Chapter Text
Most new superheroes go through several stages at the start of their career.
The first stage is usually something like denial. Having powers can be scary at first, especially when they appear so suddenly that any normal person would swear they’re going crazy . There’s not exactly an instruction manual for that sort of thing, and it’s hard to know where and who to turn to for help, if anyone at all. So naturally, their first instinct is usually to try their hardest to ignore what’s happening to them and attempt to go on with their life as if nothing has happened, pretending they don’t notice that they’re suddenly hearing people’s thoughts or seeing through walls or accidentally breaking things just by touching them. This always turns out to be impossible, which means they’re inevitably faced with the task of learning how to control their new powers.
Which leads to the next stage: experimentation. At the very least, they have to learn everything they can about their abilities, how to control them, and most importantly, how to hide them, regardless of whether or not they intend to use them. Sometimes this means an unfortunate amount of accidental property damage and personal injuries, a.k.a. this is when they’re forced to become a good liar, and fast. Eventually they become familiar enough with their powers through endless amounts of trial and error that they realize… maybe this whole thing isn’t so bad after all. Now that they’ve gotten the hang of it, having powers is pretty freaking awesome.
Cue the honeymoon stage. It’s been scientifically proven that acts of altruism improve a person’s mood, and what better way to use one’s powers than to help people and look pretty darn cool doing it? Besides, practice makes perfect, right? They went to all that trouble to learn about their powers, they might as well put them to good use. Not to mention that doing so fosters that sense of purpose and belonging that everyone craves—it’s hard to find a downside, really.
… Until they reach the next stage, at least; a wake-up call of sorts. Because at some point, every honeymoon phase has to come to an end. At some point, most heroes make a name for themselves. They make allies, but that means they make enemies, too. It comes with the territory. Eventually they’re faced with the harsh reality that it was never just going to be all fun and games. They have a responsibility now, a community and a secret identity to protect, people who love them and people who hate them. It’s never long before something goes wrong, or someone makes a threat that hits a little too close to home.
For Lance, specifically? That’s when the nightmares started.
To anyone else, his wake-up call sounds anticlimactic. All he did was stop a mugging on his way home from Keith’s place one night, something he’s done dozens of times and that he ranks pretty low on the danger scale compared to some of the other things he’s done. He insisted on staying with the man who was attacked until the police arrived, sitting with him on the sidewalk and chatting while the assailant hurled ugly names and insults at him from the alley behind them. (Usually Lance would web their mouth shut, but since it takes a few hours to loosen, the police started bellyaching about it being inconvenient. Lance doesn’t think they have room to complain considering how often he does their job for them, but whatever.)
So he was feeling pretty good about himself, honestly. The man sitting with him had just finished grad school. He’s been working two jobs, one of them to pay the bills and the second because he’s saving up for a ring to propose to his girlfriend. Lance bonds with him over their shared love for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and by the end of their conversation the man says he can’t wait to go home and tell his girlfriend that Spider-Man himself is a TMNT fan, too. Encounters like these always help Lance feel grounded, and remind him that he’s still a person underneath his mask, just like everyone else.
His interaction with the mugger, on the other hand? Far less than pleasant. The man wouldn’t stop screaming at him, even as he was being dragged away and shoved rather unceremoniously into a police cruiser. Lance is used to the name-calling and threats on his life, and he did kind of spoil this guy’s plans, so he doesn’t take it personally. Besides, there’s nothing the dude can do at this point, so as far as Lance is concerned, he can shout all he wants.
It’s what he says last, just before the door of the police car is slammed in his face, that really sticks. “I swear, when I get out, I’m gonna find you, and I’m gonna kill you and everyone you care about.”
Threatening Lance’s life is one thing—he always knew that was part of the job description. Even as a teenager, he knew what he was signing up for when he decided to use his powers and become a part-time vigilante. He’s not scared of a little confrontation, he can handle himself in a fight, and he can protect himself from harm (usually), no problem.
Threatening Lance’s family, on the other hand? His friends? His loved ones? That’s a completely different story. It gives a lot more weight to the whole secret identity thing.
The nightmares start out pretty tame. Not that it makes them any less scary, but at least they’re manageable; just some make-believe situations concocted by his anxious mind in which his family is being threatened and he barely makes it to them in time. Dreams where his mamá is abducted, where his niece and nephew are kidnapped, where Vero and Rachel and Luis and Marco’s lives are at stake; dreams where if he had arrived even a second later, they could’ve gotten hurt. He wakes from them abruptly, tense and shaken, but is able to fall back asleep after taking a few moments to breathe and remind himself that in the end they’re just dreams and nothing else.
They’re not just about his family, though. They’re about his friends, too. About his best friend Hunk, and Pidge, and his first-grade-crush-turned-close-friend Allura, and his favorite crazy history teacher, Mr. Coran, and his mentor and role model, Shiro, and—
And about Keith. The person he swears he loves more than anyone or anything else he’s ever loved before. The one who works overtime to take care of him because he always forgets to take care of himself. The reason he’s learned to think twice before throwing himself into danger, because Keith would kill him if he ever got himself killed.
If the nightmares had stopped there, he likes to think he would’ve been able to handle them. Only they didn’t stop there, and he’s not handling them well. At all. They’re still the same nightmares, only now he has virtually no control. Now, he doesn’t always make it in time. Now, he’s always a second too late. Now, all he can do is watch as the people he loves are taken away from him. Permanently.
He doesn’t remember the last time he got a full night’s sleep.
It’s reached the point that he dreads the moment his head hits the pillow, already knowing he’ll wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, heart racing and body trembling. He’s never able to fall back asleep after one of these nightmares because he can’t stop thinking about them, and even if he could fall back asleep he would only have another nightmare. He’s tried avoiding sleep altogether, but the exhaustion from being a full-time high school student and part-time superhero coupled with sleep deprivation makes that impossible, which means he falls asleep, only to have nightmares, only to wake up sweaty and panicked and unable to rest.
It’s a constant cycle with no end in sight. He wakes up one night with a scream caught in his throat, flinching at the horrific images of his lifeless mother burned into his mind and clutching tightly at his bedsheets. A moment later he finds himself in his parent’s room on his mamá’s side of the bed with no memory of taking himself there. Somehow just his presence is enough to wake her because she stirs, takes one look at him, and coaxes him back into bed where she holds him the same way she did when he was seven and scared of the summer storms, lulls him back into a restless but dreamless sleep with her quiet singing.
He admits that he had a nightmare when she asks him about it the next morning, but offers no specifics. She sends him off to school with an extra kiss on each cheek and promises to make him her special tea before bed tonight, and all he can manage in response is a nod and a weak smile, silently vowing never to let this happen again. It’s not fair of him to depend on her for comfort in a part of his life he’s purposely hiding from her. Then again, he can’t exactly seek comfort from the people he’s not hiding it from, either. They have enough to deal with already without Lance adding to their plates.
But Keith knows Lance too well to be left in the dark for very long, no matter how good of an actor Lance might be. Because that’s the thing about Keith—he spends more time observing than talking, which means he notices things, things that Lance doesn’t have quite enough practice covering up. Keith has probably been noticing for some time already, yet the questions still come sooner than Lance is ready for.
“I think I’ll go outside and eat a chunk of concrete.”
Lance’s head snaps up from the biology textbook he’s been blankly staring at for the past ten minutes. “Huh?”
Keith laughs from where he sits behind him on his bed and Lance tilts his head backward to rest against the mattress, looking up at him in concern. “That’s what it took to get your attention? I’ve been talking nonsense for the past five minutes because I knew you weren’t listening.”
