pushed yourself there at the end when it really wasn’t necessary. I told you, this is just to see—“

“I know... I know... m’good, I just need some water.”

His throat was hoarse and gravelly and trying to sound as normal as possible despite the whistle rattling in his chest every time he spoke sapped too much of his energy.

“Alright. I’m trusting you tell me as soon as you feel crappy, don’t make me regret it.”

The sincerity in Shiro’s expression made Lance’s heart lurch nearly out of his chest with guilt when he met his grey pinpoints and nodded earnestly, turning away quickly before his burning cheeks gave him away.

His legs were starting to feel even lighter as he made his way over to the others who were already sitting around the cooler of water pouches.

Hunk and Pidge were sprawled out on their backs looking just as spent as Lance felt while Keith seemed to have barely even broken a sweat.

He lowered himself against the wall stiffly, the sore muscles in his back and sides twinging as they were pulled on. There must’ve been some sort of sound that accompanied the discomfort he was in that had Keith glancing his way with a frown, but he didn’t inquire further of which Lance was very grateful for because he doubted he had enough energy to handle another interrogation.

Silently ascertaining that he direly needed water and wasn’t going to get it on his own, Keith tossed a water pouch his way and Lance thanked him with a tight smile.

It took his shaking hands a few extra pokes to get the straw through but once he did he started sipping greedily. The water was cold and soothed his burning throat, but the more he sucked down the more he realized how desperately he needed to cough.

“Great job everyone, take the next couple of minutes to stretch and work on finishing a pouch before we move on to strength. We’ll be heading over to the pool after for a short cool down...”

Well shit. Lance wasn’t sure why it completely skipped his mind that the entire training session was a fitness assessment. Or that there’d be more than just the run.

He was certain his chest was rattling audibly as he fought the literal band slowly but surely wrapping itself around his lungs, struggling to both catch his breath and hide his tremors as he held in the explosive coughs his chest was desperate to produce.

The ache was burning more by the minute and progress in slowing his breathing from the run was increasingly harder to come by when every inhale spurred a spasming exhale that couldn’t be held long enough with the need for air so overwhelming.

But it was nothing he couldn’t handle. It was nothing he hadn’t experienced before and come back from without rescue medicine.

The swimming portion would be a challenge but the strength test wouldn’t be that taxing if he took it slow and steady. He would just have to actually take it easy, once again resolving he was absolutely fine to continue.

It was surprisingly not long until he discovered that he was very very wrong.

Keith was the second to bail during the push ups they started with, muttering something about wanting to save his arms so he could kill Lance in the swim as he joined Pidge who’d stopped after she hit the Garrison’s minimum requirement of fifteen.

Lance dropped to his chest not long after and took a moment to try and breathe before dragging himself back over to the water cooler, Hunk and Shiro still going strong behind him and none the wiser of the intense crackle reverberating in his chest.

He plopped down next to Keith with a grunt, figuring that of all the people likely to fuss over him and the sounds that his lungs were making, he wouldn’t be one of them.

He was wrong. Again.

“Maybe slow down on the water, don’t want to make yourself sick...” Keith warned with a cautionary scowl as he sipped from his pouch only a little at a time.

“Right,” Lance all but croaked in response when his pouch emptied, his voice cracking with a whistle beneath even his words now.

His face heated immediately and he closed his eyes as if to pray that it wasn’t noticed.

It was.

“You doing okay...? These are just drills you know, you don’t have to push so hard if it’s making your—“

“This is normal, my lungs just suck. We knew this already.”

His breaths were sounding closer to wheezes each time he spoke, the actual words doing little to convince Keith they were true.

“Lance, I’m serious... hey! Don’t wave me off, you don’t sound good... and you look like you’re overheating.”

He only shook his head and made to get up despite Keith’s protests.

That was it. He was just hot and needed to cool off before it made his breathing an actual issue, nothing a cold towel on the neck couldn’t fix.

“Gonna go to the bathroom...”

But his chest tightened painfully when he rose to his feet and had him leaning over on his knees to wheeze sheepishly as the organs spasmed from the movement, effectively blocking any air from coming in until the muscles relaxed.

And by relax that is to stop actively contracting because they hadn’t been relaxed in over twenty-four hours and wouldn’t be anytime soon.

“Nope, this isn’t normal—Shiro!” Keith called as he moved closer to tug his friend’s arm and try and get him to sit back down.

“Asshole...” Lance muttered with another crackling cough.

“Yep.”

Keith took advantage of his pause to pull on him again and by then Lance’s body was too deprived of oxygen to keep up any protest so he hardly had to yank to have him sinking against the wall in a heap.

“We knew that already though,” he reminded with a smirk and turned to Shiro who was sitting back on his heels next to Hunk who was still at it with another round of push ups.

“What’s up, Keith—wait, what’s wrong?!”

The tightness in Lance’s chest was throbbing incessantly now, effectively dampening his ability to properly take in air and not just to expell it.

Nope! This is as far as this is going to get.

