Carbon Copy

The Blue Paladin's memory was riddled with holes, static where memories were supposed to go. After months under Galra captivity, however, Lance wasn't so sure that they were events he wanted to remember. He knew that there were important people he desperately needed to go back to and the memories of his family, both in space and back on Earth, were the air in his lungs keeping his ribcage from collapsing. But Lance was starting to doubt more than just his swiss cheese memory; he's starting to doubt himself. There are the obvious doubts; was he strong enough to survive his- their fight against the Galra Empire? Would he be able to keep resist breaking down under the constant strife he faced as a prisoner to the empire? Would he still be able to function as a paladin if- when he was reunited with the rest of Voltron? The doubt that haunted him the most was none of those. The snapshots of fractured memories from times spent in odd cryopods and strapped to tables, flashes of a reflection familiar enough for him to recognize it was supposed to be his own but just off enough... Enough for Lance to doubt that he was, well, Lance.