Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Coran awakes to the horrible sensation of shivering, but he doesn’t understand why. After all, the temperature in his room was set within the usual parameters before he went to bed. And there is no reason for the thermostat to have been changed. So why does he feel so cold?

Slowly, Coran sits up, and his blankets slide down his chest. He’s even colder without the blankets, and he shivers even worse. He wraps his arms around himself and glances at the thermostat on the wall; it is definitely still the same temperature in here, so it makes no sense that he can’t seem to stop shivering.

He decides that getting dressed might help him warm up, so Coran throws off the blankets and gets out of bed. He shivers again, his teeth chattering together and his whole body trembling as she shivers. Coran groans, wishing that he could understand what is happening.

Still, he gets changed as quickly as he can, finding his hands fumbling as he fastens his clothes. He stands in front of the mirror and combs his hair (and his moustache), and notices that his skin seems paler today. But he brushes it off – but he wishes the shivering would stop.

---

When he walks onto the Bridge, Coran finds Shiro and Allura already there. They stand together and look at the data projected on the huge screen, clearly tracking the Galra and starting to plan their next move.

Even though he’s still shivering, Coran tenses his muscles to stop his visible trembles, and smiles. And, trying his best to sound cheerful like he normally does, Coran says, “Good morning, Princess, Number One. How are you this morning?”

“Hello, Coran,” Allura says without looking away from the screen.

But Shiro turns his head. He looks at Coran for a few ticks, and frowns. “Uh, Coran, are you feeling okay?”

“O-Of course I do,” he says, wondering what made Shiro so perceptive. Does he really look that bad? “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know,” Shiro says. “It’s just… you look pretty pale.”

Shiro’s words must do something to Allura, because she turns around and walks over to Coran. “Shiro’s right, Coran. You do look rather unwell.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Coran says, smiling awkwardly. “I way look a bit… peaky, but I’m still fighting fit and able to perform my role in our team.”

Allura looks at Shiro and they exchange a glance that Coran doesn’t understand.

“Are you sure?” Allura says.

He nods. “Of course, Princess.”

Allura sighs. “Very well. But if you do feel unwell, I want you to have bed rest or use a cryopod before it gets worse. We don’t need any sick people in our team.”

“Yeah, we need everyone to be healthy, otherwise we won’t stand a chance against the Galra.”

Coran wants to sigh, but he doesn’t. After all, it’s very nice that they’re so worried about him. But still… “I apprectiate your concern, both of you. But I promise you that I’m fine.”

Allura smiles and gives Coran a quick hug. “I’m glad. I wouldn’t want to see you unwell.”

---

By the afternoon, Coran has stopped shivering. However, there is a reason for that. He is now burning hot, the heat practically radiating off of his red, shiny skin. His clothes feel far too hot, and Coran wishes he could take an ice cold shower. But he can’t, because he has to man the Castle whilst the Paladins go out on a mission.

Keith is the only one to remain, as he doesn’t currently pilot a Lion and doesn’t have any missions with the Blade of Marmora right now. He stands beside Coran and helps him track the Lions’ locations whilst Coran makes sure the defences are working perfectly.

Coran lets out a small groan, leaning against the console for support. He’s so hot, his head starting to throb with the effort of standing upright as his body seems to boil (even though he was freezing cold earlier). All he wants to do is curl up in bed, but he has to be strong for his team. He twists his moustache between aching fingers, but even his favourite stim isn’t enough to make him feel better.

It’s then that he notices that Keith keeps looking at him.

“Is something the matter, Paladin?” he asks.

“I could ask you the same question,” Keith says.

Coran frowns. “I don’t understand.”

“You look dreadful, Coran. It doesn’t take Pidge to realise that you’re running a fever.”

“Running a fever?”

“It’s an earth expression,” Keith says. “You’ve got a fever. You know, when your body temperature goes up.”

Coran nods, understanding now. He’s never heard someone refer to this phenomenon as a fever, but he supposes the name is unimportant.

He ducks his head. “Yes, well, I suppose you have a point. I might have a slight ‘fever’.”

“Yeah, just as slight one,” Keith says. “Can I put my hand on your forehead?”

Even at a time like this, Coran is so glad the Paladins understand his hypersensitive sense of touch. “Uh, yes, you can.”

So Keith puts the back of his hand on Coran’s forehead; Keith’s hand feels freezing, and he flinches.

“See,” Keith says. “You’ve got a fever. A pretty high one at that. Now, I’m not Allura, but I’m certain she’d want you to go to bed right now.”

Coran sighs. “I see your point.”

Keith smiles slightly; it’s rare to see Keith smile. “That’s because I’m right. Now, go to bed before you get worse. I can handle everything here.”

Coran hesitates, looking at the fourth tallest Paladin.

“Go on, Coran.”

He smiles. “Thank you, Keith.”

Keith shrugs. “No problem.”

And so Coran, glancing back at Keith as he takes over Coran’s job, walks out of the Bridge and heads to his quarters.

---

In bed, Coran strips down to just his underwear and lies down under a single, thin sheet. Despite feeling horribly hot, he falls asleep in just a few ticks. His dreams don’t make sense, but Coran is too tired to care.

When he wakes up, Coran realises he was awoken by someone knocking on his door. He struggles into a sitting position, noticing how his skin is still just as hot as it was earlier.

“Um, come in?” he calls, and his voice is a bit too weak.

The door slides open, and Lance walks into the room. He’s holding a bottle of water.

“Hey, Coran. Keith said you were sick.”

“Well, Keith was correct,” Coran says, pulling up his blanket so his chest is covered. “He said I have a fever.”

“Aww, those suck!” Lance says. “Hope you feel better soon.”

“Trust me, Paladin,” he says. “So do I.”

Lance gives him what Coran thinks is a sympathetic smile. “Here, I brought you some water. Make sure to keep drinking, and try to have lots of sleep. I’m sure you’ll get better soon.”

Coran takes the bottle and sips the cold water. He smiles. “Thank you, Lance.”

Lance smiles. “No problem.”

Chapter Text

It used to slightly offend Coran that Hunk took over the role of cooking for the team (and produced food that the humans far preferred, the reason for which he still doesn’t understand), but he doesn’t mind any more. After all, Hunk loves to cook, and it seems fair to let the Paladin do something he loves during his off time.

And, he has to admit that Hunk’s food is truly delicious. He frequently eats far too much during meals when Hunk cooks for them, and ends up making himself feel sick. But he isn’t the only one; the other Paladins and even Allura have been known to make themselves feel ill after eating too much of Hunk’s delicious food.

Today is no exception. Hunk cooks everyone a veritable feast, wanting to show off the cooking skills he picked up from Shay’s family on the Balmera, and he cooks far more than he usually does. And everyone gasps when they walk into the dining hall and see the huge spread of food all over the long table.

“Jeez, Hunk, there’s only seven of us!” Lance says, laughing.

“Yeah, there’s enough here to feed an army,” Pidge says.

“Yeah, there might be just a bit too much, Hunk,” Keith adds, sitting down.

Everyone else follows him, taking their usual seats around the table.

“This is very impressive, Hunk,” Allura says, smiling. “But there is rather a lot of food here.”

“Yeah, I know,” Hunk mumbles, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. He smiles awkwardly. “Guess I got a bit carried away.”

“Well, it isn’t the end of the world,” Shiro says. “What we don’t eat can be frozen, so we can have it at a later date.”

Hunk smiles, clearly relieved. “Yeah, that’s a good point. We’ll just freeze whatever we don’t eat.”

“Well, now that’s settled,” Coran says, smiling. “Let us eat.”

And everyone smiles and tucks into the amazing food before them.

---

As Coran knew he would, he feels sick. His stomach is too full, and he doesn’t know if he can move without accidentally vomiting. He knows that it’s possible to feel comfortably full, your stomach full but not overfull, but Coran most definitely feels uncomfortably full.