He shrugged Keith’s hand off of his arm as he drew his knees up to his chest and set his legs wide, resting his head between them to work through the strain.

It theoretically wouldn’t be impossible to calm his already decently inflamed airways before it got to a point where he would have needed to use his inhaler. He just had to chill out and not try and subdue the crackling wheezes.

So he took long, calculated inhales breathing from his belly and ignoring the growing lump in his throat.

Just relax, you’re literally fine.

He could hear Pidge muttering something as she scurried around to his other side, her small hand falling to his elbow.

Keith was filling Shiro in as he strode over and Lance made a mental note to smack him the next time he could spare the energy for throwing him under the bus so quickly.

“Damn it, Lance. I told you to take it easy, where’s your inhaler?”

Shiro was kneeling in front of him now, his voice pinched with worry.

Lance refused to lift his head up from where it rested on his knees. Both because the position opened up his lungs and because he didn’t think he could withstand the severity of the glare that would meet him if he did.

“Don’t need it...” he wheezed, “m’fine.”

The thumbs up he summoned from his position between his legs as he focused on deep, calm breaths didn’t seem to add as much validity to his claim as he thought it would.

“Uhm, you don’t look fine,” Shiro countered.

“You don’t sound fine either—“ Keith added.

“—kinda sound like a squeaky toy, ya know?” Pidge chimed in just as Hunk realized what was up and started making his way over.

“Like the ones you squeeze and when you let go they—“

“We know what you mean, Pidge,” Hunk interrupted and shook his head, bending down to Lance’s level and laying a gentle hand on his back.

Lance tried to respond with his own quip along the ‘I’m fine, so everyone just shut up’ variety but all that he could muster was a crackling squeak as he struggled against a raucous hack that had him choking on the mucus blocking his rapidly swelling airways.

“Don’t talk, you’re good,” Pidge shushed, her tiny hand squeezing his arm sympathetically.

“Yeah, just focus on breathing for now,” Shiro urged, the vein in his forehead that only appeared when he was disproportionately worried bulging as he did.

“Dude where’s your inhaler, why aren’t you using it?”

He finally lifted his head to shake it and meet Hunk with desperate eyes but no further explanation.

“What does that mean?” Shiro inquired, voice just as level as before but firmer now as the severity of Lance’s predicament began to unveil itself.

He tried to speak again but when nothing more than a strangled rasp left his lips, he shot another pleading look at the people hovering over him.

Ugh, this is not happening.

The worry in all of their faces jumped a few notches at the way his face twinged and his hand flew up to rub at his sternum.

“Is it on you?”

He shook his head again, the corners of his eyes beginning to brim with tears.

“Then it’s in your room?”

The lack of air was starting to make him dizzy.

“What do you mean no...?”

The surface tension of the tears pooling in is eyes was really being put to the test when he just kept shaking his head, chest feeling heavy with mucus as it continued to fill with everything other than what he needed it to.

“It’s alright, we’ll find it. Hunk do you think you’d know where to look? Okay, Keith go with him and run it back. Pidge why don’t you go find Coran and let him know we may need some assistance here...”

The heat in Lance’s chest was agonizing now. He swore he could feel every minuscule capillary slowly swelling shut. Each individual bronchial tube dilating as the walls secreted a thick layer of freaking phlegm that only hindered his ability to breathe further.

Stupid respiratory response system, stupid inadequate lungs, stupid ship with its desert air, stupid space that doesn’t have an endless supply of ventolin—

“Hey, you gotta try and calm down. They’ll find your inhaler and you’ll feel better in no time...” Shiro attempted to soothe as everyone raced to carry out their assignment.

He looked utterly anguished as Lance searched for something that would soothe the fire in his chest. His hand was firm on his shoulder and his voice was measured and sure. So he wasn’t able to understand why his ministrations weren’t putting him at ease.

Lance’s mouth hung agape, his hands clawing at the collar of his cotton workout shirt like it would release the inexorable pressure that was suffocating him.

But relief wasn’t anywhere to be found. And he knew that. The knowledge didn’t stop him from panicking though.

He wished he could talk. He wished his throat didn’t feel like it was closing with how clenched up everything was. Wished he could explain and speed up the process so they could help him sooner.

But there was no way to tell his friends how fucked he was, the literal only thing he could do was try and calm down a little.

And so he closed his eyes and tried to force deeper breaths despite the cinch around his lungs because Shiro had asked him to, because he’d need as much air as he could get anyway he could get it.

“That’s it...”

He tried even though it burned and even though without his inhaler it wouldn’t make that much of a difference.

“I know it hurts but keep going...”

Everything was starting to get blurry around the edges.

“In... and out...”

He wasn’t sure if it was from the tears or because he was about to lose consciousness from asphyxiation.

“Another... come on, you’ve got it...”

But he fought the tightening cord anyway and forcibly inflated his stupidly inferior organs.

“They’ll be back any second...”

He did it to put Shiro at ease more than anything because he was now desperately wishing that he passed out soon, the fear starting to lace into Shiro’s affirmations almost more oppressive than his inflamed airways as they sealed shut.