Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Hey, Coran... what are Earth's coordinates?"

"Well, now, that question is more complex than simply a set of coordinates-"

"As seen from the center of the Milky Way galaxy... does that help at all?"

"Ah. Well, we can merely enter in the information we need into the coordinate tracker, and.... ah, there we are! Latitude +0° 2′ 46.2″, longitude 179° 56′ 39.4″."

"....Sweet. Thanks, Coran."

"Any time, my boy... I do have to ask, though, it's quite a strange question. Any particular reason you asked?"

"Ah, think of it as just helping my homesickness."

"Oh. Well, I can see where knowing where home was-well, is, in your case-would help, yes."

The long, slender fingers brushed the console of the escape pod, leaving trails through the thin layer of dust that had collected on the metal surface. The owner of said fingers smiled, one corner of his lips curving upwards in an expression that was more bittersweet that anything.

"...I think... it may be time to put you to use, girl." He murmured to the ship, even if it wasn't sentient, like the other two ships he had flown.

That was before, though... this was now.

His footsteps echoed in the hangar, the only sound in the enormous ship, save for the quiet hum of machinery and the occasional clicking or beeping from a camera placed here, or a computer that someone forgot to power down when they stopped using it.

The escape pod's door slid shut easily. After the two Alteans had awoken, they had done everything they could to get the Castleship back up and running smoothly, that included repairing and updating the pods... not that they had used them many times, not in the grand scheme of things, they had their Lions, and Coran could usually hold his own in the Castleship.

Thankfully, one of the pods would be put to good use.

The young man left the hangar and proceeded back to his room, keeping his steps as light as possible, not wanting to wake any of the light sleepers. He reached into his pocket and drew out a small, faded photo. The edges were curled and worn, but the smile that his mother and his father bore brightened the photo enough to make it seem like it was brand new... even if it was four years old.

His own smile faded from his face, and he slowed to a stop outside his room's door. Four years... would they remember him? Did they think he was dead? Probably. He had quite literally disappeared off the face of the Earth, how could they hold any hope in his existence?

Well... he'd find out soon enough.

"Lance."

The young man's head snapped up, looking straight ahead of him. He forced a small smile. "...Coran... I didn't even hear you. What's up? Why are you still awake?" He asked, his voice a little rough from under-use.

Lance saw his own sadness reflected in Coran's halfhearted smile. The red-headed man walked forward and placed his hand on Lance's shoulder. "Different sleep patterns... besides," Coran held up a small bag, just big enough to fit in Lance's jacket's inside pocket. "you'll be needing provisions, won't you?" He said quietly.

Oh shit.

He'd promised himself he wouldn't cry about this, he'd already cried enough over the past year, and yet here he was, his eyes stinging yet again as he allowed himself a watery chuckle. He wiped at his eyes with his palms, then reached out, pulling the older being into a hug. "What would I do without you, Coran?" He sighed, curling his fingers into the back of Coran's shirt.

Coran laughed quietly and patted Lance's back. "Let's not think about that, yes?" He teased. They stood there for another moment, before they pulled apart. Coran's own eyes were a little glassy, reflecting the dim, blue light from above as he smiled at the young man in front of him. "Lance... I had two boys on Altea... I've told you this before, of course, but..." He shook his head. "Reylif... he was just like you... he was caring and kind, and generous to a fault..." He took in a deep breath. "...and it hurt to lose him the way I did, but I won't lose you the same way... you really are like a son to me, Lance, and as much as I'm going to miss you-" He stopped, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes as his voice broke. "-I'd rather not see you and know you're alive and happy than see you... see you dead because you lost your will to live, like Reylif." He finished, opening his eyes again in time to see the tears fall from Lance's blue eyes.

Lance shook his head and sniffed. "Ay, Dios mío, Coran, I'm gonna miss you..." He paused, then tucked the small bag into his pocket, before he reached into his jean's pocket. "I-uh... I know that you're probably not gonna have any time to make it all the way out there, not with this war going on, but here-" He pressed a small piece of paper into Coran's calloused palm. "-this is my country's coordinates... my address-my home, I mean, is there too, but I'm not sure if they're still there... but I'll be in that country for sure, if I'm anywhere on Earth." He smiled.

