Langst: One Shots

State of His Head.

TW: Suicide, mentions (brief) of self harm, etc etc.
IG: shakesqueerbooks
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He had been fighting for too long.

He had been fighting for too long and it was now time for the ever waging war to come to a close.

It couldn't end itself so now the blue paladin would take matters into his own hand. Save the universe?

Save himself.

Lance sat outside the airlock doors, knees drawn up and nose between his knees as he glared ahead.

His hands in front of him, palms towards his face, and he watched as the fingers trembled.

His own hands.

The hands that had spent countless hours fisted into his hair, pulling at the strands as if he could pull out the thoughts that stewed below them.

He recalled past mistakes, and yes there were many, and he'd grab a fistful of short brown locks and tug.

Lance couldn't believe he had fucked up like that once! Countless times!

The boy thought of things he had said and done, and he would grit his teeth and shake his head, pulling on his hair.

He had a headache.
It was ironic, since he was one himself.

Lance was nothin more than just a headache, to himself and everyone he came in contact with.

He could never follow orders well enough. Even if he did there would always be a mistake somewhere and someone would have to say something.

He could never choose the right times for humor, even when it was just to make others feel better, and always ended up having people angry with him.

Lance couldn't live up to his own standards. He could be the bet fighter pilot; hell he was barely one at all. It had been sheer chance that he took Keiths place.

He was such... a headache. A parasite.

The blue paladin couldn't help but feel that each and everything he did, didn't go well with others.

He couldn't say what he meant, what he needed to say. Couldn't say what people wanted or needed, leaving them bored or displeased.

Why couldn't he ever be the man he wanted to be? Like his hero, Shiro, or maybe even well... anyone else.

Lance hated Lance.
Lance didn't want Lance here anymore.

If he knew himself outside of his own body? Lance wouldn't like the guy he met.

So here he sat, outside the airlock, now standing as he took a breath. One of the last few he would take.

Lance opened the door, stepped into the empty lot, and let it fall closed behind him.

Familiarity.

The last time he was in here, he had been scared of death. Now, in the same spot, he willingly welcomed it on his own accord.

A voice spoke, announcing that in only thirty seconds the second, final set of double doors would open and he would be free.

Free.

The countdown to the end of his life progressed in the back of his mind, and he thought about freedom.

Lance would be free of anxiety.
Lance would be free of the horrible situation his life had turned into.
Lance would be free of himself and the people who shaped he fees of himself in his mind.

Free.

17...16...15...

He felt warm tears trail down his cheeks, but they were not sad. If they were sad, then why would he be doing this?

It was what Lance wanted, for so long, after all. No, these were tears of relief.

He could be free.

Lance understood that the others would miss him, even if I'm his mind he relieved they would not.

It would probably be best if they didn't.
But if they did, he had left notes for each of the members of his space family.

8...7...6...

Eyelids fell in front of blue eyes.

Blue eyes that on moment would hold no more life. Not that there had been much life left in them recently.

Maybe it was a shitty way to go.

He could have always reopened the wounds in his legs, or drank whatever Coran used to clean the healing pods.

Could enough nunvil actually kill him?
Lance chuckled at his joke.

5...4...3...2...

His pains would be gone.

The evil words and memories that crept in his mind at the worst times would be gone.

The headache would be gone, the physical and mental aching would be gone.

Seventh wheels were a horrible wheel to be, how could a vehicle move with an uneven set of wheels?

Six would be better, that was true.

1...

And six there would be, the final set of doors only and in a rush of motion Lance was no longer on solid ground.

He was in wide open, suffocating... space.

As his body reacted to the exposure to space, he internally chuckled for the few second sod life he had left.

Movies all got it wrong.

It wasn't peaceful floating and his inside working just stopping, and a dramatic closing of his eyes.

It hurt more than anything.

His lungs, his everything, blowing up and swelling to twice his size as the water that made up his body vaporized.

Lance blood pressure going berserk, his blood boiling and any and all tears freezing his face.

It would take awhile to name everything that happened to Lance during his final moments. But that wasn't the point.

Freedom never came easy, pain had to be endured. Lance learned that easily.

So he decided he deserved those final moments of pain, for his selfishness and his mistakes.

His death would mean freedom for all.
If only he'd known how wrong he was.

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