“Oh.” Lance’s shoulders slump slightly and he huffs, letting his body relax further. “Yeah, I didn’t hear any of that.”
He blinks as Keith leans directly over him so that they’re facing each other upside-down, his hair falling in a dark curtain around their heads. “You’ve been extra distracted lately,” he hums, pressing a quick kiss to Lance’s forehead. “It’s not like you.”
It’s hard for Lance not to melt at the gesture, although he sighs and averts his gaze. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be.”
“Everything okay?”
Lance flicks at the corner of his textbook, running his fingers along the edges of the pages as he automatically answers, just like he’s rehearsed: “Yeah, fine. I’m just tired.”
The room falls quiet again, only the sound of the ceiling fan whirring overhead to keep them company. For a moment Lance thinks he’s successfully evaded the conversation altogether, that Keith has accepted his response without question, but he should know better by now. Eventually Keith leans back and shuffles around, sliding to the floor beside Lance and settling in next to him, shoulders pressed comfortably together. Lance purposely keeps his gaze lowered as Keith gently grasps at his restless fingers and entwines them with his own, carefully resting their hands against his knee.
Neither of them speak for another moment. Keith’s hand is cold, gently shocking Lance back into reality but not in a bad way. “It’s okay for you to take a break, you know,” Keith says quietly.
Lance snorts, distractedly shaking his head. “Tell that to Iverson. I don’t think he’ll accept late work just because I was tired.”
They spend another short moment in silence before Keith speaks up again. “That’s not what I meant.”
Lance stills, staring down at his lap. Even though Keith has known about his alter ego for a while now, he’s still not quite used to it. He’d kept it secret for so long that he forgets sometimes that there are a few select people he doesn’t have to hide it from anymore, that he can talk to about it all, but even talking about it out loud feels strange. He can feel the weight of Keith’s gaze on him as he chews on his lip, considering.
“I don’t know,” he says finally. “Spider-Man doesn’t really get to take breaks.”
Keith makes a sound somewhere in between a huff and a scoff. “You know I hate when you talk about Spider-Man as if he’s a separate person. It’s not healthy.”
“Fine. I don’t really get to take breaks from being Spider-Man, then.”
“Why not? You’re out there every single night throwing yourself into dangerous situations and dealing with loads of stress. You can’t take even one night off just to rest?”
“No, I can’t just—that’s not an option,” Lance argues, flipping his textbook shut to emphasize his point. He can feel himself getting frustrated but he does his best to keep calm, knowing that Keith is trying to understand and not wanting to say anything to unintentionally hurt him. “People are depending on me now. What’s the point of having my powers if I’m not using them? What if I do take a break and the one time I’m not there, someone gets hurt? What am I supposed to do with myself knowing I could’ve been there to stop it from happening?”
“You can’t help anyone if you’re so tired you can hardly think straight,” Keith points out. “You’ll just end up getting yourself hurt instead.”
“I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?” Lance snaps.
He immediately regrets his tone, wishing he could reach out and snatch his words right back out of the air. If Keith is hurt then he doesn’t show it, doesn’t even let go of Lance’s hand, and somehow that makes him feel even worse. He shuts his eyes with a sigh, forcing himself to relax. “I’m sorry. I know you’re just trying to help.”
Keith hums. “I guess ‘trying’ is the key word.” He offers a small smile when Lance lets out an amused huff despite himself, but doesn’t say anything more. Instead they fall back into the quiet, and for a moment Lance thinks that’s the end of the conversation until Keith brushes his thumb over his knuckles and says, very softly: “You can’t save everyone, Lance.”
Lance thinks about his nightmares. About his family, his mamá, the people he cares about most being put in harm’s way because of him. About what it would be like if they were gone and he never got to say goodbye, because he couldn’t save them. About Keith lying limp in his arms, dying, and it being his fault. He lets his hand fall away from Keith’s grasp, never looking up so he doesn’t have to see the disappointed look on Keith’s face.
“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.”
。·:*:·ﾟ★。·:*:·ﾟ☆
He doesn’t mean for it to happen this way. Or maybe he does, because even when he realizes what’s happening, he doesn’t really do anything to stop it. No matter how awful of a person he feels, he knows that ultimately it’s for the best—at least, that’s what he tells himself.
All it took was a single missed call. It wasn’t like he wanted to miss it necessarily, but he was in the middle of helping Nadia with her math homework and he figured that it wouldn’t hurt to call back later. He intended to do just that once he was back in his room, getting ready to knock out his own homework so that he would be ready to pull on his suit and sneak out the window after bedtime, but he looked down at the missed call notification blinking on his phone and something about it just…
He doesn’t know what it was, really. Something about the sense of control it gave him to delete the notification and put his phone down altogether, after weeks and months of nightmares in which he had virtually no control at all. It didn’t feel right, but somehow it felt necessary. Because it made him realize something important: he may have no control over what happens in his nightmares, but he does have control of what happens here and now, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that those nightmares never become a reality.
Whatever it takes.
After that, it progresses slowly. Little by little, bit by bit and piece by piece. A few more missed calls, an unanswered text here and there, a few half-baked excuses to avoid plans after school. Fewer late night visits, more declined invitations, less physical contact. If it were anyone else, they may not have noticed until the change was fairly substantial, until it was too late to repair the connection that’s been severed.
Keith notices. He always does. But neither of them seem to know what to do to fix it.
They go from seeing each other nearly all hours of the day to seeing each other at school and school only. It happens gradually, but to Lance it still feels like a slap in the face, even though he knew it was coming and he knows it’s his own fault. And it’s not just them—other people are starting to notice, too. Suddenly Keith and Lance, who for the longest time have been attached at the hip even if they were bickering like children half the time, are spending less and less and less time together. Hunk keeps asking if “things are okay” between the two of them, and each time Lance just smiles and nods and changes the subject as quickly as he can.
Their conversations become shorter and more superficial (Lance’s fault). Keith sends one or two texts each day after school attempting to initiate conversation that way, but at some point he learns not to expect a response and gives up entirely (Lance’s fault). They used to be able to sit in silence as comfortably as they would while talking, but now there’s a suffocating and unbearable thickness in the air that follows them wherever they go (Lance’s fault).
It’s when Lance returns to an empty classroom one day during lunch to retrieve his forgotten water bottle that he realizes just how badly he’s messed up.
Class ended fifteen minutes ago, but apparently Keith and Hunk had decided to stay behind for some reason. Which wouldn’t be all that unusual, except for the fact that Keith hasn’t moved an inch from where he’d been sitting during class, elbows propped on the desk and head in his hands, with Hunk’s hand on his shoulder while he murmurs something just a little too quietly for Lance to hear. He’s already stepped halfway into the classroom when he looks up and realizes that they’re there and stumbles to a halt, immediately alerting Hunk to his arrival.
Hunk raises his head at the sound of Lance’s feet scuffing across the floor, eyes widening the moment they fall on Lance, who freezes. “Oh—uh.” Hunk’s gaze flicks toward Keith then back to Lance just as quickly, looking uneasy. “Um. Hey, Lance.”
It’s awkward, and stiff, and it makes Lance’s stomach twist into knots because Hunk is supposed to be his best friend. Or rather, Lance is supposed to be Hunk’s best friend, but he’s been doing a pretty sucky job. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been avoiding pretty much everyone for the last few weeks, keeping to himself as if he hadn’t previously been known as the class social butterfly.