Coran bit his lip and curled his fingers protectively around the piece of paper, before he tucked it into his breast pocket and buttoned the pocket shut. "I'll keep it right here in the front of my mind, Lance." He said, tapping his forehead. Lance laughed softly, and Coran's eyebrows tilted upwards sadly. "Do you... want me to tell the others where you are?" He asked hesitantly.

Lance's heart skipped a beat, and he hesitated, but he shook his head. "Nah... I... I'm not sure how much they care anymore, I mean.... Keith's back in Red, Shiro in Black, and Allura in Blue... they don't need me anymore, and I'll just take up space... but, if they do..." His mind wandered to Hunk, and he smiled. "...they'd probably do something stupid. I'd rather they not know where I am and search for a little while than waste time coming to Earth and trying to convince me to come back." He reached out and grabbed Coran's hand. He raised his eyes to meet his, and he set his jaw. "...if I'm gonna head out, I'd best go now, or I'll never get my ass off this damn ship." He joked.

Coran's lip trembled slightly, but he rolled his eyes. "Then go, my boy... you know the way." he said knowingly, shaking Lance's hand.

Lance drew his hand back to his side. He grinned a little, even as tears made their way down his cheeks. "Latitude +0° 2′ 46.2″, longitude 179° 56′ 39.4″, right?" he murmured. Coran nodded, a true smile beginning to show on his face. Lance bit the inside of his lip. "...Coran?" He started.

Coran swallowed. "Yes, my boy?"

Lance closed his eyes, not wanting to see the look on his face. "...you lost Reylif, but Reylif lost one hell of a dad... and I'm glad I got to find a father out here. I'm glad it was you." He choked out. He heard Coran hold back a sob, and he reached out blindly, finding Coran's hand again. "Thank you, Coran... for everything... I hope I get to see you again someday.... preferably when this damn war is over." Lance managed to say.

".... Same to you, Lance... this team has lost an amazing member, and I'm sad to see you go, but-" Lance opened his eyes as Coran squeezed his hand. Coran smiled. "Te deseo lo mejor." He spoke.

Lance laughed, louder than he would have liked, and he smiled widely, feeling happier than he had in a long time. He may have mangled the pronunciation of a word or two, but there was more meaning in that then anything anyone had said to him in years. The lump in Lance's throat grew as he tightened the grip on Coran's hand. He opened his mouth and almost whispered his next words.

"Hasta siempre."

Dios mío- My God.

Te deseo lo mejor- I wish you the best.

Hasta siempre- Until forever* A farewell used in Spanish if you're most likely never going to see each other again.

Chapter Text

"For the last time, I'm fine!"

Keith blinked, a little taken aback by the harsh tone Allura had used when she snapped at him. She caught his surprised stare, and guilt flashed across her face. She took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders, pinching one of her tense muscles between her fingers. "...I'm sorry, Keith, everyone... I'm just..." She trailed off, then looked at her feet, dropping her hand to her side. "...nevermind. It's nothing."

Keith stiffened a little. He knew that excuse all too well... he was about to say something, but their resident Yellow Paladin got there first.

"Allura, you know... you can talk to us if something's bothering you, you know that, right?" He asked, sounding a little unsure of himself.

Keith understood where his uncertainty was coming from. A few weeks ago, after the Black Lion had taken Shiro back, and Red had shut him out, only accepting Keith... Lance had started to withdraw from the team. They had tried talking to him, only to be assured that he was fine, that he was finally getting to enjoy some down time... bullshit, of course, and everyone knew it, but... what were they supposed to do? He wouldn't let them in, even Hunk, he'd turned him away more than a few times... they hadn't seen Lance in about a week, but sometimes that would happen, and when it did, there was no helping it... when Lance didn't want to be found, you couldn't find him.

Keith was snapped back into reality when Allura's voice broke into his musings.

