Why?{A Langst Fanfiction}[Voltron]

Part 4

No One's POV-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

As Lance exited the room, his arm burned as if something was clawing hot sand into his wound. Knowing the gash could be infected, changing the gauze wrap would be the best thing to do after cleaning the wound from all impurities.
'Wouldn't it be better if you were to just die'

Hoping into his lion he was told not to talk for he would make a dumb comment or mistake to upset the aliens on this planet. By the time they had gotten back, everything had gotten progressively worse.

The voice taunted at him. Pounding his thoughts with negativity. His headache was getting worse by the second. It was no longer just his arm burning up it was his whole body, being pushed into unbearable pain. Yet he let out no sound whatsoever.

Reaching his bedroom at long last he entered and locked the door. Collapsing on his bed letting his eyes drift shut into a not so pleasant sleep.

Cold sweat. That's all he felt when he awoke fear and cold sweat. The dream was something that he couldn't remember, his brain wouldn't let him.

Lance stood up, the burning sensation continuing. He needed water and something to eat.
'You aren't worth wasting food on just starve and everyone will be happier!'
So he decided to just get water instead.

When he was heading to the kitchen he noticed Hunk was there.
"Hey, Lance glad to see you are awake!" Hunk said a smile plastered onto his face the sarcasm dripping off his every word. 'Who would ever be happy to see me?' Lance thought. Although he said something completely different. "Heyo Hunk! Hows it hanging?!" Lance responded. While grabbing a cup from the cabinet and filling it with water.
"It's going great, I made some cookies for the team!" Hunk said as Lance gulped down his third glass of water.
"That's great! I hope they enjoy them!" Lance said walking out of the kitchen waving goodbye. He hated to act fake in front of everybody, but they would just hate him more for being who he truly was.

And as much as he hated to admit it he was sick. Headache and fevers together create sickness. He laid in bed staring at the ceiling unable to fall asleep. The stars on the roof reminded him of home and how he would never go there again. He was the useless paladin of Voltron, the seventh wheel. At least that is what he thinks. Once his eyes finally drift shut he sleeps for a good 2 hours.

"Lance open up!"
Groggily Lance rubs his eyes. Which he immediately regrets due to the injuries on them. "What is it?" he manages to say. While his head pounded like a nail and hammer.
"Its time for lunch!" Pidge said. Seconds later you could hear the footsteps trailing off.