Hunk and Keith have probably been talking about him, which stings more than he’d like to admit—not that he can blame them. Lance doesn’t move, not quite sure what to say or do as Hunk continues to watch him, something both apprehensive and questioning about his expression that Lance really doesn’t want to confront right now. The spell is broken when Keith shifts, Hunk’s hand sliding off his shoulder as he does so, and when he lifts his head Lance swears he feels the exact moment that his heart breaks.
Keith’s eyes are red-rimmed and puffy with noticeable bags under them, his hair is tangled and messy, there are tear tracks staining his cheeks, and Lance knows with one hundred percent certainty that all of it is his fault.
Lance stands rooted to the spot like a deer caught in the headlights. His chest feels like there’s a lead weight pressing down on it, or three, or a thousand, and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe. They make eye contact for a split second, but other than that Keith hardly even looks at him. He seems to take a moment to compose himself, sitting up and wiping the tears from his face before silently gathering his things, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and standing from his desk. He mutters a goodbye to Hunk, starts across the classroom, and brushes by Lance without a single word before disappearing into the hallway, and Lance is helpless to do nothing but watch him leave.
He doesn’t know what to do. Every potential action that runs through his mind seems wrong, either too much or not enough. Most of them he should’ve done a long time ago, and he’s afraid he’s already lost his chance, that if he was really willing to make amends that it would be too late. He doesn’t know how long he stands there, staring at the doorway where Keith had been only moments ago—longer than he realizes, because eventually Hunk snaps him out of his stupor.
“Dude,” he says softly, and Lance hates it a little because he knows he doesn’t deserve it. “Go after him.”
For a moment Lance still can’t bring himself to move. Which is scary, because that means he doesn’t know what he’s going to do, and there’s no telling how this is gonna go. For all he knows, he’s about to truly break something beyond repair.
He turns and bolts out of the room without another word, and Hunk watches him go.
The only sign left of Keith is the sight of the double doors swinging closed at the end of the hallway, so that’s exactly where Lance goes. He rushes down the hallway as fast as he can, bumping into one or two other students in his haste and calling out apologies before bursting through the doors. It’s brighter than he expected and he stumbles a little, but he rights himself and swivels his head both ways until he spots Keith walking along the sidewalk nearby, heading in the direction of the parking lot.
His back is to Lance, but he’s still easily within earshot. Lance hurries toward him, heart pounding. “Keith!”
Keith must have heard him, but he makes no indication as such. Instead he just continues walking, doesn’t even hesitate or slow his step so it’s easier for Lance to catch up. It stings more than he thought it would. He supposes Keith is just giving him a taste of his own medicine. “Keith!” he calls again, but still receives no acknowledgment of any kind. Lance huffs in frustration, which he knows is unfair but he can’t help it. He breaks out into a jog until he catches up with Keith and then some, stepping out in front of him and holding an arm out.
“Keith,” he says, again , slightly out of breath. “Please, wait.”
Keith finally comes to a stop, but he doesn’t seem happy about it. Now that Lance can see his face, he realizes with a start that he’s been crying again, and it makes his heart sink instantly. He hates that Keith won’t look at him, although he doesn’t know what he’d do with himself if he did.
“What do you want,” Keith mumbles, tugging the sleeve of his jacket over his hand and trying to be subtle about the way he wipes the tears from underneath his eyes.
Lance swallows thickly, struggling to find words. “I-I… I just wanted to… say I’m sorry.”
“Oh, really,” Keith laughs flatly, eyes still cast to the ground. “You’re sorry. Of course you are.”
The tone of his voice makes Lance want to shrink in on himself. He wants to be closer, but he can’t allow himself that and he doesn’t think Keith would want that, either. “I know, that’s not enough,” he admits weakly. “But it’s—I didn’t mean to—”
“Didn’t mean to what , Lance?” Lance involuntarily flinches at the look on Keith’s face when their eyes really, finally meet for the first time in what must have been days. He looks so tired, and angry, and miserable , and under any other circumstances Lance would be doing literally everything in his power to fix that. And yet. “Didn’t mean to drop off the face of the earth without warning? Didn’t mean to make everyone worried sick when you started ignoring everyone’s texts and calls? All of my texts and calls? Didn’t mean to start going out of your way to avoid me, to pretend I don’t even exist?”
Keith is still going, and all Lance can do is stand there and take it in silence, guilty and ashamed that not a single word coming out of his mouth can even be said to be a lie. “I mean—what the hell.” His voice cracks on the last word, and when Lance looks up there are fresh, angry tears welling up in the corners of Keith’s eyes. “What the hell , Lance. I don’t understand what’s going on.”
Lance opens his mouth and tries to think of something, anything to say that could make any of this better, to justify or explain himself, but there is nothing. He shuts his mouth and lowers his gaze to the ground.
“And this!” Keith cries, sounding more desperate than Lance has ever heard him, and that’s what hurts the most. “You won’t talk to me, you’ll hardly even look at me when I’m around. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”
“You’re not,” Lance answers immediately, because if there’s one thing he knows it’s that he can’t let Keith walk away from this thinking that any of this is his fault. “Keith, I swear to you, you’re doing everything right. It’s not—this is all me.”
“Then why?” Keith pleads, tears dripping onto his cheeks and sliding down to his chin. “Lance, please. I just want to know what’s going on.”
Lance forces himself to look away again. It makes this easier for both of them. “It doesn’t matter,” he lies. “Nothing that you can do anything about.”
“That’s not fair.” Keith’s voice trembles. “We promised. You promised. We’re supposed to talk to each other. We’re supposed to be a team, you’re the one who said we have to be honest when—”
“It’s more complicated than that!” Lance snaps, finally letting his own frustration get the better of him. Keith is right, it’s not fair, Lance knows that better than anyone but that’s exactly why he has to do this in the first place. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“You don’t know that!” Keith snaps right back, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You haven’t even given me a chance!”
“Yeah, and I don’t plan to!”
Keith practically recoils then, his entire body going rigid, and Lance knows he’s going to hate himself for it later but it’s for the best. A myriad of emotions pass across his face, and while Lance is too afraid to name them all, there’s no doubt that the damage has been done. There are no more tears in his eyes, but he looks just as hurt. Lance draws back with an agitated sigh, running his fingers through his hair.
“Look, I just—” He hesitates, taking a shaky breath and already regretting his next words. “I think… I think I need some space.”
Keith is still staring at him as if he’s been slapped across the face. “Some space?” he echoes, his voice small and quiet and tinged with disbelief.
Lance swallows down the lump in the back of his throat. “Yeah.”
The following silence is deafening in a way that Lance has never heard before. He can’t bring himself to face Keith anymore, but he doesn’t have to.
After a few moments Keith walks past him without another word, without so much as another glance. After all, there’s nothing left to say; Lance has made himself perfectly clear. So he stands there on the sidewalk, alone, surrounded by the wreckage of his own design, listens to Keith’s receding footsteps and selfishly wishes that things could’ve been different.
。·:*:·ﾟ★。·:*:·ﾟ☆
Incredibly, Lance’s plan backfires.
He thought that after his big falling out with Keith, things would get easier. That it would hurt like crazy for a while, but given some time it would become easier to manage, just like everything else. This, he discovers, is absolutely not how it works. Not in the slightest.
His nightmares don’t get any better. They’re virtually the same, only now with an added layer of horror. Realistically, even his dream self knows that his family and friends would never blame him if they were ever put in danger or harmed on his behalf. At least, that was before things changed. That was before he started closing himself off to everyone he cares about in an effort to protect them from some unknown threat. That was before he decided to take control, so that no one else could. Now, the circumstances are a little different. Realistically, even his dream self understands why everyone would blame him.