"Well, it's just that... Blue's been.... oh, how do I say this...?" She paused, touching her lip gently with her slender finger, then tapping her chin thoughtfully. "...distant? With me? Three days ago, I felt-through our bond, of course- very angry, and scared. I don't know what happened, but ever since, she's been... short with me. If we communicate, it's the bare minimum, and nothing more." Allura shrugged as the other Paladins looked at each other in wonder. This didn't usually happen. "Perhaps... maybe it's not connected, but there was something strange I noticed; a few wires here and there were out of place, in the castle, and some of my life energy seemed to have disappeared the last time I checked. I'm wondering if there's some minor malfunction in the castle that Blue noticed, and she's mad that I haven't been keeping up." She reasoned, although she sounded uncertain with her explanation.

Pidge cocked an eyebrow. "That doesn't sound right. The Lions haven't really cared about what happens on the ship until now, if what you're saying is true." She said, crossing her arms.

Hunk frowned. "But, if the Lions noticed that something was wrong, like-like an-an energy leak or something, then they might be worried about lowered security, like... how much of a disaster would it be if the systems holding the hangar doors shut suddenly failed? The Lions could be lost in space, and we might not even noticed until we needed them!" He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself, because the last thing they needed to worry about was something they couldn't figure out.

There was a short silence, then Shiro sighed. "Well, whatever it is, I'm sure it's not going to be as bad as we think. I'll talk to Coran about checking up the castle's systems, and-"

"What are you going to be asking me about?"

The small group jumped a little, and their heads turned towards the bay doors, where Coran stood, an inquisitive look on his face.

Allura stepped forward, placing her helmet under her arm. "Just a bit worried about castle systems. You wouldn't happen to know if there was something wrong with anything, would you? The remaining life energy stored in the Castleship seemed to have disappeared last I checked... was something leaching from it, do you think?" Allura asked.

Coran raised his eyebrows and looked down. "...No, but that is worrisome, isn't it?" He frowned and looked back up again. "But, to my understanding, there was only a small amount left. I can't imagine it being vital to our wormholing capabilities, or any other important functions." He said.

Keith frowned a little, seeing Coran looking a little paler than normal. He watched him closely as he continued to talk with Allura and Shiro, looking for other oddities. Other than the fact that he seemed a little less chipper than usual, and the occasional forced grin, nothing seemed out of the ordinary...

But Keith had learned that even a little bit "out of the ordinary" could mean that something was very wrong.

"-eith... Keith! Dude," Hunk's voice jolted him out of his mind again, and he blinked, looking up at the taller of the two. He and Pidge stood next to him, watching him with slight concern. "you up for some food? You look a little... lost." He finished after taking him in.

Keith's face heated up a little bit as his stomach growled, seemingly right on cue, and he reached out to gently slap a snickering Pidge upside her still-helmeted head. "Y-yeah, fine, I guess..." He agreed, a bit embarrassed at apparently being hungry enough to completely zone out more than once. As they left the hangar, he shot Coran one more glance.

Whatever was up, he would get back to later, after he had gotten out of his armor and eaten something.

He didn't expect the red-headed man to startle so much at the question.

Or, maybe it wasn't so much the question, but the fact that Keith had not alerted the Altean to his presence beforehand.

Coran looked up from his place at one of the small control panels scattered throughout the Castleship, his eyes wide. "I-I'm sorry, Keith, could you repeat that, please?" He asked, turning back to the control panel. Keith noticed that he didn't go back to whatever he was working on before he had walked in.

Keith crossed his arms, trying to look slightly intimidating, but not exactly threatening. "I asked if you actually knew what happened to that life energy Allura was talking about before." He repeated, leaning "casually" against the doorframe. He watched as Coran blinked. He waited patiently, and he felt a little apprehension when Coran sighed.

"...Keith, I do know where it went, but... it's really not my place to say where it went, or how it was used." He murmured finally, sounding a little defeated.

Keith's eyes widened slightly, taking in the scene in front of him. Coran was leaning agains the control panel, his arms tense, his head drooping a little. Keith didn't think he'd ever seen the man look so... so...

Defeated.

Keith took a few steps forward and, pausing hesitantly, placed a hand awkwardly on Coran's shoulder. He bit the inside of his lip, then tried to sound as calm as possible when he next spoke.