He doesn’t seem to be the only one with this problem. At the other end of the table, Lance grimaces before belching loudly. Allura stares at him, but she doesn’t glare or reprimand him; instead, she laughs.

“Honestly, Lance,” she says, smiling. “If you have to be revolting, at least cover your mouth.”

Looking across the still crowded table, Coran looks at Shiro. He wipes his mouth with a napkin and smiles.

“Well, that was certainly a feast,” he says.

“Certainly,” Coran says. He glances at Hunk. “A delicious feast at that.”

But then, as he inhales, a sharp pain stabs Coran in the base of his chest. He gasps, hunching forwards and pressing his hand against the site of the pain.

“Coran, is something wrong?” Shiro asks.

“I’m… just in a bit of pain, Number One,” Coran says, trying to smile but actually grimacing. That is a bit of an understatement. It feels like a thin knife blade is impaling his chest, shooting pain through his abdomen. Remembering something like this happening to him before, he adds, “I think I have indigestion.”

Shiro nods. “Yes, I’ve had that too. It’s pretty painful, but it should go away soon.”

Coran breathes slowly, wishing he could inhale without the actually sickening pain ripping his insides apart. “Thank you.”

---

Shiro is right. Soon, the pain dissolves away, leaving his abdomen feeling a bit sore, but nowhere nearly as painful as it was earlier.

“Maybe I should take this as a reason not to overeat,” he says.

“But Hunk’s food is so delicious,” Lance says, grinning. He still keeps belching every so often.

Coran smiles, rubbing his sore chest. “Yes, I know what you mean.”

He has a feeling that this will probably happen again.

Chapter Text

As he steers a shuttle through space, Coran glances at the Paladin sat beside him. Hunk is staring out of the window, a smile on his face.

“What are you thinking about, Paladin?” he asks.

Hunk jumps slightly; he must have been daydreaming. “Nothing, really. I’m just looking forward to going to the Balmera.”

Coran smiles. “Ah, I see.”

“Why’d you say it like that?” Hunk says, looking at Coran.

“No reason. It just appears that you’re looking forwards to arriving at the Balmera so you can talk to a certain young woman…”

When Hunk starts to blush, Coran knows he was correct.

“Well, there might be some truth to that,” Hunk mumbles.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, Paladin,” Coran says. “You and Miss Shay seem like you are very close.”

Hunk smiles awkwardly and clears his throat. “Yeah. Hey, what’s wrong with that?”

At first, Coran assumes he was making an attempt to change the subject. But then he looks where Hunk is pointing, and notices that there is something wrong with readings. If this scanner is correct, one of their engines is dangerously close to overloading.

“I believe one of the engines may be nearly overloading,” Coran says, and Hunk’s eyes widen.

“Could the readings be wrong?” Hunk asks, frantically scrolling through all the data on the control panel.

“I don’t think so.”

Hunk stares at him. “Well, then how do we stop the engine blowing up?”

His voice is too loud, too frantic, and Coran hopes he isn’t going to break down.

“Calm down, Paladin,” he says, placing a comforting hand on Hunk’s shoulder. “I’m sure we can rectify this problem before something serious happens.”

Hunk just looks at him for a few ticks, and then he nods. “Yeah, I bet you’re right.”

And then, as though something heard their conversation and is determined to get them killed in the most annoying of ways, a sudden explosion jolts Coran so violently that he bangs his head against the side of the shuttle.

“What the hell was that?!” Hunk cries.

Coran rubs his head and looks at the controls, which are now flashing bright red. The shuttle is pulling to the side, swerving them off course. Coran grabs the control stick and jerks it to the side, but it doesn’t change the fact that their shuttle is going out of control.

“The engine has exploded!” Coran says, wondering why his vision is going fuzzy around the edges.

“But that wasn’t meant to happen! Coran, what should we do?”

There’s another explosion, and the shuttle starts to fill with smoke. Hunk coughs, and the shuttle starts to go into a spin. Coran can’t counter it, eventually letting go of the controls in frustration.

“I… I think we need to evacuate,” he says.

Hunk looks like he’s about to cry, but he nods. “Okay. But… but you’re not in armour like me. You can’t go out into space like that!”

Coran coughs, now certain he must be getting some sort of concussion. “Don’t worry. I can put on the emergency space suit.”

“Well you better hurry,” Hunk says, adjusting the visor of his helmet so it covers his whole face. “I don’t think this shuttle is gonna last much longer.”

“I know,” Coran says, turning around and rummaging through the emergency storage cupboard. He finds the space suit; it is rather old-fashioned, but it should stop him dying in the harsh conditions of open space.

He struggles to his feet, wishing the shuttle would stop spinning, and pulls on the space suit. He shoves his legs and arms into the suit and fastens it, making sure there aren’t any holes. And then Coran pulls on the helmet, accidentally hurting his sore head as he shoves it onto his head with too much force. The glass panel across his face is cloudy, and, combined with the smoke filling the air, it completely blurs his vision.

There’s another explosion and the control panel bleeps even more rapidly.

“We need to leave now!” Coran cries. “Hold my hand!”

Hunk complies, linking gloved hands with Coran.

“Right, I’ll open the doors on three… two… one… now!”

And Coran presses the button and they get sucked out into space. Holding on tightly to the Paladin’s hand, Coran swirls through space, spinning so rapidly that his vision blurs and he almost vomits.

But then he stabilises, floating beside Hunk. He opens his eyes and looks at the Paladin; Hunk has turned on the jetpacks on his boots, letting them both hover safely in space, far away from their burning shuttle.

Coran’s ancient space suit doesn’t have a comms system, so he can’t speak to Hunk. But he sees Hunk gesture towards a planetoid in the near distance, and he understands what he means.

Hunk, still holding onto Coran, steers them towards the planetoid. Coran grimaces, wishing his head would stop hurting.

The only thing that breaks up their long, laborious journey is the shuttle finally exploding. He obviously doesn’t hear it, but Coran feels the shockwaves. He groans, knowing that they would have died if they were inside it when it exploded.

Could they just have one mission that didn’t go wrong in some way?

---

Coran has no idea what the time is, but he knows that it was a long time ago when they evacuated the shuttle. Since then, he and Hunk landed on the planetoid; they discovered that they can both breathe the air, but this place is very cold. The two of them found a relatively sheltered place to hide (a gap in a large cliff that is sheltered from the strong wind by the rocks around it), and have been sitting there ever since.

Hunk keeps trying to contact the Castle, but the communication line is crackled and weak. He doesn’t even know if they can hear him.

Coran shivers, wrapping his arms around himself. He’s so cold, but he is certain that Hunk, a human, is suffering worse than him. His head throbs, a bruise blossoming on his forehead.

“Why did this place have to be so cold?” Hunk moans, talking more to himself than Coran. “Why couldn’t we have landed on a planet covered in hot beaches?”

Coran isn’t sure what beaches are, but he’s sure they are nice. Anything would be nicer than this.

“Are you cold, Paladin?”

“Freezing,” Hunk says. “I wish we had a blanket.”

“So do I,” Coran says.

“Coran… when do you think they’ll find us?”

He sighs. “I’m afraid I have no idea.”

Hunk sighs too, looking close to tears.

Coran holds his arms out wide, nodding his sore head (an action that makes his vision blur for a few ticks, disorientating him worse than ever). “Come on, Paladin. I think hugging might help us stay warmer.”

Hunk smiles weakly. “Good idea.”

And he shuffles closer to Coran, letting him wrap his arms around him. Hunk hugs him back and they cling to each other, hoping their shared body heat might stop them freezing to death. But that all depends on if the others find them soon, because Coran knows they can’t stay here very long.

---

It’s dark, totally pitch black. Well, except for the thin beam of light shining from the torch attached to the arm of Hunk’s armour. Hunk doesn’t want to turn it off, and neither does Coran. He has never really liked the dark.