He crawls into bed one night after his usual rounds about the city and almost immediately falls into a nightmare. As always he wakes up with a scream in his throat, hot and sweaty yet cold all over, hands trembling, and his first instinct is to roll over and grab his phone. His thumb is already hovering over the call button by Keith’s name by the time he realizes what he’s doing, and it nearly makes his heart stop.
All he wants is to hear Keith’s voice, to hear him say that Lance is okay, that everyone’s okay, that he’s okay, but he can’t do that. He can’t do that to himself, and he certainly can’t do that to Keith. Not after Lance cut him off like that. Even if he did call, even if Keith were awake to see it, he wouldn’t answer. Why would he? Why should he, after everything Lance has done?
Lance stares at Keith’s contact photo for a long time, trying to calm his racing heart. Keith is caught in the middle of a laugh, bright and beautiful and smiling, hair messy but free, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks so happy. It’s Lance’s favorite picture of him.
Eventually it goes blurry, and as the tears slide down his cheeks he clicks off his phone and buries it in his bedside drawer, where it won’t be as tempting.
He doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night.
。·:*:·ﾟ★。·:*:·ﾟ☆
As if they weren’t already bad enough, they get worse.
Usually his nightmares involve some faceless villain, one that he never really sees because they manage to disappear before he has the chance to catch them. He gets there in time to see them make their escape, nothing more, nothing less. This time is no different.
But this time, he arrives at a scene that makes him sick to his stomach with horror. He doesn’t have to look twice to know that it’s Keith lying there, deathly still and silent and surrounded by a pool of his own blood. Lance rushes to his side without a second thought, utterly terrified of what he’ll find but ready to do whatever it takes to save him, if there’s even still time. He gathers Keith’s body into his arms, panicked and desperate, but a temporary wave of relief floods over him when he sees the shallow rise and fall of his chest.
He’s alive—but barely.
“Keith? Hey, look at me, right here.” Lance tilts Keith’s face toward him, his own voice shrill and frantic. There’s blood all over his hands now, but he doesn’t care. He needs to be strong right now, he has to save Keith. “C’mon, please, wake up. I’m here, I’ve got you.” Keith opens his eyes, and Lance practically wilts in relief at the sight of them. “Oh my god, Keith, mi amor—you’re okay. I promise you’re gonna be okay, just look at me.”
Keith looks at him, just like he asked. But the second that their eyes meet, Lance is struck with a strange, cold feeling that something doesn’t seem right. It’s almost as if Keith is looking at him from somewhere far away, which doesn’t make sense because he’s right here, Lance is holding him right now, so why does it all suddenly feel so distant? Then Keith opens his mouth, and it’s the opposite—it’s as if Keith is too close, speaking directly into Lance’s mind.
“You did this.”
Lance’s blood goes ice cold. “I… what?” he asks weakly.
Keith is staring directly at him, so intensely that there can be no question about it. “You did this,” he repeats, and he’s not that loud but Lance still has the sudden urge to cover his ears to block him out. “This all happened because of you.”
“But—” Lance can feel his own panic rising, his head pounding and pulse racing. “I didn’t—”
“Where were you?” Keith demands, his gaze cold and hardened, and Lance suddenly feels frozen, unable to move. “Why weren’t you here?”
“I—” Lance chokes on his own words. Where was he? Why wasn’t he there? How could he have let this happen? “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m here now—”
“You’re here too late,” Keith hisses, and Lance flinches. “None of this would have happened if you hadn’t left me, Lance.”
“No!” Lance is on the verge of hysteria. He can hardly breathe properly, each breath shallow and labored. “Please, Keith, I was just trying to protect you, I—”
“And look how that turned out,” Keith snaps. “This was never about me. This was never about anyone. You were just trying to protect yourself.”
Lance’s throat has gone dry. He can’t move, he can’t speak, he can’t even tear his gaze away from Keith even though everything in him is screaming to do just that. Keith rips Lance’s hand from his face, gripping his wrist so tightly that his nails dig into his skin. “Now look at what you’ve done.”
Lance is crying now, tears blurring his vision and breaths coming in ragged gasps. “Please, you have to believe me,” he pleads, and Keith’s grip on his wrist grows tighter still. “I swear, I n-never meant for this to happen. This isn’t what I w-wanted.”
“Isn’t it? I think you got exactly what you wanted, Lance.” Keith’s gaze is venomous, a cruel sneer painted across his face. “You just don’t like where it got you.”
Then his grip finally loosens on Lance’s wrist, leaving marks where his nails had been, and his body goes limp in Lance’s arms, and Lance swears that he sees the exact moment when his eyes go dull, and the horror of it all is enough to jerk him awake.
Lance shoots upright in bed, and again his first instinct is to call Keith, but he can’t do that, but his hands are shaking, and his face is wet with tears, and he knows that those images won’t leave his mind unless he knows without a shadow of a doubt that Keith is okay.
All of a sudden he’s stumbling through his room now trying to strip his clothes and yank on his suit, shaking so badly that he can hardly function, and then he practically falls out of his window before he’s even managed to pull his mask over his face.
Finding his way to Keith’s place is as easy as breathing. Even in the dark he hardly needs to look where he’s going, which is just as well because he’s basically blind with panic, and his thoughts are so scattered and frenzied that he wouldn’t even be able to think properly if he lost his way. All he knows is that he needs to get there as fast as possible.
He lands on the top of the apartment building, because he knows that in his current state he wouldn’t be able to land on the fire escape without making a racket, and simply crawls down the side of the wall until he reaches the right floor. It’s freezing out, but there’s so much adrenaline rushing through Lance’s body that it hardly affects him. He manages to climb onto the fire escape quietly enough, flattening himself against the brick wall beside Keith’s window for a moment to catch his breath.
When he peers into Keith’s window, he expects (hopes, prays) to see Keith lying in bed, asleep, alive , his shoulders rising and falling in their usual gentle rhythm, and that would be that and he could breathe again and go home knowing that it was really just a dream, that everything was fine. Instead, Keith’s bed is empty. Lance feels his heart rate spike and he leans further out for a better look, desperately searching the room for any sign of him. He’s not in his bed, not at his desk, not even on the floor by his bookshelf where he likes to read sometimes, he’s not here —
Movement from the doorway catches his eye and he swears under his breath, ducking out of view as fast as he knows how. When he’s sure that he’s still in the clear, he slowly inches back toward the window and peeks back inside, silently praying that he won’t find himself face-to-face with someone through the glass. His heart sighs with relief when he realizes that it’s Keith who’s entered the room, probably coming back from the bathroom or a late night snack. That relief is short-lived though, because he realizes with a start that Keith’s been crying, judging by the way he lifts his hand to wipe at his cheeks. Technically, he could be crying about anything, but Lance instantly feels guilty.
He holds his breath and watches as Keith sinks onto the bed, pulling a sleeve over his hand and dragging it across his eyes. The room is dark, but Lance’s eyes have adjusted enough that he can see Keith’s other hand rummaging underneath his sheets until he finds his phone. The screen lights up, briefly illuminating Keith’s face, and the redness of his eyes and the shine of his cheeks only serve to confirm Lance’s suspicions. The light dims on its own, but Keith doesn’t put his phone down yet, as if he’s still waiting for something. Eventually his face screws up and he tosses his phone onto the floor with a thump , then falls onto his side and rolls over without even bothering to climb underneath the covers.
