The Best Klance Fanfictions

WAHPCF Part 2

The simulation was commenced after a brief setup. Multiple droids were set to appear from randomized locations, and as a team they had to work together to take them all out. Lance didn't stray too far from anyone, but kept enough distance to provide cover fire for everyone around him. An acute awareness of just how many openings they could have as a team seeped into his senses, and the realization that he couldn't just watch his own back anymore truly started to sink in. When Shiro would watch Hunk's flank, and Pidge would watch Keith's, Lance would cover them, ducking and weaving away from any approaching bots.

When a gladiator dropped down directly behind him, its feet light and approach silent, the distracting sound of his rifle and shove of the recoil had him too preoccupied with picking off the droids trying to double-team Hunk to notice. It was fast, but Shiro was faster. As it readied its glowing blade for Lance, Shiro lept forward, one hand moving to push Lance to the side, dislodging his weapon from his hands in the process, and his prosthetic arm poised and ready to strike behind him.

He wasn't ready for Lance to seize up at the sight of his hand, face contorted into a look of pure terror, and use the only thing he currently had free-his legs-to desperately kick him away. Shiro skidded back several feet with the air from his lungs escaping him in a sharp grunt, and Lance catapulted backwards from the momentum of his kick. The back of his head collided with the hilt of the gladiator's sword with an echoing crack, and Lance instinctively turned his head towards the source of the pain as he toppled over to the side of the droid. Having dealt the 'winning' blow, it remained motionless, and looked down at him with a glowing blue eye.

The shooting pain set in almost immediately as he hit the floor, and Lance drew his hands around his head and let out a groan. The rest of the group was already on their way over, but Shiro stalled, unsure and still slightly shocked.

"You alright?!" The words came out of his mouth before even thinking about it. His eyes followed the other three paladins who crowded around Lance.

"I-I'm good..!" Lance ground out with an effort, and turned one of his gloved palm towards his face, examining it. There was a small patch of red staining it, but it wasn't gushing, and Lance couldn't feel the tell-tale slide of wetness running down his neck. It wasn't anything fatal. It would definitely be sore later on, though.

"Lemme see," Hunk slid down onto his knees, and Lance half-heartedly pushed away at him with an irritated noise. "Lance, c'mon!"

"Hands off the merchandise!" Lance swatted Hunk's attempts at turning his head towards him. Despite the tenderness of the area, he quickly covered up the spot childishly. "It's okay. It'll probably just bruise." His chin was forcefully turned down into his neck, and his hand was pulled away from his nape when Keith attacked from behind to survey the damage.

"Wrong, you're bleeding." He squeezed Lance's now clammy glove, then took his other palm and almost gently placed it against the sore spot. The muscles in Lance's neck jumped under his touch, and he hissed in discomfort, trying to pull away to no avail. "Yeah, this needs to be looked at. Training's over. Can you stand?" He received a grunt in response.

Pidge offered her hand, and the two helped Lance up. Careful to avoid smearing the blood on his palm against his uniform, Lance patted the non-existent dirt from himself. Shiro had slowly made his way over, and Lance stood without looking at him. "Lance, I'm sorry, I-"

Lance looked up, bewildered, nose scrunched up in confusion. "What? No, no no no, don't apologize, Shiro. I should apologize! You were trying to look out for me and I-" He stared through the floor, eyes wide and uncomprehending. "I freaked out, I dunno, it was weird."

When Lance had seen Shiro running towards him, he realized that meant there was a gladiator near him, but before he could react, all he could see was purple, purple coming straight at him-purple from wave after wave of galra soldiers, unyielding and bloodthirsty, clawing at him with desperate, bloodied hands even after he shot their weapons away, shot their limbs away, screaming and screaming and-