He is so cold, his fingers and toes going numb even inside his space suit. Beside him, still clinging to him, Hunk is shivering, his teeth chattering and his muscles vibrating. His head leans against Coran’s shoulder, his breaths slow and jagged.

But Coran isn’t shivering. He is so cold, his extremities numb and the saliva on his lips freezing into crystals. Maybe his body is shutting down. That’s why he isn’t shivering any more. Is he going to die?

“Coran?” Hunk mumbles, his voice slurred. “You s-still ‘wake?”

Coran can only groan, his muscles too stiff and achy to speak.

“You c-can’t sleep… might never wake up ‘gain.”

He knows what Hunk means; if his body is shutting down, he might fall asleep and never wake up again.

But it’s so hard to stay conscious. His head hurts, his body is cold… he’s so tired…

As Hunk nudges his arm, Coran drifts off into a dreamless sleep.

---

“Coran?”

Someone is shaking him.

“Wake up, Coran!”

Someone lightly slaps his face with their fingers, their skin so hot against his.

“Don’t die on us!”

“Hunk, how’re you?”

“I… I’ll live… but Coran…”

“Coran, wake up!”

Feeling as though all of his muscles have been frozen in place, Coran’s eyelids flicker open. He is surrounded the other Paladins: Lance shaking his shoulders, Pidge holding his hand and Allura saying his name over and over again, whilst Keith and Shiro crouch either side of Hunk, encouraging him to drink from a flash.

Where his legs should be, all Coran can see is reflective material. They must have covered his body in foil, the sort used by Earth explorers to keep warm in freezing conditions.

His vision blurs slightly, but Coran looks up at Allura. He tries to speak, but his tongue is too weak and numb.

“Coran?!” Allura says, and she seems near tears. “You awoke! I thought you…”

“Can you walk?” Pidge says, a vice-like grip on his numb hand.

He tries to think. But he can’t think. His head is just a blur of cold and concussion.

Coran shrugs his shoulders, a movement that is now painfully sluggish.

And, as the Paladins talk to him and shake him and even cry, Coran finds his vision going blurry and he passes out again.

---

People are crying. His hands hurt unbearably. Coran drifts in and out of consciousness. Everything is blurry. He’s shivering, his sore muscles trembling. Blankets are wrapped around him, people hugging him.

He’s getting warmer. But he’s still cold. And tired. And sleepy…

---

When Coran next regains consciousness, he finds himself looking through the glass panel of the front of a cryopod. All of the Paladins are stood around outside the pod, looking at him. Allura has clearly been crying, whilst Pidge and Lance look pretty bad as well. Hunk is stood in the middle of the group, washed out and wobbly, but he’s smiling the most of all. Shiro has a supportive hand on Hunk’s arm.

And then the pod opens and Allura holds out her hand.

“Welcome back, Coran,” she says.

Coran moves to step forwards, and his knees buckle. Shiro rushes forwards and catches him.

“Careful,” he says, helping Coran sit down on the floor.

Allura sits beside him, holding his hand. “How are you feeling?”

“A bit wobbly, Princess,” he says truthfully, his voice still a bit too slurred.

“That’s to be expected, though,” Pidge says. “I mean, you’ve been through a lot.”

Coran nods, relieved to find that the movement no longer hurts his head. “Um… how long was I…?”

“It’s been a week since we found you,” Keith says.

Coran’s eyes widen. “A week?”

“Yeah, Hunk was out for four days, but you needed longer than him, what with your head injury and more advanced hypothermia. But…” Keith trails off. “You’re okay now, right?”

Coran smiles. “Yes, that’s right.” As weak and wobbly as he feels, Coran knows he has recovered and will feel perfectly well soon. He squeezes Allura’s hand. “I’m okay now.”

Chapter Text

He isn’t sure if it is actually happening or if he’s just being a hypochondriac, but Coran’s throat feels rather sore today. Ever since he was awoken by Alfor getting up extra early to study for an exam (his roommate always gets up early, and he always ends up waking Coran up in the process as he stumbles around their room in the dark, collecting his supplies before leaving to visit the library), Coran has felt constant twinges in his throat whenever he swallows.

As he walks into the bathroom, Coran looks at his reflection in the mirror. He is quite pale, and the sides of his neck look puffier than normal. Although he may just be imagining it. He can get like that sometimes. But then he swallows and his throat twinges again, and Coran knows you can’t imagine pain.

---

He skips breakfast, realising that he isn’t hungry. That isn’t normal for him; Coran is usually ravenous in the mornings. But today he just isn’t hungry – and with this sore throat, he isn’t sure he wants to eat anyway.

With nothing else to do until the start of his lecture, Coran goes back to his and Alfor’s room. Alfor isn’t here; he must still be in the library.

He gets into bed fully clothed, setting an alarm on his phone to get him up in half an hour. Maybe he can have a short nap. And then, hopefully, he might wake up without this horrible sore throat.

---

A blaring alarm awakes Coran with a horrible jolt. His heart racing, Coran rolls over, reaching for his cell phone. As he rolls, he puts pressure on the side of his neck and pain shoots through his throat, even worse than before.

Blinking blearily, Coran grabs his phone and turns off the alarm. He exhales slowly, pressing his fingers against the sides of his neck. Something, probably his tonsils, feel all swollen, and pain shoots through his whenever he presses down. Coran grimaces, wondering what is happening to him.

And then he realises that he’s going to be late for his lecture. Even though he wants nothing more than to go back to sleep, Coran grabs his bag and hurries out of the room.

---

In his lecture, he can barely concentrate. His throat pain is getting worse, and a deep, throbbing pain is starting to develop behind his forehead. His hands are clammy and Coran struggles to grip his pen. Not that it really matters, because his notes end up being of very poor quality.

And when the lecture is over, Coran stands up… only for his knees to buckle. He stumbles and falls to the floor with a thump.

The other students crowd around him, asking him if he is okay and helping him sit back up. Coran groans, screwing his eyes up, and rubs his hands against the sides of his sore neck.

“You look dreadful,” says one woman.

“Yeah, you must be sick,” says someone else. “You should’ve just stayed in bed.”

Their professor has walked over to watch what is going on, and nods her head. “I’m inclined to agree, Mr Smythe. I think you need to visit the nurse.”

Coran opens his eyes and looks up at her. Why didn’t he think of that before?

---

Coran ends up sat in the nurse’s office on campus. He sits on the bed with his feet dangling, leaning the back of his head against the wall.

“So you’re experiencing pain in your throat?” she asks, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves.

“Yeah, it’s quite bad,” Coran says. He gestures to the sides of his neck. “It’s right here.”

“I see. Can I feel your neck?”

“Yes, of course.”

The nurse places her hands on the sides of Coran’s neck, carefully prodding his skin. Pain shoots through his throat again, and he grits his jaw. She then takes a small torch and shines the beam of light down his throat. She makes a murmuring noise and Coran looks at her.

“Yes, this looks like a simple case of tonsillitis,” the nurse says. “I think you need plenty of bed rest and to take painkillers. If you aren’t feeling better in a few days, you might need to go to a doctor and get some antibiotics.”

And she gives Coran an individually wrapped throat sweet and sends him on his way.

---

Back in his and Alfor’s room, Coran gets into bed. He sucks on the throat sweet the nurse gave him and puts his headphones on, settling down to watch a movie Netflix. His throat still hurts like heck, but at least this throat sweet helps and he isn’t forcing himself through a lecture anymore.

He watches the movie, not really paying attention to the plot, and then decides to watch its sequel. Coran is about halfway through the even more confusing sequel when the door opens and Alfor walks into the room.

Alfor looks at Coran, a frown appearing on his face. “What happened to you? You look awful.”

Coran smiles weakly. “Tonsillitis.”

Alfor comes over and sits on the end of his bed. “Ouch! That sounds painful.”

“It is.”

“Well, is there anything I can do to help?” Alfor asks.

“I’m not sure,” Coran says. “But… could I maybe have some water?”

