Chapter Text
Special
Adj.
Readily distinguishable from others of the same category
N.
One that is used for a special service or occasion.
Talent
N.
A special often athletic, creative, or artistic aptitude
Growing up in Cuba then moving to the United States at 12 was tough in many ways. Leaving his friends and family, for one, hit hard. He remembered when his friends threw him a party and made him promise to come back to show them the States one day. Later that month, though, he’d got word that one of his best friends and his family was killed in a gang related shooting. So, there was that heartache, of having to worry if his old friends would still be alive for when he brought them over to see the United States of America. Then there was his family, who said that they never want to see him in their little town again because “You’ll be too successful becoming something to bother with Varadero ever again.” Of course they then contradicted themselves and said he’d be back when he was something or when his mama dragged them back for a vacation once they got money. So they’d went to the United States, and he stood out in a really bad way. His accent and his lack of proper English, oh, and the way he looked. That’s when he started going by his middle name and his paternal last name after a boy in his class made fun of his full name, Santiago Lance McClain-Acosta. His sisters and brothers tried to talk him out of it, but he had been determined to fit in as much as possible, after all, no immigrant could make it to success if they couldn’t even fit in during middle school, right?
But then his GPA started dropping when his English teacher started targeting him, when his math teacher refused to help him, when his science teacher would say “ask your classmates,” when his classmates simply laughed. And it wasn’t like he could go to his siblings, after all, they had their own school work and jobs and his mama worked day and night. He couldn’t bother them. So he figured it out on his own. He started only speaking in English when usually he would speak in Spanish at home. He started spending as much time away from home to distance himself from his heritage and to become “americanized.” He studied and studied and studied till he made his teachers accept him, till he made top 10 in his middle school and he got that same letter as Veronica did saying he’d been accepted into the Galaxy Garrison with his legal name on the certificate.
He’d broken down crying when he read his full name, both in tears and regret. Because while going by Lance McClain helped, it distanced him from his family, and he’d lost all that time with them and he was going to be leaving for the Garrison that August. His mama had comforted him and they’d thrown a huge party and he’d used all the time he could with his family while he was home before he packed his things with Veronica’s and they headed together to the Galaxy Garrison. He’d vowed that he would be embrace his name, that he’d embrace his culture. It didn’t matter, though, how much he wanted to use his legal name, they only ended calling him McClain or Cargo Pilot when he was promoted. So he simply found some other Latinos and spoke in Spanish to them, and he taught his roommate, Hunk, some as well. He called his family if only to keep his Spanish and his culture. He did what he could and
At the Garrison, when he was with Iverson. He learned the difference between Special and Talent. He was talented with a gun and his people skills, special? Not so much. He wasn’t distinguishable outside of the fact that he was Latino, got in with a scholarship, and got moved up from being a cargo pilot. Keith, on the other hand, was both. He was naturally talented in the flying simulator and in fighting, so much so that he was special. He was the top of the class. He got straight A’s. He was born in the US. He was Special. Lance was Talented.
And Lance knew he wasn’t exactly special in a good way since they moved to the States. He was special as in distinguishable, as in well known, yes. But. Not in a good way. He’s loud, obnoxious, fake. He was only known for his talking, not for his hard work, or his shooting medals, or his record in the butterfly in the 100 meters race.
That all changed when he went to space. The exact opposite, actually. He became special, and his talent got swept aside with all the other Talents in space. He was just your average joe in space, just your average immigrant looking to help his country, just your average son looking to help his family, just your average boy from Cuba. He was just average. He wasn’t Hunk, who could cheer people up and bring together people with a simple home cooked meal. He wasn’t Pidge, who was a technical genius and could hack virtually anything. He wasn’t Coran, who managed the Castle and kept everyone healthy. He wasn’t Allura, who led them and helped them become better. He wasn’t Keith, who was just naturally talented and special. He wasn’t Shiro, who was everything he wasn’t. He was just Santiago Lance McClain-Acosta, an immigrant nobody who somehow made it to be a top player in an intergalactic war.
