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English
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Published:
2017-02-14
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1/1
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Crybaby

Summary:

Lance is an angry crier.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

Whenever Lance went to sleep he could remember the feeling of his Nanay’s thumbs flicking away his tears. She’d pressed right up under his eye, gently, and let the tear collect on the tip of her thumb before it was flicked away. Then his Nanay would squeeze his cheeks and shush him, big, wide smile settling on her face as she pulled him into a hug. Lance would bury his face right against her chest, ear pressed to her heart. The pendant from her necklace would press back against his skin from inside her shirt. 

His Nanay’s hands was the thing he always remembered first before her hugs. Her brown hands were slightly calloused on the inside. But warm, always warm.

Her fingers would brush through his short hair, and the other hand would hold Lance’s own.

Sometimes Lance would wake up realizing he was trying to reach for something he had imagined. When that happened, he breathed as deeply as he could and tried to force down the burning behind his eyes. Lance turned over in his bed, pressing his headphones on harder over his ears and curling into himself.

 -

Whatever may be said about Lance, there was a reason he’d adopted such an attitude to letting things seemingly roll of his back. He played at not being serious enough, switching out for impulsive words and actions than what he really wanted to do.

There was no place for a crybaby, Lance had been told. His dad had taken him by the shoulders, his own siblings, younger and older, watching as his dad tapped him on the forehead with a finger to refocus his attention. Behind his dad Nanay was frowning. 

Lance could remember watching his dad’s face, brown and worn from years and years of hard work in a country not of his birth, and hearing him tell him that no good ever came from crying about every little thing. It wasn’t going to help him when he grew up and every little hardship made him start to tear up. He needed to man up . Even his sisters didn’t cry anymore. Was he a baby? No. Only Elisa and Sammy were still babies and even they didn’t cry as much as Lance did.

“Do you understand?” His dad had asked.

His dad’s face had furrowed into concern. Lance couldn’t dislike his dad for the lesson even now. He had said it - mistaken as he may have been - with concern in mind about him. He didn’t want people to hassle his son. Lance swallowed, looking resolutely at his feet.

“Lance?” His dad called. He gently touched the top of his head, flattening his palm and brushing his thumb over Lance’s forehead softly. It was a gesture he had only used for Lance since he was little. “Do you understand?”

Lance said he did.

(He really didn’t.)

-

It had been a hard habit to break, but he had felt the weight of his dad’s words, and the looks on his siblings’ face and known he had to try.

It wasn’t easy because Lance may have been a crybaby, yes, but he was also an angry crier. It had been easier to learn to let things all aside in the grand scheme of things. If he made other kids laugh, or simply amped up being “a fool”, or even just let himself be baited into pettiness, then he could bypass any feelings of crying.

But when he was angry, it was much harder.

Lance would dig his heels down, hands clenched at his sides. (He was his mother's child, and he never backed down from any challenge.) He would twist his mouth up and tilt his head up just like he would see Nanay do when she was ready to roll up her sleeves and send people running. But then, when he opened his mouth, it was another story. No matter how serious Lance was, how angry, how firm, his voice would always waver.

It would always start out subtle, a strange crack in one word. To remedy it, Lance would try to raise his voice louder, planting his feet harder into the ground as he kept babbling. Then it would just get worse because tears would begin to sting at the corners of his eyes. The more he talked, the more his voice warped, like an earthquake had settled in his throat.  When he sniffled, Lance knew it was a lost cause, because then the tears would pour down his face and his argument was done.

It had earned him no shortness of humiliation by the other children. They had been cruel when he’d broken down after trying to defend Hunk one day after the other boy had bursted into tears himself. One of the bigger boys pushed Lance down, pointed between Lance and Hunk and said they belonged together.

Lance, still high on adrenaline and impulse, threw dirt in his face and agreed.

“If you ever make fun of him again,” Lance cried, snot and tears running down his face, and voice high, “I’ll break your arm!”

When the bullies had left, Hunk had reached for his hand. He touched the back of it and looked at Lance with wide, wet eyes.

“Are you okay?” Hunk asked.

Lance frowned. “I should be asking you that!”

“I’m fine,” Hunk reassured. “Kinda dirty, full of dirt, and my butt hurts, but I’m good. You?”

Lance wiped his face with his sleeve, to which Hunk made a disgusted noise. Lance grinned, making a show of sucking his snot back in loudly; Hunk gagged, shoving him by the shoulder.

“Dude, gross!”

They laughed and became close friends after that.

-

Lance had perfected it after then. He forced a laugh or a joke for every time he felt a twist in his gut that meant he might start crying.

He made a dramatic turn or flair to bypass any hint that he was about to shutter down. If Hunk was around, even a light touch to his arm would suffice, if only to just ground Lance back. And when Hunk suffered from anxiety attacks, Lance would kneel with him under a stairwell and press their foreheads together and help Hunk remember how to breathe.

It was difficult when his scores didn’t come back nearly as well as he wanted, or when he watched “Kogane” rise to the head of the leader-boards and stay there for a whole solid year.