“Of course.”

Alfor dumps his bag on the floor and gets Coran a bottle of water from their mini fridge.

“Thanks,” he says, taking the cold plastic bottle.

Coran tries to open it, but realises that his hands are too weak and clammy to break the seal.

“Here, let me,” Alfor says, and he breaks the seal, opens the bottle and gives it back.

“Thank you,” Coran says, taking a sip of the water. It’s very cold and soothes his sore throat. “And I apologise for being weak.”

Alfor shakes his head. “You can’t help being ill, Coran.”

Coran smiles, so glad to have a friend like Alfor.

---

When Coran awakes in the middle of the night, the pain in his throat is worse than ever. He gasps and curls up in a ball, his eyes filling with tears from the sheer agony that surges through his throat, his tonsils throbbing. He remembers that they are covered in spots of pus, explaining the horrible pain.

The tears spill over and he starts to sob, letting out a cry that makes the pain even worse.

Which si when the light switches on. Alfor is sat up in bed, staring at him.

“Coran? Are you crying?”

He rushes across the room and crouches down by the side of Coran’s bed, shaking his shoulder.

Coran looks at his friend, and suddenly hugs him tightly.

“It’s all right,” Alfor says, rubbing his back.

And Alfor stays with him until his tears finally stop, falling asleep from exhaustion with tears drying on his face.

Chapter Text

When Coran wakes up, he immediately knows that something isn’t quite right. His stomach feels tender, causing discomfort when he rolls over or otherwise puts pressure on it. Grimacing, he sits up – and that’s when the dizziness hits him.

He slumps backwards, screwing his eyes up. His quarters spin and spin, and he might as well fall out of bed he feels so unsteady. Once the spinning is almost over, he opens his eyes, but everything isn’t quite in focus.

Coran puts his hands on his stomach, pressing down on his abdomen. It feels sore and uncomfortable, as though he was kicked in the stomach yesterday and is now starting to bruise. But there are no bruises. Just discomfort.

He tries to sit up again, moving slowly so the dizziness doesn’t overwhelm him. Why does he feel like this? It’s not like he has a hangover, as Lance called it. He can’t ever remember a time he felt this dizzy, not even when going through a wormhole for the first time. What is going on?

As he sits there, wondering why his brain seems to be spinning around inside his head, Coran’s uncomfortable stomach starts to churn. It feels like something is bubbling deep inside his abdomen, a horribly painful sensation that makes him let out a small groan.

The sensation builds, until Coran comes to a startling realisation: he is going to vomit.

As his stomach churns, Coran struggles to get out of bed, his feet getting tangled in the blankets. He tries to stand up and trips, stumbling forwards with a frantic “Quiznak!”, before tumbling to the ground. Pain explodes through his sore abdomen and Coran cries out… and then vomit rises in his throat and he barely has time to cover his mouth before he vomits. It sprays out of his mouth as he heaves, dribbling between his fingers and spilling onto the floor.

“Quiznak,” he mumbles, coughing up another mouthful of vomit.

Coran feels the nausea die down slightly, and takes his chance. Clamping his hands over his mouth, Coran staggers to his feet and dashes into the bathroom. He collapses in front of the toilet and vomits again. He leans too far forwards over the toilet and vomit trickles out of his nose, burning it horribly. Grimacing, Coran retches and more disgusting vomit spills into the toilet.

And then, finally, it is over. Coran flushes the toilet and leans against it, his head resting on his sweaty arm. He sighs shakily, wishing he knew why that just happened.

Once he feels stable enough, he hauls himself to his feet and leans against the sink. Coran rinses his mouth with cold water and cleans his hands and face, trying to get rid of the taste and smell of the vomit.

He stares at his reflection, wondering how it’s possible to look this weak and pale and clammy. And he wonders why all of this is happening.

And, as Coran heads back to his room to clean up the vomit and sees that it has a distinctly black, inky consistency, he begins to wonder if this all has to do with the events of yesterday.

Because yesterday was almost as unpleasant as what he’s seen so far of this morning…

The Paladins and Coran sat in a row down one side of a very long table. All around them sat dozens of planet leaders and diplomats, everyone talking about important business. But Voltron was a recurring theme of everyone’s conversations; which, Coran supposed, made sense given that the seven of them were special guests.

Other than Allura, the Paladins looked uncomfortable (especially Lance, who was clearly bored), and Coran knew it would take quite a while longer for them all to get used to these sort of big meetings. Coran, however, had attended more of these sort of things than he could count, standing behind the King and Queen of Altea as they talked with leaders of other planets in their system.

“Lance, do try to look more engaged,” Allura said, looking past Keith to fix a stare on him.

Lance stopped fluttering his fingers in front of his eyes. “Sorry, but I’m struggling. There’re only so many things you can talk about anyway.”

“I’m sure it’ll get easier when the food gets here,” Hunk said, patting Lance on the shoulder.

Pidge adjusted her glasses. “I hope it comes soon. I’m starving.”

“The Princess is right,” Shiro said, earning a nod from Allura. “We need to act mature. These sorts of meetings are vital to help us gain allies in the fight against the Galra.”

“Thank you, Shiro,” Allura said, and she didn’t see Pidge and Lance pull silly faces behind her back. But Coran did, and he had to stop himself laughing.

Hunk was right, and the meeting became far less awkward and stale when the food arrived. There was so much food, even more diplomatic meetings like this, and all seven of them showed varying expressions of shock. It took almost ten minutes for the waiters to load all of the dishes onto the table, as well as the huge bottles of drinks. When they finally finished this task, Coran felt like giving them a round of applause. He didn’t.

And, as Lance and Hunk grinned, everyone tucked into the food. The human members of the team avoided the more alien-looking foods, but even the fussiest eaters (Keith and Pidge, to be specific) found more than enough to eat. Coran was lucky enough to have eaten a large variety of exotic dishes from all over the solar system, so not even the strangest appearances were enough to put him off of certain dishes.

“Would you like some of this?”

“Um… I’m not really… sure.”

“But it is one of the signature dishes on our culture. It is considered a great disrespect to refuse to eat it.”

Coran turned his head, realising that he was overhearing a very important conversation. One of the diplomats sat opposite them was leaning forwards in his seat, offering a rather ‘interesting’ dish to Pidge. But she flinched backwards in her chair, looking slightly like she might vomit.

“Pidge, don’t be rude,” Allura scolded.

Pidge looked at Keith and Lance, sat either side of her, clearly desperate for them to help her out. But they avoided eye contact, not wanting to get drawn into this.

And as Coran looked at Pidge, the youngest Paladin, she looked so nauseated and almost scared, he realised that he could solve her problem.

So he turned to the diplomat and put on his best sycophantic, polite tone as he said, “Forgive my companion, sir, she doesn’t understand the complex pallets such as yours.” Pidge leaned forwards as though about to complain, but she stopped. She must have realised what Coran was doing. “She may be a Paladin of Voltron, but we must not forget that she is only young, and therefore rather inexperienced with food.”

The diplomat looked at Coran with all five of his eyes and smiled. “Thank you. I understand how youth can be fussy with their nutrients. You should see my offspring sometimes.”

He laughs and Coran joins in, glancing at Pidge out of the corner of his eye. She looks confused, but much less distressed.

“To ensure that you’re culture doesn’t face any… disrespect from this confrontation,” Coran said, still trying to get Pidge out of this. “Would you like me to eat it instead?”

The alien studied Coran with all of his eyes, but then smiled. “Yes, that would be most satisfactory. Here, take this.”

And he passed Coran the same dish he had been offering Pidge. Coran looked at it, staring at the tentacles that still seemed to be moving. Even for an adventurous eater like him, this was really pushing it.

“Thank you,” he said, and his smile was far more strained than before.