Before Lance has time to feel even worse, the door is moving again and Lance has to quickly duck out of sight, again, and when he’s certain he hasn’t been caught he moves back to the window, again. This time it’s Shiro entering the room, sitting on the edge of the bed and gently resting a hand on Keith’s shoulder. Lance wonders if that was where Keith had been when he got here, if he wasn’t in his bed because he was talking to Shiro, if he was talking about Lance or if he’s been hiding all this from Shiro the same way Lance has been hiding all this from Keith.
Shiro sits there with Keith for a while, and while Lance can tell that he’s speaking, he’s too quiet to be heard from the outside. At some point he stands and reaches for the covers to settle them over Keith’s body before carefully sitting down again, and when he leans down to kiss Keith’s temple, Keith doesn’t seem to stop him or complain like he usually does. Then he leaves the room, closing the door behind him, and it’s just Keith in his bed, alone, and Lance standing outside in the cold wishing there was something to be fixed.
This is the part where he should leave. He’s done what he came for, to make sure Keith is safe, so his nerves are settled and he can go back home and hopefully fall back into a dreamless sleep. But he keeps standing there, and the longer that he does the less he can remember about why he thought things had to be this way, and why he hasn’t done anything to reverse it. What if everything nightmare Keith said was right? Has he really done anything to keep Keith safe, or has he just made him miserable? Both of them?
Lance doesn’t quite register when Keith rolls over, but a jolt of pure panic shoots down his spine when Keith’s gaze suddenly falls on the window. He immediately backs away and flattens himself against the wall, heart pounding, and he’d like to think that Keith didn’t see him, but he hears another soft thud and footsteps approaching the window, and he just knows that in a moment Keith is going to yank it open and stick his head outside and then Lance is going to have to explain to him why he dropped by unannounced in the middle of the night to watch Keith sleep like some sort of creep—
The window does not open. Instead, Lance hears a simple click , and the sound of the blinds being drawn. Somehow, this is much, much worse. It was the last thing Lance was expecting, which only makes the reality of it all hit him that much harder. He hadn’t even thought about it, but Keith clearly had, and it hurts more than Lance wants to admit.
From the very beginning, Keith had started leaving his window blinds raised specifically for Lance, since he dropped by so often. If he’s lowering them, either that means he doesn’t expect to see Lance anymore, or he doesn’t want to.
Lance lets himself sink to the ground, eyes stinging with cold and tears, and he really shouldn’t but he pulls his mask off to let them fall. He sits there and stares at nothing, lets himself cry until the wind makes his eyes burn and he has to bury his face in his knees, dampening his suit and making it stick to his skin. Because Keith is in there, alone, and Lance is out here, alone, and maybe the logical thing to do would be to go in there to apologize, to fix things , but he doesn’t think Keith wants that anymore.
He thought that by now things would be easier, but they’re not. And honestly, he doesn’t know how much more of this he can take.
。·:*:·ﾟ★。·:*:·ﾟ☆
And so it goes.
It’s like he said: usually, his nightmares involve some faceless villain, one that he never really sees because they manage to disappear before he has the chance to catch them. He gets there in time to see them make their escape, nothing more, nothing less.
This time is different.
Keith is in danger. Lance doesn’t know how he knows, he just does , and that’s enough for him to immediately leap into action. He doesn’t even know where he’s going, but wherever it is, something tells him that he needs to get there fast.
Eventually he finds himself on the roof of a coffee shop in town, the same one where Lance first revealed his identity to Keith. The scene he falls upon is almost the same as the last, filling his lungs with horror at the sight of it. It’s still Keith lying there, deathly still and covered in blood, but this time there’s someone else standing over him, a dark figure with his back turned to Lance. The figure turns immediately, as if they’d known all along that Lance was coming and was only waiting for him to arrive. The second that Lance sees their face, his blood goes ice cold.
“Well, if it isn’t my old friend. Spider-Man,” the man sneers, a wicked smile curling the corners of his mouth. “Remember me?”
Lance does remember him. He remembers stopping him from hurting someone, like he’s done so many times before. He remembers listening to him scream and yell from the alley while he waited for the police to arrive, while he sat and spoke with the man he’d saved. And he certainly remembers what he said as he was being wrestled into the backseat of the police car, his voice full of malice and hatred.
“I swear, when I get out, I’m gonna find you, and I’m gonna kill you and everyone you care about.”
The look on Lance’s face must say it all, because the man in front of him now begins to laugh. It’s a cruel, evil sound that sends a chill running up his spine, yet he still finds himself rooted to the spot. “Of course you do. Which means you know why I’m here, don’t you?” He doesn’t wait for Lance to answer before stepping aside to reveal Keith’s slumped form lying on the ground, and only then does Lance see the sickly red tint of the blade glistening in his hand. “I just stopped by to make good on my little promise to you.”
“Get away from him!” Lance screams, rushing forward. He doesn’t have to ask twice, because the man simply laughs again and vanishes the moment that Lance gets close enough to touch him. He doesn’t take the time to figure out why or how, instantly spinning back around to give his full attention to the person still lying there behind him.
“No,” Lance breathes, falling to the ground and scrambling over to Keith. “No, nononono, Keith? Hey, Keith?” He reaches for Keith’s face to brush the hair out of his eyes, but it’s sticky and matted and either way he doesn’t move. Lance’s heart is stuck in his throat, choking him. “You’re okay. You’re okay, just wake up.” Lance cradles Keith’s face in both hands, struggling to fight back the panicked tears burning his eyes. “You’re okay, right? C’mon, babe, look at me.”
Keith is silent, and still, and he doesn’t look at Lance; he doesn’t look anywhere. Lance pulls him into his lap, resting his head in the nook of his arm and shaking him slightly. “Keith, can you hear me?” His voice is trembling now, and he can hardly see through his own blurred vision. “Sweetheart?” There’s nothing, where he places his hand over Keith’s heart, and when he pulls it away it’s slick with blood. He feels his chest swell with panic as he pushes Keith’s hair back out of his face, desperate for any sort of sign that he’s still alive.
“Hey, you’re gonna be alright, just say something. Just—” His voice cracks, and an ugly sob comes out of his mouth without permission, tears finally spilling down his cheeks. “Please. Tell me you hate me, tell me you n-never want to see me again, anything, just— please, tell me something. ”
There’s blood smeared on Keith’s face from Lance’s frantic movements, but he doesn’t care. He hugs Keith’s body against himself and leans down to press their foreheads together, trying but failing to stop his own tears from dripping onto Keith’s face. “Please,” he begs, struggling even to breathe. “Please, Keith, please —I can’t lose you. I can’t—”
Another sob is ripped from his throat and he has to gasp for breath, his entire body heaving with the effort. He cradles Keith’s face in his hands and holds him and cries, and no matter what he does he can’t stop shaking because as terrified as he is to admit it, there’s no escaping the reality that this time he was too late. After all he did to keep him safe, to protect him, to shield him from anything and everything that might threaten to catch him in the crossfire, it still wasn’t enough. None of it was.
He doesn’t remember when he let go, just that one moment Keith is in his arms and the next he’s back on the ground, and Lance is left staring down at his trembling, blood-soaked hands. “What did I do,” he whispers, horrified. “What have I done?”
Lance is only lucky that he isn’t screaming when he bolts upright in bed. He instinctively lifts his hands toward his face to make sure that what he had just seen wasn’t real, and while they’re certainly trembling, even in the dark he can see that they’re clean. It’s like he’s still not in control of his own body, because he feels himself moving but he can’t seem to stop himself even though he knows this is a terrible, horrible, even pointless idea. Yet his phone is in his hands, and the screen is lit, and it’s ringing , and that was a stupid decision on its own but he guesses it doesn’t really matter because it’s not like anyone will answer, they have no reason to so why—
“Lance?”