"Coran, it's... I think it's important to know what happened, even if it's, uh... 'not your place to say'. It could be serious. If it's something that could affect Voltron, or the Castleship for that matter, we need to know." Keith couldn't figure out why there was a sinking feeling in his chest, or why his heart had started to speed up, just enough for Keith to notice.

Coran took in a deep breath and straightened up. "It... it does not affect Voltron, or the Castleship. The amount of life energy left wasn't enough to provide sufficient aid in the castle defense or offense, and it wasn't nearly enough to wormhole the whole ship in case of an emergency... why, if it were to be used, it would barely be enough to wormhole a small ship!" His laugh was forced, but that wasn't what made Keith so uneasy.

No, what made Keith's heart seem to stutter to a stop was the gaze Coran locked onto him. His dark blue eyes were intense, as though trying desperately to convey something to Keith, but he couldn't see what. It was like Coran wanted him to know, even if he said it wasn't his place.

Keith's heart began to slow down a little from its rapid pace, and he nodded. He returned Coran's knowing stare and backed away. "Well, thanks for telling me that, anyway. I'll try to find out where the energy went, just out of, uh... curiosity. It's good to know that it won't affect Voltron though, or any of our assets." He said, not turning away just yet.

Coran watched him for a moment, then turned back to the control panel with a sigh. "Yes... yes, I'm glad as well." He murmured.

Keith frowned, seeing the older man slump into his defeated position again. Even if he wouldn't admit it, he was fond of the older Altean, finding him to be an interesting person beneath the horrible jokes and odd trivia, and he didn't like to see him acting so out of character. He knew what-or, who, really-could cheer him up, but he hadn't seen him in a while.

He shrugged to himself. 'No harm in asking, even if he probably doesn't know.' He reasoned. He was backing away towards the door, and he stopped at the entrance, his hand on the metal frame.

"Hey, Coran, have you seen Lance at all? We haven't seen him in a while, and it's worrying me a little... Coran?" Keith asked, his tension returning to him like a raging bull as he watched Coran swiftly turn his head away from Keith, so that the younger couldn't see his face. "Coran- what's-"

"No, I-I haven't seen him in a few days... wish I could help you, Keith." Coran straightened his shoulders and went back to tapping on the control panel's holographic screen. Keith didn't miss the hand that went up to his face for a brief moment, as if to wipe something from his cheek, before it went back to work. "T-tell him to come see me if you find him."

Keith's heart pounded. He gripped the doorframe until his knuckles went white, and his eyes stared into space.

The sinking feeling in his chest returned. His lungs felt like they were full of lead, his feet feeling like they were chained to the ground.

He fought against the heavy, trapping feeling and darted from the room, his footsteps pounding against the metal floors as he raced past the common area, past the kitchens, ignoring Hunk's startled call, past the Control Room.

Each footstep resounded as a heartbeat in his ears as he reached his destination. He skidded to a halt in front of the former Blue Paladin's door and barely paused to take in a few gasping breaths before he pounded his fist against the metal. "Lance! Lance, open up, tall-ass!" He slammed his fist against the door until his fist went numb. In a last resort attempt, he placed his hand on the access system, praying it hadn't been locked against the others, but knowing it probably had been.

The door slid open easily, and Keith felt the tears gathering in his throat rather than his eyes. He choked back a small noise that might have been 'Lance' as he took in the spotless, empty room. No clothes, no knickknacks or face products.

He didn't waste any time. He left the room, trying to bite back the tears that had made their way to his eyes as he bolted for the hangars. He heard Shiro call out to him, but he ignored him. He reached the hangars and headed for the escape pod bay, rather than the Lion's bay. One look told him everything he needed to know. An escape pod was missing, one that had been there not two weeks before when they had been documenting the Castleship's information.

Keith slid to the floor, his knees not willing to hold him up. The tears were gone, replaced by a hollow sense of shock that he didn't know what to do with.

"Keith! What in the world are you running around for?!" Shiro's voice reached his ears, but he couldn't bring himself to respond. "...Keith? What's...what's going on?" He felt a hand on his shoulder, and Keith ripped his eyes away from the empty space the pod had left when he... when Lance had...

His eyes met Shiro's concerned gaze, and it began to sink in.