And sure, he may be a nobody who filled a lion, he may be a little special now, if you run exclusively with the definition. But he knew he was Talented in at least one helpful thing. He could shoot a gun better than anyone known in the coalition. He was talented in his planning, in his athleticism. He was knowledgable in people, in their wants and needs. AP psychology and sociology was his favorite classes in the Garrison when he could still take electives. He wanted to major in that if the Galaxy Garrison didn’t work out. Maybe be a therapist, or a psychologist. Someone who helps people. Maybe work with children as a teacher and be the teacher he never had-
Either way, he digressed. His knowledge of people aided them more than anyone ever acknowledged. Especially during alliance meetings—those he could go on anyway. That’s how he knew that this planet was a lost cause. That these people — the Xeria, oh so strong-willed and stubborn — were determined to fight against them and to ally with the Galra. He took the chance to stalk the army, to listen to the people, to talk with the kids. They all hated the Coalition. The kids, maybe not so much hate, but everyone else sure as hell did. But did anyone listen? Hunk, maybe even Coran. But Pidge, Allura, Shiro. They just dismissed him, saying he was ridiculous and ‘Of course they want to ally with us Lance, you just heard the wrong people. They want to help fight against the Galra.’ Yeah, right. Optimism was great and all, hell, Lance was the king of idiotic optimism! But this, this optimism was just suicidal and needless. They needed to be realistic. They needed to be smart and observant and they couldn’t just assume everyone loved them!
Which led them to where they were now, surrounded by the Xeria and sentries— because apparently they’d already allied with the Galra, Pidge— without any help from Coran in the Castle or the Lions because they didn’t want to harm any of the locals or children. They were trapped, stuck, but not hopeless because the Xeria were slow and strong, not fast and smart. They were slowly cutting them down and soon they’d be back at the Castle and eating and relaxing. Lance would say ‘I told you so’, and then he would take a nice hot shower and a two day nap.
He scowled, shooting at one of the leaders who was about to take a shot at Shiro. He fell down, body shaking due to the stun shot. Oops, must’ve been too high. “You know, we wouldn’t be here if you all listened to me,” he grumbled, steadily taking out the forces from his position. “We could be on our way to the next planet, but no, we’re here trapped-“ He gritted his teeth as a wave of Galra stormed the clearing from a different entrance after he blocked one. He grinned as he took out five sentries before shutting down that door as well, crushing 15 more between the door.This is where he flourished, where he knew exactly what to do without panicking if it was the wrong move. Right here, guarding his teammates.
“You good Lance?” Hunk asked, breath just slightly airy due to exertion. They’d been fighting for at least 30 dobash, after all, and Hunk had been running around more due to everyone else doing their own thing when fighting and being the only one actually worried about each other’s backs.
And Allura said we needed teamwork, he mused, Does she even know what that is? He inwardly scoffed. The team in general has been on a decline ever since Shiro came back and Keith left. Allura had been more frustrated because she finally learned how difficult everything actually was. Lance had been taking most of the heat because, well, Hunk and Pidge just couldn’t without it tearing the team apart. “Doing just great,” Lance murmured, scanning the field to take out anyone who was a danger to his teammates. He watched as Hunk looked up and scanned around him worriedly. Lance took out the guard coming up behind Hunk. “Seriously, I’m fine. Focus on protecting Pidge. She needs to focus on getting the information, not protecting herself.”
Shiro cleared his throat, “Cut the chatter,” he ordered.
Lance wrinkled his nose, turning back to the fight and snipping 5 bots. He didn’t know what Shiro’s problem was with him, either. He honestly thought that they were getting along really well before Shiro was captured. Lance sighed, he guessed that’s what captivity did to people. He couldn’t fault him either as it wasn’t Shiro’s fault he was captured and tortured and- But Shiro could’ve been nicer, right? He was nice to Pidge and Hunk, but Lance? Apparently not. Guess that was too much to ask. Why be nice to Lance, anyway? It wasn’t as if they interacted much. And maybe since Allura was all pissy with him, Shiro just believed he wasn’t worth getting to know.
He froze as a tree branch snapped, followed by birds flying away due to the rustling of the trees. “I’ve got company,” he murmured, glancing over his shoulder. Nothing, it was dark in the trees behind him, so he wouldn’t be able to see much anyway, but his helmet should’ve picked up some heat signatures. But there was nothing. He smacked his helmet in hopes of seeing at least a bird or other animal. Not nothing.
“It’s probably an animal, pay attention to the field,” Shiro ordered. Lance frowned, glancing down at Shiro, who was glancing at him between attacks. His voice held a weird quality, almost as if he wasn’t really aware. His older brother, Luis, once stumbled home and sounded like that when he was drunk. Shiro wasn’t drunk, so why did he sound like that? Did it have to do with his weird actions lately? Or his weird personality, or his weird attitude?
