Voltron One Shots

Aftermath

Prompt: I'd love some klance with depressed lance and supportive/protective Keith! Maybe the aftermath of a suicide attempt? (Sorry if this is triggering for you, feel free to ignore it if so)

A/N: For the record in this fic Keith and Lance are only platonic! I don't do that whole 'uwu he cured my depression with kisses' shit.

Trigger warnings: suicide attempt, blood, self harm.

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Neither of them dared speak a word as Keith tightly wrapped Lance's arms in bandages. The air hung heavy between them. The only sound was the dull hum of the ship. Lance stared vacantly at the wall behind Keith's head.

"Okay" Keith sighed softly as he taped the end of the bandage down. He examined the brightly colored wrap that now covered Lance's arms up to his elbows. It faintly glowed blue as it began to heal his wounds. Coran had showed him how to use the stuff a while back after a mission. It was an alternative to being put in the healing pods. "I'm all done" he said, looking up at Lance. Lance averted his eyes. He couldn't look at him.

Lance pulled his lip in between his teeth and twisted his fingers. His head was in a fog. For a fleeting moment he wondered if it was from the bloodloss, but the thought dissipated as soon as it had formed. His gaze was drawn to glow on his arms. He could feel the ancient Altean magic filling his wounds. It stung, but not as badly as the blades had.

Suddenly a hand waved in his face. Keith frowned at him. "Lance?" Keith crouched down and felt Lance's forehead. "We should... we should go clean you up," he said, gently taking Lance's elbow and lifting him to his feet. Lance followed Keith as if he was on autopilot, trying not to look at his bloodstained clothes.

Keith guided Lance to his room and let him sit on the floor. Keith eyed Lance's bathroom nervously. Lance blinked and suddenly realized where they were. "Wha--"

"I need to clean up the mess..." he said slowly. "And I don't want to leave you alone" Lance's cheeks flushed and he stared down at the floor. Keith was worried Lance would hurt himself again. Lance couldn't blame him, his worries were justified.

Keith disappeared into the bathroom after Lance gingerly sat on the edge of the bed. He could hear Keith rummaging around before he stepped back out with a wet washcloth and a towel in his hand. He set them on the floor next to Lance and then moved to Lance's dresser, finding him a clean outfit. "Be careful with your bandages" He instructed. Lance nodded numbly.

"Thanks" he muttered for what had to be the twelfth time. Keith bowed his head and ducked back into the bathroom. Lance leaned down and picked up the wash cloth, carefully wiping the half-dried blood off his hands and the parts of his arms that weren't bandaged. He then stripped down to his underwear and washed the last bit of blood that had soaked through his pants off his legs before pulling on the clothes that Keith had gotten out for him. His arms ached and his wrists throbbed, but the pain in his body was nothing compared to the war in his mind. He sunk back down onto his bed, his eyes traveling over the trail of blood that lead from the bathroom to the door.

Lance's memory of the event was hazy but he could vaguely recall being carried out of the room, his hands crossed across his chest, wrapped haphazardly in rags. He could almost hear a voice. The face above him muttered things to him, his face pinched with worry. Everything else was too blurry to remember. The next thing that he clearly remembered was Keith moving him toward a healing pod. Lance woke up enough to protest, pleading for Keith to just try to stop the bleeding some other way.

After shoving the blood soaked clothes into a bag and dropping it by the door Lance moved to hover in the doorway leading to the bathroom. Keith was on his hands and knees trying to scrub the remnants of Lance's blood from in between the grooves on the floor. He had already cleaned the sink and, Lance noted, removed the blades that had been there.