"Lance- Shiro, he's-" His eyes swam, and before he realized it, there was water on his face, salty, hot water that he wished could just disappear, that he wished could be there for no reason, anything would be better than-than-

"...he's gone."

Chapter Text

He did not expect the landing to be so rough and... wet.

He thought, maybe, that the craft would land smoothly on the beach, or on one of the small islands surrounding his home country, but no... Instead, he crashed into the water far off the shore of Cuba, undetected due to the small escape pod's cloaking mechanisms.

That was probably the most terrifying part of the fairly short journey home; barely making it out of the craft before it sank into the depths. It was dusk, and he began worrying that maybe this had been a waste of time... he was going to die here, in the ocean, without anyone ever knowing where he was... until, of course, he spotted a Coast Guard ship not too far off. They heard his calls and sped over to get him.

It was easier than he thought, making something up to tell the Coast Guard. He said he'd been paddle-boarding, and a riptide had pulled him out after he'd lost his board. Believable enough, it wasn't the first time it had happened... well, maybe the "fully clothed" part was odd, but not way too out of the ordinary.

They draped a shock blanket over his shoulders, even though he knew he wasn't "in shock". They steered them into shore, and Lance assured them that he was fine, and that his home wasn't too far away, and that "Si, si, estoy bien, muchas gracias."

It only took a little while to figure out where he was. He remembered this hotel, the Playa Caleta, only a ten minute drive from Playa Veradero... and from there...

A lump formed in Lance's throat as he stood on the street, his clothes damp, his hair sticky with salt.

Never mind the crash.... facing his family was going to be the most terrifying part of the journey.

Nevertheless, he walked down the road a bit, pondering what to do. He could walk, yes, it would take a lot longer, but he didn't have any money for a cab...

After five minutes of trudging along the cracked pavement, Lance sighed. He was too tired for this. The trip back had taken it out of him, and the treading-water he'd done had used up almost every bit of energy that had remained.

Giving up, Lance walked to the first designating hitchhiking spot he found, then waited. Just in case, he stuck out his thumb. He wondered how stupid he looked, but he wanted to get home too bad to take any chances.

Luck was on his side that evening, it seemed. A local cop was driving by, and- due to the rule that government vehicles had to stop for hitchhikers if there was space- pulled over with a smile and a friendly wave that Lance realized he had desperately needed. At least the young looking cop didn't recognize him as the young boy who had disappeared from the Garrison so many years before. He got into the passenger's seat and thanked the cop, telling him his address and telling him that his family couldn't pick him up.

Lance must have nodded off against the car door, because before he knew it, his shoulder was being gently shaken.

"Hemos llegado." The cop said kindly. Lance blinked a couple times, then thanked him before getting out of the car. At the sight of his old house, he tripped and almost fell onto the sandy asphalt of the driveway. He assured the officer that he was fine, and thanked him again before the man backed out of the drive and disappeared down the road.

Lance stood -frozen- in the driveway, looking up at the house. His hands trembled. He could see a few lights on, one of them being the dining room lights. Shadows flickered across the dark ground outside. Obviously, none of the inhabitants had noticed the car pulling into the drive, and if it was anything like Lance remembered, it was because the room at dinner was always loud and busy with voices and laughter.

Lance's eyes teared up, and a sob ripped it's way out of his throat. He crumpled to his knees, holding a hand to his mouth.

Was his family even still here?! Was this just a new family? If it was his family, did they remember him? It had been so long, surely they had moved on... or, maybe they thought he was dead... he might as well have been, he literally disappeared off the face of the earth!

He sat there a moment, fighting back the tears, and rubbed furiously at his eyes. He took a deep breath and pushed himself to his feet. There was no use sitting around on the rocky driveway, waiting for something to happen.

He forced his tired, shaking legs to move, and he walked up to the front door. He fussed with his clothing, trying to make it a little more presentable... as if that even mattered.
He stood there for a full two minutes, then steeled himself and looked at the mailbox next to the house number, ready to see the family name... ready to see if it really was his family.

His eyes flooded with tears again, and he gave a watery laugh out of shock and relief.

Álvarez

Sure, it was a common surname, but what were the chances?