With the alien’s eyes on him, Coran began to eat. The tentacles wriggled as he speared one on his fork, and even that didn’t stop it twitching. He put it in his mouth, and it wriggled against his tongue. Coran willed himself not to gag, and bit down. Foul, almost pus-like liquid burst from the tentacle, spraying like the goo inside a punctured eyeball. It was thick and bitter and coated the inside of his mouth, and Coran had quite tasted something as disgusting as this… whatever it was. Forcing himself to smile, Coran chewed and chewed, but it was like chewing on rubber.

The Paladins all looked at him, a mixture of concern and repulsion on their faces. Allura reached under the table and patted Coran’s elbow.

Eventually, he managed to swallow it. But the residue of the thick liquid remained, his tongue still coated and tasting so bitter it was enough to make it him shudder – but he managed not to.

Coran looked up at the diplomat and smiled weakly, and he wondered if his teeth were black. “That was a… fascinating experience. Thank you for letting me experience your culture.”

The alien smiled. “It is not a problem. Thank you for following my traditions.”

Coran’s smile turned into a grimace, and he downed a glass of water the moment the alien took his many eyes off of him. The Paladins all looked at him, but Coran simply smiled in response. He tried to go back to his meal, but realised that he wasn’t hungry anymore.

In fact, he just felt very, very sick.

That thing he ate yesterday made him feel dreadful at the time, and must be the cause of that rather unpleasant vomiting episode. It must also explain why his stomach still churns even though the vomiting has stopped.

He knows he had to eat the dish, but he really wishes he didn’t. Because it was so horribly disgusting at the time, and it has to be the reason why he know feels so totally dreadful. It would be too much of a coincidence for that not to be the case.

Coran’s stomach still hurts, the nausea not dying down despite the fact that his stomach is totally empty now. When he is ill, vomiting is what it usually takes to settle his sore stomach, and he feels a lot better after the horrible experience. But that isn’t the case this time, his guts still churning

He goes back into his bedroom, a large amount of tissue paper gripped in his clammy hands. Coran kneels down and starts to mop up the vomit, and the pressure this movement puts on his abdomen is enough to send him running back to the bathroom, clamping a hand over his mouth.

He isn’t sick. Even though he’s so nauseous, his stomach painfully sore, nothing happens as Coran stands hunched in front of the toilet. Breathing shakily, Coran sighs and grabs some cleaning liquids from the storage cupboard in the bathroom, before heading back to his room.

It takes him a long time to clean his room, the sight of his own vomit on the floor almost making him sick again. When he has finished, he sits on the floor with his back resting against the wall, breathing slowly. Coran rubs his sore abdomen, wondering when (or even if) this horrible pain and nausea is going to leave him alone.

---

When Coran finally walks onto the Bridge, he finds everyone (other than Keith) already here. He clasps his hands behind his back, subtly wringing his hands, and tries to smile. His face is still very pale, but Coran hopes that no one will notice.

The Paladins are all crowded together at the front of the Bridge, looking up at the view screen as Pidge uploads data she downloaded on last week’s mission to a Galra ship. The screen shows a map of a nearby star system, presenting coordinates that must be very important, given the way Pidge giggles with delight.

“See, I knew there would be something important there!” Lance cries, practically bouncing around the room.

“We know, dude,” Hunk says, smiling.

“And, as far as I know, you weren’t the only one who had the idea to search that ship,” Shiro says, his lips twitching into a smile.

Allura takes Lance’s hand in her own and squeezes it. “Well, I think everyone should appreciate Lance’s contribution.”

Lance grins and squeezes her hand back. “Thanks.”

Shiro rolls his eyes. “So, Pidge, what have you found?”

Pidge turns to look at Shiro, and notices Coran stood behind them all. “Oh, hey, Coran.”

Lance turns around. “You took your time, man. You nearly missed the reveal that my plan was a success.”

“Sorry, I got distracted by something,” Coran says. this is the first time he has spoken since he vomited. And he is mortified to find that his voice is hoarse, cracking as he speaks.

Allura turns her head. She frowns. “Coran, what is wrong with you?”

“Wrong?” he says, coughing slightly in an attempt to clear his throat. It doesn’t help. “I don’t understand, Princess.”

“You look dreadful,” Allura says. “I have known you all my life, Coran. And I know when there is something wrong. Are you ill?”

By now, everyone in the room is staring at him, their expressions a mix of confusion and concern. Coran ducks his head, wringing his hands frantically behind his back, digging his fingernails into his hands.

But then he looks up, smiling the most forced grin he has ever used. “Of course not, Princess.”

Allura stares at him, and Coran knows that she doesn’t believe him. And as the Paladins start to plan a trip to these important coordinates, Coran walks past them and starts to run his normal security scans of the Castle. He knows everyone is looking at him, but he tries not to care.

---

Later, Coran feels sweat running down his back as he performs his latest diagnostic scan. His throat aches from vomiting earlier, and he really wants to sit down. But he needs to finish this; he can’t risk the defensive shield not working properly if they happen to be attacked.

When his stomach starts to churn again, Coran groans. He wipes sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, hoping his stomach will settle. He doesn’t want to vomit again.

But then the churning becomes a gurgle, bubbling through his abdomen, going further and further down. Something cramps, and Coran grits his jaw to suppress a gasp. He puts his hand on his stomach, feeling the gurgling inside him, and he realises something disturbing: he needs to get to the toilet quickly, or something horribly embarrassing might occur.

He manages to leave the Bridge without attracting attention, but starts to run the moment the doors close behind him. Coran puts his hands on his abdomen again, hoping he makes it in time. His legs wobble, but he manages to keep running without falling over.

Coran crashes into the nearest bathroom, almost forgetting to lock the door behind him. His fingers fumble as he scrabbles to remove his trousers, his stomach gurgling so badly the noise seems to echo around the room. Thankfully, he makes it in time. Coran hunches forwards as he sits on the toilet, his stomach cramping and cramping. His bowels spasm and diarrhoea sprays out of him, burning him on its way out.

Cramps and spasms wrack him again and again, the diarrhoea coming out of him in a seemingly never ending stream. Tears start to spill down Coran’s cheeks, the pain too much to bear. Why is this happening to him?

All of a sudden, there is a knock on the door. Coran jumps, so glad he remembered to lock it.

“Coran, are you okay in there?”

It’s Pidge. She knocks again, concern audible in her voice.

“I… I’m fine, Paladin,” he calls, hoping his voice doesn’t sound quite as weak as he thinks it does. “I’m just experiencing a few… stomach problems.”

“Oh,” Pidge says. “Is there anything I can get you?”

Coran is about to reply when he’s hit by another attack of diarrhoea. He hunches forwards, screwing his face up, desperately trying to fight back the excruciating pain that stabs him in the abdomen over and over again.

He must let out a groan or a sob or something, because Pidge starts knocking again.

“Coran?” she calls, and her tone is panicky. “Coran, are you in pain?”

Coran breathes slowly, carefully sitting upright and trying to calm himself down. When he isn’t quite so shaky, he says, “No, I am not. Don’t fret, Paladin.”

“Are… are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay then,” Pidge mumbles, and she walks away.

More tears run down his face, and Coran screws his eyes up. Hunched over on the toilet, he wonders why Pidge seems so worried about him. She must be able to see through his façade, and see that he is actually rather unwell.

And Coran wonders if this has anything to do with yesterday…

As the Voltron team left the dining table and made to leave and return to the Castle, Coran feeling rather nauseous after eating that… thing, Pidge hurried to walk beside him.

Coran smiled at her, wondering if the weird food had stained his teeth black. “Hello, Paladin.”

“Hi,” she said. “Hey, Coran… thanks for earlier.”

Pidge wasn’t exactly specific, but Coran knew what she was talking about. She was referring to the moment during the meal earlier, when Coran stepped in and ate the disgusting food so she didn’t have to.

“I really appreciate it,” Pidge said. “I didn’t want to offend that alien, but… but I just couldn’t eat that. Thank you so much.”