The entire world seems to go quiet around him when he hears Keith’s voice. At least, he thinks he does. As wild as his imagination has been running, he never seems to know for sure. Nothing else happens, and for a moment Lance swears that he must have dreamed it until he hears the voice again, a little louder and increasingly panicked.
“Lance? Hello? Are you there? Are you okay? Hello, Lance—”
“I—yeah, I’m here,” Lance stammers finally, dazed. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? Where are you? Are you hurt?”
“What? No, I—”
“Shiro’s home right now, he can help, should I—”
“No! Keith, I’m okay, really.”
“Are you… oh.” The panic and urgency in Keith’s voice dissipates all at once as he seems to finally realize that Lance is in no imminent danger like he thought. It’s quiet on the other end for a moment. Lance takes the opportunity to take a deep breath, his heart still racing from the aftermath of his nightmare or maybe from the sound of Keith’s voice. He’s so distracted by his own frenzied thoughts that he almost forgets about the gravity of the situation he’s put himself in until Keith speaks again. “So, then. Why…”
The guilt immediately comes crashing back down onto Lance’s shoulders. There are a million different ways to finish the question Keith is asking. If you’re okay, if you’re not hurt, then why did you call? Why now? Why now, after all this, after so long hearing nothing at all? After pushing me away, shutting me out, why me?
“I just—” Lance starts, his voice hoarse, but it falters at the last moment. Because there are so many things he could say—that he’s sorry, for everything , that he misses him, that he hates not being with him, not being enough, that every single day he’s terrified of making the wrong decision, of losing everyone he cares about in more ways than one, that he’s sorry he’s sorry he’s sorry and sometimes he doesn’t even know what for. He swallows, blinking back the tears in his eyes. “I just… really needed to hear your voice.”
Quiet again. The longer it continues, the more Lance wishes he had never called. He had a single moment of weakness and he hates himself for what he’s doing, for pushing Keith away then dragging him back in when it happens to be convenient, for making such a mess of things then making them worse instead of fixing them. It’s not fair to anyone, it’s not fair to Keith, it’s not—
“I want to see you,” Keith whispers, and all of Lance’s racing thoughts fade away and the world goes quiet yet again. “Please. I need to know that you’re okay.”
Lance breathes in. He doesn’t remember when he started crying, just that he is, and he really, really wants to see Keith right now. “Okay,” he answers weakly. “I—yeah, okay.”
“Can you make it here okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be right there.”
“Okay,” Keith says, and it sounds like maybe he’s been crying, too. “Good. Just—hurry up, will you?”
Despite everything Lance actually manages to laugh a little, scrubbing at the wetness of his cheeks. “Alright, okay, I get it. I’m coming.”
He doesn’t bother putting on his full suit. It’s dark, and most normal people are asleep right now, so Lance is willing to risk being seen swinging through the city in nothing but his mask, a hoodie and some sweats. Even Spider-Man recognizes the need for comfort over style sometimes. Besides, he doesn’t have time to do anything but snatch his mask from its hiding place in one of his drawers before pulling it over his face and tumbling out his bedroom window.
The good news is that Lance has been to Keith’s place so many times that he could find his way there in his sleep. The bad news is that the trip is just far enough for Lance to have time to start overthinking again. Maybe he shouldn’t be doing this. What if seeing each other only causes them both more hurt than it’s worth? Keith said he wanted to see him, and Lance does too, but Keith still has every reason to hate him. The single remaining shred of rational thought in his mind tells him that his judgment is severely clouded. It’s just enough to keep him from turning around or changing his mind altogether.
Before long he can see the top of Keith’s apartment building. Still not trusting himself to be quiet enough, he alights on the roof and immediately begins his descent to Keith’s window, crawling along the wall until he reaches the right level of the fire escape.
The blinds are still drawn. It makes Lance nervous, because there’s no telling what that could mean, if Keith just hasn’t thought to open them or if he changed his mind and this is his way of making that known. Lance finds his footing and slowly approaches the window, coming to a stop a few feet away and swallowing. But before he has time to second guess himself, images from his nightmare flash through his mind without warning and he flinches, his heart rate instantly skyrocketing. His body makes the decision for him, but the moment he lifts his hand to knock on the glass, the window blinds fly open.
Lance and Keith’s gazes meet and they both freeze. Keith’s eyes have gone wide, and for a moment Lance feels like his breath has flown right out of his lungs. Even though he’d heard Keith’s voice over the phone, seeing him standing there, living and breathing and alive, is such a stark difference compared to what he’d seen not even an hour ago in his own mind. He finds himself staring, taking in every single inch of his face, every single one of his features that he’d memorized so perfectly yet missed so terribly.
Keith recovers first, scrambling to flip the latches and yank open the window. The sudden gust of cold air makes his hair flutter and he flinches slightly, but he quickly steps aside as a silent invitation for Lance to climb through. Lance hardly seems to notice though, his eyes still glued to Keith’s face as if he hasn’t seen him in years. Of course that’s not the case, but that’s certainly what it feels like—Lance has never experienced withdrawals before, but he has a feeling that this is what it would be like.
“Aren’t you gonna come in?”
Lance realizes that he’s staring and blinks out of his trance to find Keith watching him nervously, like he’s just as uncertain as Lance is about all this yet still desperately wants him to stay. The last thing he wants is to cause Keith any more grief than he already has, and with the window open he’s probably only getting colder by the second. He practically trips over himself in his haste to climb over the windowsill, but he doesn’t miss the flicker of relief that crosses Keith’s face once he’s inside.
While Keith hurries to pull the window shut, Lance finds himself standing quietly in the center of the room. It’s not like anything has changed, and it’s exactly the same as he remembers it, but it’s like he had to be away for a while to remember how comforting it is. He missed it more than he realized.
Keith is watching him again when he turns around and he freezes a little under the weight of his gaze. His expression is unreadable though, and Lance can’t explain it but he suddenly gets the feeling that he’s intruding, which is silly because he was literally invited into the room but he can’t help it.
“I’m—uh.” He shifts back and forth on his feet, clearing his throat awkwardly and looking anywhere but at Keith. His fingers are still kind of numb from swinging around in the cold and he flexes them at his sides, searching for the right words. “I don’t really—um, know… what to. Say…” His voice gradually trails off when he feels Keith’s hand tentatively sliding into his, and even more so when he looks up and finds Keith standing directly in front of him, staring up at him with his brows furrowed.
He’s completely silent as Keith carefully lifts his other hand toward his face, afraid that if he does or says anything at all then whatever delicate moment this is will break. Keith hesitates, his eyes flitting across Lance’s face for a split second before he gently grips at the material of Lance’s mask and slowly pulls it off over his head.
Lance had almost forgotten that he was wearing it. He stands very still, holding his breath as Keith lets the mask drop to the floor between them, his eyes never leaving him. His hand finds Lance’s face, cradling his cheek in his palm, and his gaze is so impossibly soft and it all makes Lance feel much more vulnerable than he was emotionally prepared for. He swallows down the lump in his throat, trying desperately to fight back the heat building behind his eyes.
It’s not enough to fool Keith. He takes Lance’s face in both hands with surprising gentleness, but after everything that Lance has done to him recently, he doesn’t understand how Keith can still look at him like that. “Lance,” he murmurs.
“I’m sorry,” Lance whispers. The first tears spring to his eyes and he squeezes them shut.