Lance shook his head, swallowing thickly. It didn’t matter, he wasn’t about to listen to a command that could get him hurt, or worse, killed. “It didn’t sound like an animal,” he said, shifting to get up. “Yell at me later, but I’m not about to be attacked from the back.”
“Lance, do not leave your position!” Shiro yelled. Lance whipped his head back to him, watching as Shiro brutally took care of a- oh Dios, a living person. “You can’t give up your nest.”
“Shiro’s right,” Allura said, staring up at him. Lance stared back, clenching his fists while she twirled back around, stabbing the two sentries that were about to hit her. “Don’t leave your position.”
Lance shook his head, looking back at the dark forest before easing himself back down, “I hope you’re right,” he murmured. His brain raced as his eyes tracked the field. Paranoia sat heavily on the forefront of his mind. The fight seemed too quiet while everything else seemed too loud. The fight seemed too fast while everything else seemed too slow. The trees rustling, the wings of a bird flapping, the sound of his breathing. The sound of breathing. He glanced back before yelling out as a bat-like thing came down where his spine was. He rolled away, shooting the guard in the- don’t think about it, don’t think. “Definitely not an animal!” he yelled, shooting at another guard before his bayard was wrestled away and thrown over the ledge.
He grunted as he was slammed to the ground — something snapped, oh Dios — and he rolled with the fall to continue looking at his opponent. He winced as weight landed on his right side, pain blooming in his chest. He kicked his feet into the enemies hips, picking him up and kicking him out-out and over the edge, oh Dios. He hopped back up, sprinting out of the clearing and towards the forest, ignoring the pain in order to get away. He may get lost for a bit, but that was better than caught and dead. Or caught and tortured. Pidge would be able to track his armor, so it wouldn’t even be that long that he’d be alone.
“We’re headed your way!” Pidge yelled. “Just hang on!”
Lance huffed out a breath, eyes widening as a blast went right past his head. Oh Dios, they’re aiming to kill, he thought. He yelled out as a shot hit his shoulder, stumbling forward only to be kicked to the ground. Pain burned throughout his body, tears wetting his eyes. He blinked rapidly, wincing as his arms were forced behind him and his shoulder gave a twinge.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck! Lance winced, his helmet suddenly gone from his head. He watched as they threw it into the forest, the chatter of his teammates gone and simply whispers now somewhere in the dark. Someone stepped on his head, his face crashing into the ground and his nose cracking.
“You gave quite a fight, red paladin.” Lance glanced up through tear-blurred eyes, a sneer making its way onto face even with the pain in his nose- and was that blood sliding down his face? “Even now, you fight,” the commander smiled, grabbing his hair and pulling his head back. “You don’t realize it’s over for you, do you?”
“My team will find me,” he said, panting heavily from the position his neck was cranked at. His head was dropped and he barely kept it from dropping on his nose again. He felt the cuffs link his hands together, breath hitching as a collar fastened around his neck and attached to keep his hands where they were, shoulders straining. He struggled while they pulled him up to his knees by his hair, panic starting to win over the fight to be confident and smart-
Time seemed to freeze as a deep, burning feeling in his gut spread like fire through him. He looked down as the tip of a sword disappeared back through his body. A small, wounded sound escaped him and his sight wavered, hands shaking while he watched blood start staining the ground beneath him.
I’ve been stabbed, he thought hysterically, almost as if it wasn’t his body. Holy shit, I’ve been stabbed.
“You’re right,” Lance flinched, pain shooting through him and into a yell, away from the face suddenly too focused in front of him, “Your team will find you, no, will see you, but you’ll be long gone by then.”
He passed out after that.
He wasn’t out for long, though, as something decidedly unpleasant disturbed his blissful unconsciousness. He shifted, eyes widening and blurring into black as burning pain set him on fire and shit, fuck, damn-
His throat ached while awareness returned, his head aching from the grip in his head.
“LANCE!”
“Ah ah ah, Yellow Paladin, don’t move, or Red here will be killed without a single chance.” Lance whimpered, tears welling up in his eyes, “You see, I know that this base will fall today. Our back up was taken out by your ship, and your advisor is taking care of the outside base. You all have killed most of my men and it’s only time till your back up arrives.”
“Stop monologuing and give Lance back!” Pidge yelled, “This isn’t a fucking movie!”
Lance would have laughed, but his stomach hurt so much, so did his lungs…
“Don’t worry, Green Paladin,” the leader purred, pushing Lance closer to the ledge, “I am done.”
And Lance felt the ground give beneath him.
And
He
Burned.