There were times when Lance couldn’t hold it in long enough. Then, he and Hunk would stash a couple boxes of tissues, some chocolate and a couple old favorite movies and just have an end of week cry-out session.

When he phoned home, he made sure not a trace of homesickness or regret laced his voice. He didn’t want them to think he was still falling into old habits. He figured, if you force yourself to believe something long enough, then it would probably come true.

Lance gritted his teeth and kept his head resolutely forward.

He was going to a fighter pilot, come hell or high water.

-

The tears had come without Lance’s wanting. He had been in a screaming match with Keith, about how Keith was getting reckless, how he was doing exactly what Shiro wouldn’t want him to do, and how it was selfish of Keith to do.

Up until now, Lance had been very good about hiding his little habit from his team, save for Hunk. He acted the part they were used to, but when all was said and done at the end of the day, there were times when Lance would still wind up face down in his pillow, soaking it with tears. Sometimes Hunk would be there to rub his back, other times, Lance would curl into himself, drape his hand over his shoulder and wish it was his Nanay. 

But this, Lance couldn't hold back anymore. Not when someone he considered his friend, his family was hurting himself, hurting their team. The tears had prickled behind his eyes the moment Lance had bounded out of Blue and strode towards Red. 

Keith had barely been out of Red’s hangar when Lance had rounded on him, Allura, Pidge, Hunk and Coran not far behind. He’d shoved at Keith’s shoulder when he’d appear, helmet thrown aside as he’d confronted his teammate.

“What the heck was all of that, Keith?” Lance exclaimed. “Were you trying to get killed?”

“What kind of dumb question is that? I was just doing what needed to be done,” Keith said.

“Getting killed isn’t what needs to be done! We need you on this team, you can’t keep acting like you’re the universe’s greatest gift to - to the universe!” Lance cried.

Hunk was calling at him from behind but Lance ignored him, eyes dead focused on Keith.

“No, because that’s your job, isn’t it, Lance? Isn’t that way you told that alien on our last mission?” Keith shot back.

“That was a joke, idiot! I’m never serious about that stuff. You should know that by now,” Lance returned.

“No, you’re not serious about anything, are you?” Keith said around a sneer. The shadows under his eyes were dark.

He pushed past Lance so that their shoulder collided, making his way to pass between their shipmates. Lance grabbed Keith by his upper arm and yanked him back.

“Just because I don’t let every little thing get to me, or - or fly off the handle when things get frustrating, or dive right into a battle cruiser doesn’t mean I don’t take things seriously, Keith!” Lance yelled, voice breaking mid-way through his rant.

Keith froze, eyes trained on Lance’s face. Lance swallowed, throat going dry.

“You’re a part of a team, Keith,” Lance continued, voice trembling. “This isn’t how Shiro would want you acting. You were his favorite weren’t you?” Lance’s voice broke around the word favorite. “You have to act like it! You have to let us help you handle stuff and open up to us. We're hurting, too. So - so, let us in, got it?”

Pidge was calling his name behind them, voice soft and emotional. Allura touched her shoulder.  A fresh track of tears wormed their way out of Lance’s eyes. He held on tighter to Keith’s arm. He could see Hunk coming closer, slowly with his hands raised up. Keith’s brows furrowed, face bunching up in an effort to not seem as if he was panicking as Lance stuttered around his next round of words.

“Y-You’re family, Keith,” Lance cried. He wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his undersuit, but did nothing to abate the renewing onslaught that was flowing now. “S-Start acting like it.”

Keith’s hand came up to rest on Lance’s, soft and hesitant. His shoulders slumped as he took a breath to calm himself.

“I will,” Keith said, gently. “I’m sorry, I mean it. I know you were worried, I should have kept that in mind more.”

Hunk’s hand rested on both their shoulders, just the tips of his fingers as he waited for them to accept the gesture. When Lance slumped against his side, Hunk drew him in, patting at his upper am. Keith slung Hunk’s arm around his shoulders and tugged Lance further in.

“Pidge,” Keith called. “As temporary acting leader I order that you come and complete the family circle.”

Pidge not-so-subtly wiped away a tear, saying that he could bite her ass but rushed over all the same to worm her way in between Keith and Lance. Lance drew Pidge close, hiccuping around a sob. Pidge pressed her cheek against his side.

“Allura? Coran?” Keith called. “Are you coming?”

The two Alteans hurried over and nestled their arms around the younger Paladins. Coran’s hand smoothed down Lance’s hair, making a stray comment on how it’d grown a bit now that he was paying attention. Behind Pidge, Allura was brushing aside one of his tears and telling him he had done well, a true second-in-command in training.

They didn’t let go until Lance had smiled at them, wobbly and wet, but genuine.

Notes:

I needed to vent very badly. I figured Lance was an angry crier like me.

I was originally gonna choose the surname of my best friend but naww especially since she doesn’t know about this fic. Lance is Filipino/Cuban in this though.

Feel free to tell me if something is wrong. I won't mind changing it.

No beta, all errors are my own.