I don't own Voltron. (I wish I did though!)

Useless.

Worthless.

Stupid.

Red droplets were sliding down his wrist and falling down onto his denim trousers.

Several new cuts lined Lance's wrists, layered upon old scars and healing cuts. They crossed over, some all the way down his wrist, some only a few centimetres long, but all etched into his skin with pain. It stained his wrists and arms in a crimson hue that would be difficult to completely wash off. This pain was his release from the overwhelming, ever-present thoughts inside of his head, that choked him and took away his light. He'd been doing it for so long now…. It helped him with his frustration of always being overlooked and forgotten in his large family when he was younger. It helped him to cope with being Keith's replacement at the garrison instead of being him- unique and important. Most importantly though, it helped him here and now- it helped him cope with being forgotten, overlooked and blamed. But, then again, why wouldn't he be? He was the screw up, the useless paladin, the idiot. What was worse was that everyone agreed with him- he couldn't keep up with Pidge's work, Hunk only helped him out sometimes out of pity, he was sure Coran thought he was useless and Allura, Shiro and Keith had all told him on a regular basis, that he was the screw up.

Keith, damnit, Lance knew he was completely in love with him. He loved his fiery passion and untamed, rough edges, his talent with hand-to-hand combat and his dedication. But he was stuck here, with Keith who hated his guts, would probably stab him if he wasn't a 'teammate' and would rather eat shit than spend time with him.

Lance was still hurt though, no one remembered the things he had done for the team when Shiro was gone. He had talked to Coran about Altea when he was feeling homesick and alone. He had left food out on the bridge for Allura when she didn't have time to go to the kitchen. Since she didn't have Shiro to help on the bridge, she had no time to take care of herself. He tried to come up with small ways to make her smile. He had made sure Pidge didn't overdo herself and brought her food so she would remember to eat. He had repaired anything Keith had broken or damaged in a bright, uncontrolled bout of anger or frustration. He had helped in whatever way he could with Hunk's stress baking, whether it was testing, making sure they had ingredients for him or cleaning up afterwards.

It must've been 4am, roughly, Lance still couldn't figure out space time. His whole body was battered and bruised from his nightly training. He needed to get better, stronger, faster because he was still the team's screwup. Lance started training several months ago, when the insomnia kicked in again and he couldn't sleep anymore. Now every night, once he knew everyone else would have fallen asleep, he would put on his armour and head down to the training deck to practise.

He finally felt tired, with the long day that had passed and the long day that would start in a few measly hours. His body felt weighed down and drained. His brain was turning into space goo and his eyes were drooping. Before he knew it, he was off to the land of nod.