Coran smiled. “It isn’t a problem, Paladin. I didn’t exactly enjoy it myself, to be honest. But it would have offended him even more if you were to eat his food, only to vomit at the table.”

Pidge grimaced and giggled. “Yeah, good point. But, seriously, thank you for that. It means a lot to me.”

“I know,” Coran said. “I’m glad I helped.”

But he wished his stomach would stop hurting.

Ever since Coran stepped in and saved Pidge from eating that food, she has been closer with him. They have always been friends, but for the last day or so, Pidge has spent more time with him. And now she must have noticed that he left the Bridge in a rush, and followed after him to check up on him.

But, even though he knows that she is worried about him, Coran can’t bring himself to tell her the truth. And he is very glad she has left him alone, because he doesn’t want her to know what the thing he ate is doing to him.

To be honest, he doesn’t want to believe it himself. But he doesn’t really have a choice.

---

Once his stomach has finally settled, Coran cleans himself up and splashes his sweaty, tear stained face with cold water. Even though it is settled now, his stomach still aches and feels horribly sore, and the nausea is back. He wants to kneel in front of the toilet until the nausea ceases just in case he vomits again, but Coran can’t abandon his Paladins forever. So he swallows hard, rubs his sore stomach, and heads back to the Bridge.

Arriving on the Bridge, Coran finds all of the Paladins (now including Keith) stood in a huddle, talking about something in hushed voices. They all turn when they hear his footsteps, and their facial expressions tell Coran (who is usually rather poor at recognising facial expressions) that he is the topic of their conversation.

“Hey, Coran!” Lance says, his voice too loud. “How’re you feeling?”

“Pidge said you’ve got stomach ache,” Keith says. “Are there any weird Altean pills we can get you.”

“Yeah, ‘cause stomach aches suck,” Hunk adds, grimacing.

Coran wants to smile, so happy that everyone cares about him like this. But he doesn’t want to cause even more of a fuss, so he raises his eyebrows instead and says, “Yes, I have a slight stomach ache, but there is no cause for alarm. I feel fine now.”

That is such an obvious lie, but no one seems to see through it. Although they might just be pretending.

“That’s good,” Shiro says, walking over to Coran and giving his shoulder a pat. “We don’t want a sick person on our team. It would be a bit of a problem when we need to fight.”

Coran nods, disturbed to find that this action makes his head spin. “Well, then it’s just as well that I’m not sick.” He turns to Allura. “So, Princess, what do we do now?”

“Well, we have worked out how to get to the base located at the coordinates,” Allura says. “However, we have decided to take a wormhole to get there faster.”

“Yeah, we’ve worked out that there’s a big shipment coming in, and we need to wormhole to get there in time,” Pidge says, grinning.

Allura looks at Pidge and smiles. “Yes, as I was going to say.”

Pidge laughs. “Sorry.”

“So, should we set off soon?” Coran asks.

The six Paladins look at each other, but then Allura nods. “Yes, I think we should. Get ready, everyone. I’m going to make a wormhole.”

Everyone goes to their stations, Coran wandering to the front of the Bridge with his wobbly legs. He stands at his own station, staring out of the window as Allura creates a wormhole. She flies the Castle inside the wormhole, and the ship starts to shake.

Coran groans, the nausea returning like a punch to the stomach. Everything wobbles as the Castle whizzes through the wormhole, and Coran grips his console to stop himself falling over. His legs tremble and his stomach churns, bile starting to rise in his throat. He swallows hard, willing himself not the vomit.

Even though a journey through a wormhole is normally very short, it feels like forever for Coran. When they finally return to normal space, hovering still in one position, Coran groans and leans against the console, wondering if he’s going to faint.

“Look, over there!” Pidge cries.

Coran looks up at the window, and sees ships flying in and out of a hollow planet, its crust more like a shell for the hollow space inside. He doesn’t even want to think about what happened to this planet to make it look like this.

His stomach churns worse than before. Coran’s stomach feels bloated, pressure building up inside his abdomen, and he opens his mouth to belch. But, instead, vomit rises in his throat and then he’s being sick all over his console and down his clothes, vomit spraying out of his mouth as he coughs and retches.

“Coran!” Allura cries, rushing over to him.

“Shit!” Keith says from somewhere behind him.

He hears footsteps and then everyone crowds around him. Allura places her hand on his back, rubbing it in circles.

Coran tries to cover his mouth, but the vomit just seeps through his fingers. His legs give way and he drops to the floor.

“Careful!” Lance yells.

“What’s happening?” Keith says.

“He’s puking, you fucking idiot!” Lance snaps, and Keith shoves him.

“Guys!” Shiro says in his firmest voice. “Stop it!”

Pidge crouches beside Coran, helping Allura rub his back. And he thinks she might actually be crying as she whispers, “But you said you were okay. Why did you lie to me?”

Coran gasps for breath, vomiting so hard he barely has time to breathe. But he manages to gasp out, “I didn’t want… to worry you.”

“Well you didn’t do a very good job, Coran,” Hunk says softly. “Now we’re all worried about you.”

He doesn’t reply, simply hunching forwards as he coughs up mouthfuls of stomach acid that burn his tongue. Tears dribble down his cheeks and strings of vomit-coloured saliva dangle from his cracked lips. Basically, he feels absolutely dreadful.

But at least he has the Paladins. Even though he didn’t tell them just how ill he felt, he knows they aren’t really angry with him. They’re just worried about him. And he understands why. They are like family to him, and Coran knows how it is when a family member is ill. It is scary and you just worry about them so much.

He heaves again and more vomit spills down his mouth, dribbling down his chin. And as tears run down his face, Allura rubs his back and he can hear Pidge crying, and they all stay with him through one of the most painful and embarrassing times in his whole life.

---

When the vomiting has finally finished, Allura insists on taking Coran straight to a cryopod. Hunk and Shiro grasp his arms to help him walk, and everyone accompanies him on the painfully slow walk to the pods, Pidge holding a bowl in case Coran vomits again.

“I’m so sorry about this,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t talk like that, Coran,” Allura says. “You are very unwell.”

“Yeah, it’s not your fault you got sick,” Hunk says.

Coran smiles weakly. Shiro squeezes his arm.

When they reach a pod, Hunk and Shiro help Coran inside. And then Allura smiles, a single tear running down her face, and shuts him inside.

---

When Coran emerges from the pod, he has no idea how time he was inside. All he knows is that he feels so much better. The Paladins crowd around him, holding his arms and helping him sit down when they see how wobbly he is.

“Welcome back, man!” Lance says, hugging him.

“Do you feel better?” Shiro asks.

He smiles. “Much better.”

“We found out what’s wrong, you know,” Pidge says. She looks like she has been crying.

“You had food poisoning,” Allura says. “A severe gastrointestinal infection caused by eating contaminated food.”

Coran stares at her. “C-Contaminated food?”

“Yeah, and three guesses what made you sick,” Hunk says.

Coran doesn’t need to guess. He already knows the answer. “The weird food?”

“Yep, the weird food,” Lance says, nodding his head.

“Turns out it contains bacteria that doesn’t affect most species, but makes most Alteans seriously ill,” Shiro says.

Tears run down Pidge’s face. “And… and it wouldn’t hurt humans either. So if I’d just eaten it, you wouldn’t have got sick!”

Coran leans forwards and hugs her tightly. “Please don’t talk like that, Paladin. This isn’t your fault. None of us knew this would happen, not even the alien who gave me the food in the first place.”

“Yeah, don’t get upset, Pidge,” Lance says, and Keith pats Pidge on the head.

Pidge pulls away, wiping her eyes. “Sorry. I’m just so glad you’re better.”

“She’s been worried sick,” Hunk says.

Coran sighs and wipes at his face, finding himself crying. Allura hugs him, resting her chin on top of his head.

“I’m so pleased to have you back,” she says.

Coran smiles, tears in his eyes. “So am I, Princess. Thank you so much, all of you, for looking after me.”