“Lance,” Keith says again, a little firmer.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Keith, I didn’t mean to—I don’t know what I—”
“Lance, look at me.” Lance does, blinking the tears out of his eyes only for more to follow when Keith brushes them away. He’s crying now too, his voice thick when he speaks again. “Don’t… I don’t want you to apologize, okay? I just—all I want is to know what’s going on. And I want you to stay.” He brushes more tears away from Lance’s face despite the ones rolling down his own. “I don’t want you to leave again.”
“I won’t,” Lance shakes his head, hardly able to get any words out between sobs. “I swear, I won’t. I’m sorry, I m-missed you so much and—and I’m sorry—”
Keith pulls him into his arms and Lance goes willingly, completely dissolving in his hold and letting himself go.
Lance hates crying. He hates how explosive and uncontrollable it can be, how volatile his emotions can be the second he loses his balance and falls over the edge. He hates how ugly it is, physically and emotionally, how it’s impossible to hide once it’s begun. He hates having to wipe his eyes over and over and over again until the skin is raw and chafed because no matter how much he wants them to, the tears won’t stop because that tightness in his chest and aching in his heart has to go somewhere , and this is the only way it knows how.
He hates that he’s hurt, that in his hurt he ended up hurting Keith too, and that Keith is still the one holding him and whispering that everything is going to be okay.
They could have stayed there for hours in the middle of the room if Keith had let them. Instead he leads Lance to the bed and gently pulls him down, cradles him against his chest and holds him and lets him cry while Lance tells him everything. About the nightmares, about the guilt, about the man that started it all and what he said to make all of Lance’s fears become a reality. How each nightmare gradually got worse and worse, often the same but increasingly violent and horrific until he couldn’t bear to go to sleep at night. That he thought he was doing the right thing, pushing Keith and everyone away to protect them from getting caught in the crossfire, but that after everything he’s not so sure what’s right anymore.
And most of all, that he’s scared. He’s so scared of losing someone—of losing Keith.
Lance cries, and Keith cries too, and Lance knows he only has himself to blame but he hates that he’s the reason for all of Keith’s tears.
“I know you must hate me right now,” he mumbles eventually, even as Keith has his arms wrapped securely around his shoulders, soothingly running his fingers through his hair. He sniffs, pulling his sleeves over his hands and wiping at his eyes as his voice wobbles. “I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t f-fix anything, but I’m so sorry.”
Keith doesn’t say anything. It’s not like Lance expected to be forgiven so easily, or even at all, but the silence still makes his stomach clench and fresh tears well up in his eyes. He resists the urge to close his eyes and bury his face in Keith’s shoulder and let himself hope that everything will be okay. That wouldn’t be fair, not when he’s made so many mistakes that might be irreparable.
He’s about to open his mouth and say something—anything that would deafen the silence in his ears—when Keith finally speaks, so softly that Lance almost has to strain to hear it.
“I don’t like to talk about it, but when Shiro got into his accident, there was… for a while they weren’t sure he was gonna make it.”
Lance holds his breath, going as still as he possibly can. He knows how hard it is for Keith to talk about Shiro’s accident. It was one of the scariest and most painful experiences of his life—Lance would know, because he was glued to Keith’s side through most of it. Keith had almost lost his brother, his mentor, his best friend. He’d needed more support during that time than he knew how to ask for.
“They knew they were going to have to amputate his arm, but even then the injuries were so severe that it wasn’t even guaranteed to save him, because there were so many potential complications.” Keith takes a quiet, rattling breath. “None of us ever really said it out loud, but… I think we were all preparing for the worst.”
Lance swallows, his fingers subconsciously curling tighter into Keith’s shirt where his arms are wrapped around his waist, hoping to bring him any semblance of comfort. Keith continues regardless, voice trembling but determined.
“Shiro tried to break up with Adam, because he didn’t want to make him suffer through a loss like that, but Adam was so pissed about it that he broke up with Shiro instead. They both knew they didn’t want that, they were just hurt. And in the end it didn’t really matter, because Adam never left his side, and once we knew Shiro was going to be okay they were able to work things out just like they always did.”
Finally, Lance begins to understand why Keith would be telling him this now. Tears drip onto his cheeks as Keith pulls Lance up to look at him and cups his face in his hands, eyes full of his own tears. “Shiro said that sometimes, we do stupid things to protect the people we care about,” Keith continues, voice still thick and hoarse with emotion. “That sometimes we think we have to be selfish for selfless reasons. And that it doesn’t mean you can’t be hurt, but that it means you have to meet them in the middle to understand why.”
Lance squeezes his eyes shut and Keith wipes his tears away with his thumbs, gentle as ever. “You’re the one always saying that this is bigger than just you. And you’re right, because whether you like it or not, I’m a part of this too. I understand the risks just the same as you, and whether or not I stay isn’t a choice you can make for me. If I wanted to walk away, I would have done that a long time ago. But I didn’t, so I’m here. I’m right here , Lance.”
“You should hate me right now,” Lance sobs, clutching at Keith’s wrists like they’re the only things holding him together. “I shut you out for weeks, I—”
“And I’m still so angry at you for it that I don’t know what to do with myself,” Keith interrupts. “But it’s okay. We’re okay. I’m gonna be pissed at you for a couple days, you’re going to beat yourself up over it, we’ll both apologize and cry some more and then everything will be fine.”
“Okay,” Lance answers weakly.
“Okay,” Keith whispers, and he gathers Lance into his arms and holds him, and they both cry, but for the first time in a very, very long time, Lance thinks that everything really is going to be okay.
。·:*:·ﾟ★。·:*:·ﾟ☆
When Lance wakes up, he’s met with daylight.
It throws him for a loop, for several reasons. One, it’s been weeks since he wasn’t already awake to see the sun rise himself from his bedroom window every morning. Two, he doesn’t even remember falling asleep, and it’s been even longer since he felt comfortable or relaxed enough for that to happen.
When he opens his eyes, the space beside him is warm but empty. He wonders if Keith woke up only recently, or if he’d been awake but stayed while Lance slept, and if so for how long he waited there. They must have fallen asleep on top of the covers last night, but a blanket has been draped across Lance’s body to keep him warm and he resists the urge to bury himself underneath it and go back to sleep. The clock reads 9:12 AM when he rolls over to check, and while it doesn’t exactly rise to the level of sleeping in, it’s still the latest he’s slept in a very long time.
Come to think of it… he’s pretty sure that this was the first night his sleep has gone uninterrupted by nightmares ever since they first started.
It’s not like they just disappeared. He knows he hasn’t seen the last of them, but for a moment he lets himself be comforted by the fact that at the very least, they won’t be around forever. There are ways to deal with them, he just has to keep learning. Clearly, his first approach hadn’t done anything but hurt himself and the people around him despite his intentions to do the exact opposite.
He’s still exhausted, but now that his thoughts have been put into motion he doesn’t think he could go back to sleep. Part of him wishes that Keith had still been here when he woke up, but the other part of him doesn’t feel ready to face him again just yet. They still have so much to talk about and work through, and he still feels so guilty for everything that happened. He just misses him, even when he’s probably twenty feet away in another room of the apartment.
His gaze drifts across the room and his eyes catch on his mask on the bedside table, neatly folded and partially hidden underneath one of Keith’s sketchbooks. The blanket falls from his shoulders as he slowly props himself up and swings his legs over the side of the bed, reaching out to pull the mask free. He lets the fabric unfold itself and stares down at where it rests in his hands, the wide, elongated, blank white eyes staring right back up at him.
He can’t do all of this alone. He knows that now, no matter how hard he tries to escape the truth of it. The pressure of it all is too much. He thought it was his own fault, that if he just tried harder to be stronger and faster and better then eventually it would get easier. But now he’s starting to realize that this kind of burden isn’t meant to be shouldered by only one person. He knows why he does what he does—to help people, because what kind of person would he be if he didn’t? But even Spider-Man has limits. Even Lance has limits. He just… doesn’t know where to find the balance.