And, as they all hug him, Coran knows he is so lucky to have such a wonderful team.

Chapter Text

It is so cold. So horribly cold. Coran shivers as he walks through the icy landscape, shivering despite his thick coat and gloves. The Paladins all appear to have the same problem, everyone shivering, their breath visible in the freezing air. Keith is the only one who doesn’t look frozen solid, and Coran wonders if it has something to do with his Galra genetics. But the rest of them are freezing, including Coran.

And it doesn’t help that he doesn’t feel that brilliant to begin with. He awoke this morning to a sore chest and slightly congested nose, and the last thing he wants to do is trek through a freezing cold place. His chest feels weird whenever he breathes, and Coran thinks that the cold air isn’t helping.

“I thought you said this planet was safe for us,” Lance says, his teeth chattering.

“I did, Paladin,” Coran says, slightly offended. “I told you that both humans and Alteans can safely breathe the atmosphere, and the temperatures don’t go up or down into lethal extremes. After all, we are all freezing cold—”

“No shit,” Keith mutters, and Pidge laughs.

“We are all freezing cold,” Coran repeats, raising his eyebrows. “But this won’t kill us.”

“Besides, this shouldn’t take long,” Allura says, smiling at Coran; he smiles back, glad at least one member of the team is not annoyed with him.

“I know that,” Shiro says. “I just wish we could’ve got warmer coats.”

“These were the warmest coats I could find,” Coran says. “Although I do agree; they aren’t nearly warm enough.”

When they heard a distress beacon this morning, they were led to this planet. The top half is in winter, ice everywhere, and it was typical that the beacon was coming from this location. But the location of the beacon was on a huge sheet of rather thin ice, and neither the Castle nor any of the Lions could safely land without cracking the ice and falling down into the water. So the team had no choice but land in a small, cramped shuttle, and take the rest of the journey towards the beacon on foot. And Coran found everyone thick coats down in the store rooms inside the Castle, but these coats are not nearly warm enough.

Pidge and Hunk carry the tracking equipment, beeping sounds getting louder and louder as they get closer to the distress beacon. They chat in technical jargon, and Coran has no idea what they are saying most of the time.

Lance walks beside Allura, holding her gloved hand. Keith and Shiro lag behind everyone, arms linked as they try to stop the cold wind blowing in their faces, huddling close together.

And Coran is somewhere in the middle, shivering and feeling bad that he hasn’t been able to keep them all warm enough. Although the humans should be comfortable for longer, given how Alteans are more sensitive to the cold; it is Allura that he’s worried about.

As Pidge and Hunk lead them towards some cliffs, Coran quickens his pace and draws up beside Allura.

“Hello, Princess,” he says, looking at what little of her face he can see behind the fleece-lined hood of her coat. “How are you?”

“Cold, Coran,” Allura says, smiling.

Coran looks past her and glances at Lance. “What about you, Lance?”

Lance looks miserable, the tip of his nose bright red and shiny; he shrugs. “Not too good. Is it gonna be long?”

“I’m not sure,” Coran says. Raising his voice, he calls out to Pidge and Hunk. “Uh, you two, how far is it now?”

Pidge turns around. She’s smiling. “Only about three hundred metres left.”

Coran smiles. “Thank goodness.” He turns back to Allura and pats her shoulder. “Don’t fret, Princess. We should be back in the warmth of the Castle before we know it.”

They all walk faster, heading towards the source of the beacon. Coran sniffs, realising that the mucus dribbling from his nose has frozen into his moustache. He groans and breaths deeply – only to start coughing.

He coughs, his throat burning as he inhales the freezing air, and exhales slowly, his breathing shuddering. Coran groans, putting his gloved hands to his throat.

Instantly, Allura has a hand on his back, leaning close. “Coran? What’s wrong?”

“Hey, you okay, Coran?” Keith says as he and Shiro rush up behind him.

When Coran manages to stop coughing, he smiles weakly. “Yes, I’m fine. I just think the cold air is aggravating my lungs.”

“I’m not surprised,” Lance says. “I mean, it is fucking freezing out here.”

“Language, Paladin,” Coran says, and Lance laughs.

“Hey guys!” Hunk yells. He and Pidge are far ahead by now, waving their arms above their heads. “We’re really close!”

“It’s in here!” Pidge shouts, pointing to a huge cavern in the cliff face.

“Are you okay to carry on?” Allura asks Coran.

He nods, wondering if the weird sensation in his chest will subside or not. “Of course.”

And they all rush to catch up with Pidge and Hunk. Quite excited, the pair lead the team into the cavern. It is even colder in here, so dark they have to use their torches to see where they are going.

Pidge and Hunk see it first, and their groans of exasperation don’t make things look good. Moving closer, Coran and the others see the problem. There isn’t a ship here at all; instead, all there appears to be is a small piece of wreckage, blow into this cave by a strong wind. It contains the beacon, which continues to bleep.

“For fuck’s sake!” Keith moans.

“What happened to this ship?” Allura says, a faint tone of horror to her voice.

“We wasted all this time and got freezing cold for this?” Hunk mutters, switching off the tracking device.

“Well, maybe we can work out what happened to the ship,” Shiro says, trying to look on the bright side as he puts his arm around Keith.

“Good point,” Pidge says, and she and Hunk start to chat about uploading the data from the tracking device into the computer system in the Castle.

And Coran leans against the cold, damp wall of the cavern, rubbing a hand against his sore chest.

---

Back in the Castle, everyone stands on the Bridge as they remove their thick, soaking wet coats. Coran and Allura shiver violently, whilst the humans look like they are close to developing frostbite. And Coran’s chest still hurts.

As they move out of orbit from the planet, Pidge and Hunk head down to the lab to try and get data out of the tracking beacon. Shiro and Keith head to the medical bay to get some cream to help their chapped faces and cracked lips. And Lance stands still, staring vacantly at Allura as she pilots the Castle, smiling at his girlfriend.

And Coran sits down in Hunk’s vacant chair, blowing his nose with his favourite soft handkerchief. He probably has a bit of a cold, but it should go away soon. At least, he hopes so. The last time he was ill he felt extremely unwell, and the sensory issues that resulted from constantly being hot and coughing sent him into a severe meltdown.

So he seriously hopes he will feel better soon. And judging from the way Allura keeps looking at him, she thinks the same thing.

---

When Coran awakes in the middle of the night, it is though his lungs are on fire. He inhales and his breathing wheezes, before a coughing fit begins.

Coran heaves himself upright, coughing so hard it hurts his throat. Mucus dribbles out of his nose as he coughs, his skin hot and shining with sweat. He coughs a huge amount of phlegm into his mouth, and the coughs finally stop.

Groaning, Coran grabs his handkerchief and spits out the phlegm. When he sees that it is thick and a disturbing shade of green, Coran’s watery eyes widen. He must have an infection, because that isn’t normal.

He’s slightly dizzy, so he lies back down, wishing his chest would stop burning. Coran takes slow, wheezy breaths and rests his hands on his chest, wondering what is happening to his lungs to make him feel like this. But then lying on his back makes the mucus blocking his nose run down his throat, and he gags, sitting up as another coughing fit begins.

“Quiznak,” he mumbles, spitting out more phlegm.

When he lies down again, he rolls onto his side. Coran kicks his blankets off in an attempt to cool down his burning skin, and falls asleep from pure exhaustion, his shallow breaths wheezing.

---

When his alarm goes off, Coran jumps violently. He rolls over and falls out of bed, disorientated. His skin his even hotter than before, burning as sweat beads all over him and runs down his back. His moustache is coated in drying mucus, his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat.

He groans, sitting up slowly, and manages to switch off his alarm. But then he stumbles and falls back onto his bed, the springs creaking. Coran heaves in a wheezy breath, his lungs feeing so congested that it’s a wonder he can breathe at all. And then the coughing starts again, and it is even more hacking and violent than it was in the night. He coughs and coughs, wheezing as his throat burns and his lungs are so sore and—

And then he coughs up so much phlegm, but even with all of this disgusting stuff out of his body, he doesn’t feel any better. Coran gasps and flops onto his side, curling up as his nose streams and his eyes water and his lungs burn and burn and…

He knows he has to get up, but he can’t. He just can’t Coran hasn’t felt this ill in a long time.

Shooting sensations start to go through his nervous system, his aching head filling with such pressure that Coran has to clamp his hands over his head, fingertips digging hard into his skull. And he groans, knowing what is happening; being so sweaty and hot and constantly coughing is aggravating his sensory issues. Which means he is going to have a meltdown.

Sure enough, as Coran curls up on the bed, his skin starts to crawl and his brain overloads, and it feels as though he has a swarm of bees buzzing around inside his skull. He tightens his grip on his head, hyperaware of how his clothes stick to his hot skin with drying sweat, of how more sweat pour off of him, trickling across his forehead and down his back. His wheezing breaths hurt his ears, which only gets worse as he starts to breathe faster, his congested, burning lungs hurting more with every breath.

Coran tries to fight it, hating how meltdowns make him feel. But it is already starting, and he can’t stop it now.

Tears spill down his flushed face, and the horrible sensation inside his head gets so bad that there is only one thing Coran knows that will stop the pressure. So he lets go of his head, and starts to smack his hands against it instead.

He hauls his limp body upright, smashing clenched fists against the sides of his head. It hurts so much, but he doesn’t care. Coran punches himself in the forehead and his vision blurs for a tick. He cries out, more tears running down his face, and his burning lungs protest, and he coughs.

And then another coughing fit begins, hacking coughs wracking his body as his hands smack against his head. Coran gasps for breath, wheezing and coughing, dizziness starting to overwhelm him.

And he isn’t sure if it’s the second punch to his forehead or the increasingly severe coughing fit, but Coran’s whirring head swims, his vision starts to cloud. But either way, black spots form in his vision as he gasps and cries and coughs, and then Coran flops down onto his back, unconscious.

---

Waking up, all Coran is aware of is pain. Pain in his head, pain in his chest – pain all over his aching body. He looks at the clock, and realises that he was only passed out for a few minutes, as the humans call it.

He sits up slowly, trying to prevent the dizziness getting any worse, and notices that his mouth is full of phlegm. Coran spits it out, finding it the same disgusting shade of green it was last time.

Coran gets out of bed, wobbling on unsteady legs, and catches sight of his reflection in the mirror. He looks dreadful, his hair sticking up at weird angles, his cheeks bright red, sweat shining on his skin, and big red marks all over his forehead, obviously from his meltdown. They will probably turn into very nasty bruises.

And even though he wants nothing more than to just go back to sleep, Coran gets changed, and heads down to the bathroom to freshen up. Hopefully he will look better after a wash.

He doesn’t.

---

Unsurprisingly, Coran is the last person to arrive on the Bridge. He has his hands clasped behind his back, wringing them together. His clothes are already starting to stick to his sweaty skin, and he hopes he won’t have another meltdown.

Pidge and Hunk are clearly excited, showing everyone data on the screens that must be related to the beacon they all found yesterday.

“—so we had to work out how to translate it, because we don’t have this language in the database,” Hunk is saying, whilst Pidge looks rather proud of herself. “But eventually, Pidge cracked it.”

Pidge grins.

“Well done, Pidge,” Shiro says.

Hunk is about to continue, that that is when he sees Coran. “Shit, you look awful!”

And everyone turns to look at him, and Coran stares down at the floor, wishing they wouldn’t all look at him. Soon the six Paladins are crowded around Coran, looking at him with unreadable expressions.

“What’s wrong?” Allura asks.

“Coran, you look like shit,” Lance says.

He tries to make a joke of it, smiling weakly as he says, “How very flattering, Paladin.”

“No, but you do,” Shiro says. “You must be running a really bad fever.”

“And what the fuck happened to your forehead?” Keith says, staring at Coran’s sore forehead.

He doesn’t answer, and he doesn’t look at Allura. But he doesn’t need to, because she already knows the cause of his bruises.

“He has had a meltdown,” Allura says, a slight tremor to her voice. “A severe one, most likely. Coran, what gave you a meltdown?”

“Um… just the general feeling of being hot and sweaty,” he says. “And the cough.”

“The cough?” Hunk says.

And as if on quiznaking cue, Coran feels his chest spasm and the hacking coughs return with a vengeance. His breathing wheezing on every in breath, Coran coughs violently, pressing his hands against his ribcage in a futile attempt to try to reduce the pain and discomfort.

He can’t hear anything over the coughs and his eyes are squeezed shut, but Coran knows the Paladins are scared. He is scared too.

Coran overbalances, stumbling backwards, and he feels the tight grip of Shiro’s galra hand around his arm. Someone else has grabbed his other arm, probably Keith. They lower him to the ground, and someone, probably Allura, places a comforting hand on his back.

Finally, Coran coughs up another mouthful of phlegm and, fumbling for his handkerchief, spits it out. And then he opens his bleary eyes, and sees the six of them staring at him in horror.

“You’re seriously sick, man,” Lance says.

“Fuck,” is all Pidge mutters.

“Coran,” Allura says, rubbing his back. “Lance is right. You are seriously unwell. I think you need a cryopod.”

“No, that’s unnecessary,” he says, his voice hoarse from coughing. “I’ll be fine.”

“Coran, you nearly fell over from coughing so hard,” Shiro says. “Your fever triggered a meltdown. I think it’s obvious you’re really sick. And a cryopod would be the easiest and least uncomfortable way for you to recover.”

Coran looks at them all, and sighs. “Fine.”

Allura smiles weakly and hugs him.

And he reluctantly lets everyone escort him down to the pod room. To be honest, he feels so ill that it is actually a relief when they shut him inside and he loses consciousness.

---

Sometime later, Coran emerges from his cryopod. He is weak and wobbly, but he no longer has a fever and his chest doesn’t feel congested and has stopped burning. Basically, he feels so much better.

“Welcome back, Coran,” Allura says, reaching to hold his hand. Coran takes it, interlocking their fingers.

“How are you?” Lance asks.

“Much better, thank you, Paladin,” he says.

Shiro smiles. “That’s a relief. We were… worried about you.”

“Do you know what was wrong with me?” Coran asks.

Pidge and Hunk nod.

“Yeah,” she says. “You have pneumonia, a really serious lung infection.”

Coran raises his eyebrows. But at least he knows he wasn’t overreacting, because he obviously was seriously unwell.

“And how exactly did I contract a severe lung infection?”

“Well, our theory is you were already coming down with it yesterday,” Hunk says.

“But then you got freezing on our icy expedition and it knocked your immune system,” Lance continues.

“And you immune system wasn’t strong enough to fight the infection, meaning you got the full infection,” Keith finishes.

Coran nods. “Well, that makes sense. I did have a slight cold yesterday morning. But I had no idea it would turn into something more serious.”

“Neither did we,” Shiro says. “If we knew that could’ve happened, we would’ve left you behind on the expedition.”

Allura squeezes his hand, and Coran puts his arms around her. She hugs him back, smiling.

“Did you ever find out what happened to that ship?” he asks.

Pidge nods. “Yeah, basically, it had a mechanical fault in space and blew up. The debris scattered all over this solar system, and pieces of it landed on all of the planets and asteroids. And that bit with the beacon just landed on that planet where we found it.”

“So all in all, a bit of a let down,” Hunk says.

Coran smiles. “Yes, I suppose you could say that.”

“But that’s not important,” Allura says. “After all, we are more interested in the fact that you’re healthy again.”

And Coran smiles as he pats her back, so glad his team care about him like this. They all care about each other so much. They are just like a family. And Coran loves them all, and he knows they all love him too.