The sound of the bedroom door creaking open breaks him out of his thoughts, but he can’t bring himself to look up to see who it is. The room is still quiet, but after a moment he feels the bed dip beside him and a hand come down gently onto his shoulder.
“Hey,” Shiro says softly. “I thought you might be up.”
Lance swallows, keeping his gaze lowered. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I didn’t think I’d fall asleep. I don’t want to intrude.”
“You can’t intrude here, Lance. You know you’re always welcome to be here.”
Lance’s grip tightens on the mask, guilt pooling in the pit of his stomach. “Maybe I shouldn’t be,” he mumbles.
The weight of Shiro’s hand disappears from his shoulder, but he remains seated beside him. They’re both silent for a moment, and even though Shiro clearly came in to talk to Lance for a reason, he still appreciates the company. He smooths out one of the wrinkles in the mask with his fingers, his voice going quiet. “How much did Keith tell you?”
Shiro doesn’t answer immediately. He stretches his legs out and sighs, scratching the back of his neck. “Well… I won’t pretend to be clueless. Let’s just leave it at that.”
Lance swallows down the lump in his throat. He can’t imagine that anyone here is very happy with him right now. “I’m really sorry.”
“Look, Lance. I’m not here to lecture you. I don’t think that would do anyone any good.” Lance finally forces himself to look up when Shiro puts his hand back on his shoulder. Shiro doesn’t look angry, or frustrated, or any of the hundreds of things Lance might have expected after he hurt his little brother, but instead looks just as sympathetic and understanding as he always has.
“If anything, I just want to make sure you know you have a safe space here,” Shiro continues. “I know that you love being Spider-Man for a lot of reasons, but I can’t imagine that what you do is always easy. Some of the things you’ve seen, what’s already happened to you—some of this is way heavier than any high schooler should ever have to endure, even in their lifetime. It’s okay to need support.” He smiles gently, his tone growing soft. “The last thing you want to do is push away the people who are willing to give it to you. Those people are really, really hard to find. Trust me, I would know.”
Lance doesn’t have the strength to fight back the heat building behind his eyes, so he simply nods and ducks his head into Shiro’s chest when Shiro pulls him in for a hug. He sniffs, blinking away some of the tears that have started to form and feeling grateful to Shiro for not saying anything about it. “I really hurt Keith,” he mumbles.
“I know,” Shiro admits, resting his hand in Lance’s hair the same way Lance has seen him do with Keith. “I’ve done my fair share of hurting people too. But it’s not too late to fix things.” He gently pulls away and holds Lance out at arm’s reach, offering another sympathetic smile. “You’re welcome to join us for breakfast. And… I think Keith would really like it if you stayed.”
Lance nods again, offering a watery smile of his own as he wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Me too.”
Shiro stands and extends a hand to help him up when a thought strikes Lance so suddenly that it feels like he just got whacked in the head with a bowling ball. “Oh no. I forgot to—”
“If you’re talking about your family not knowing where they are, don’t worry,” Shiro interrupts, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “I called your mom earlier.”
Lance’s shoulders instantly slump with relief and he sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. “What did you tell her this time?”
“That Keith’s been having a hard time and he really needed someone, which is true. So once again, technically not a lie.” He shrugs, looking pleased with himself. “You may still get told off for sneaking out in the middle of the night, but I think I softened the blow a little.”
“I hope so.” Lance takes Shiro’s outstretched hand and lets himself be pulled to his feet. “Thanks, Shiro. I really owe you one. I owe you a lot, actually.”
Shiro smiles again, patting his shoulder. “I’m just doing what I can. C’mon, you can talk with Keith while I finish breakfast.”
Lance looks down at his mask as Shiro’s hand slips away, considering it for a moment longer. He remembers sitting here on the floor all those weeks ago with Keith, before his nightmares reached their worst and before they had their falling out. Keith had told him that it was okay to take a break, that he and Spider-Man aren’t separate people and that eventually, he wasn’t going to be able to take care of anyone if he wasn’t taking care of himself. It had just made Lance frustrated then, but… he’s starting to get it now.
“Coming?” Shiro asks softly.
Lance hesitates, then places the mask back on the bedside table and turns to see Shiro watching him from the doorway. “Coming,” he nods, smiling.
When they reach the end of the hall, Lance lingers there in the entryway while Shiro heads back into the kitchen. He immediately sees Keith sitting in the living room, curled up on the couch with a book even though Lance doubts that he has the energy to really focus on reading after last night. Shiro has his back turned when Lance looks back into the kitchen, clearly trying to give them some space despite the limited privacy. Lance takes a deep breath then lets out a silent exhale, forcing his feet to move and quietly padding across the living room carpet.
Keith doesn’t even look up as Lance comes to a stop in front of the couch. He’s definitely not reading though, and apparently doesn’t even have the heart to pretend to be considering that his eyes aren’t moving from the same page he’s been staring at this whole time. Lance clears his throat, trying for a smile. “G’morning. Mind if I join you?”
“Yes,” Keith grumbles. Lance doesn’t quite know what to say to that, his smile faltering as he continues to stand awkwardly in the middle of the room. Keith still won’t look at him, and Lance is about to give up and try asking Shiro if he can help in the kitchen when Keith finally reaches out to grab his hand and tugs him down onto the couch.
Lance huffs as they settle in next to each other, happily reciprocating when Keith tangles their fingers together and pulls their hands into his lap. “Okay, I’m getting some mixed signals here.”
“I said I’d still be mad at you.”
“Oh.” Lance’s amusement quickly fades and he swallows, looking down. “Yeah, I know. Sorry.”
Keith doesn’t say anything again, but after a while he sniffles, scrubbing at his face with his other hand. “I only get mad ‘cuz I love you.”
“I know, Keith.” Lance squeezes his hand, hoping the gesture won’t get him smacked away. “I love you too.”
“I wish I could take your nightmares away. You already deal with so much. It’s not fair.”
“Maybe not. It’s still not an excuse for me to hurt you like I did, though. I’m sorry.”
Keith sniffs again, and Lance can’t help but wilt with relief as Keith’s head drops onto his shoulder. He leans into Keith’s side and rests his cheek in his hair, gently taking the now unopened book from Keith’s lap and setting it aside. They’re both quiet for a moment, listening to the sounds of Shiro moving around in the kitchen and something sizzling on the stove behind them. Lance drops his gaze toward his and Keith’s entwined hands, absent-mindedly brushing his thumb across Keith’s knuckles. He knows the conversation they need to have is far from over, but he’s glad that for now they can just be together like this. He’s really missed this. So, so much.
“Thanks for staying,” Keith mumbles eventually.
“Thanks for letting me stay,” Lance answers quietly.
Keith shifts his head against his shoulder, and Lance tilts his head to see Keith looking up at him. “We’ll be okay, right?” he whispers.
Lance lifts his hand to brush the hair out of Keith’s face, tucking it behind his ear and leaving his palm there against his cheek. “Of course we will,” he murmurs. “We’re a team, remember? A certain someone had to remind me of that recently.”
Despite everything, a tiny smile appears on Keith’s face, and when he settles his head back on Lance’s shoulder Lance can’t help but feel a little lighter. He makes himself comfortable, keeping his hold on Keith’s hand and taking another deep breath to steady himself. They’ll be okay. They always have been. Lance knows this.
Now, he’s starting to believe it too.