Lance swallowed against the tears and the new lump in his throat, and raised his fist. He hesitated, then slammed his eyes shut.
He knocked.

Nothing.

He sighed, then raised his hand again. Of course, that had been way too quiet, they wouldn't have been able to hear that over the sounds of the dinner.

He knocked again, louder this time, making sure it was loud enough to hear.

He dropped his hand and waited, keeping his eyes shut. He didn't want to see any faces yet, he couldn't do it, he couldn't-

"¡Por favor! ¿Podrías callarte durante dos segundos? Tenemos un-"

Lance sucked in a breath at the familiar voice, and silence hung over him like a heavy, suffocating blanket... he swore, he felt like he was back in space, surrounded by the silent, endless vacuum.

"....Lance?"

The world went absolutely still. The silence spread to the house, where the sounds from dinner hushed immediately. Lance could hear the waves not far off.

A tear slipped down his cheek, but he didn't open his eyes yet.

"....Hola, Mama." He whispered, his voice cracking pitifully. He took in a deep breath and opened his eyes, taking in the person in front of him.

Just the same as he remembered. Short, strong, weathered, pale-tan skin, wavy black hair pulled back into a messy bun to keep it out of the way when she cooked. Her blue eyes were wide and disbelieving, with just a small shine to indicate that there were any tears.

Lance's lips curled a little into the smallest smile he could ever make, and he laughed softly.

"Estoy en casa...?" He tried, attempting to put a little of his old humor into his voice.

The rest of the evening faded into a blur after his mother's arms wrapped around his thin waist and pulled him close.

The laughter, the crying, the smiles and questions, Lance could barely remember any of it, but it ultimately didn't matter.

It was early that morning when his mother finally ushered the others to bed, seeing that Lance was tired and obviously overwhelmed by the loud, energetic group, but Lance didn't mind. Honestly, he could have fallen asleep anywhere, but his mother brought him upstairs to his old room, which she had left untouched. The thought brought tears to Lance's eyes, but they were quickly wiped away when his mother scolded him lightheartedly, telling him that there would be too much crying to come to be wasting the tears then.

That was where Lance was now, laying on his bed, his tongue still remembering the taste of the first earth food he'd had in years, his head a little foggy with the few celebratory glasses of wine his father had shared with him, and his lips tilted in a small, contented smile.

His heart felt better than it had in ages. The pit in his stomach was filled, the weight from his lungs lifted.

But, laying in bed, surrounded by the dark and the quiet...

He felt like...

Something was still missing.

Lance frowned into the blackness, trying to think of what it was, before giving up and shrugging.

Whatever it was, it could wait...

Because now, nothing else mattered, except that he...

He was home.

He was home.

One last tear dripped from the tip of his nose, and he smiled at his old- no, his room.

Él estaba en casa.

Sí, sí, estoy bien, muchas gracias- Yes, yes I'm fine, thanks so much

Hemos llegado- We're here (We've arrived)

"¡Por favor! ¿Podrías callarte durante dos segundos? Tenemos un- Please! Could you shut up for two seconds? We have a-(guest)

Hola, Mama- Hello, mom

Estoy en casa- I'm home

Él era hogar/Él estaba en casa- He was home

Hey, look at that, another chapter!

So, I'll be updating this somewhat regularly, but I can't promise anything... school year starts tomorrow (fuck) and yeah.

Anyways, hope you're enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it!

<3

(P.S. I'm in no way fluent in Spanish, I'm ashamed to say I'm using Google Translate and my tiny amount of info retained from middle school... along with my "side-attempts" at learning the language... so, if there are any Spanish speakers who are disgusted with my translations (10/10 would not be surprised OR offended), please, tell me a better translation, and I will fix it right away, haha! Thanks!)

(EDIT- Thank you to nekolion for helping me with translations and such! :D

Chapter Text

Keith didn't know how many tears a human could produce until he watched Hunk receive the news that Lance was gone.

He actually got mad...

He didn't think he'd ever seen Hunk so angry before, and he didn't ever want to be on the receiving end of it ever again. It took all of his strength not to burst into tears all over again... no way was he gonna cry in front of them, no way...

But the anger faded fast, replaced quickly by a sort of... hollow shock, which was almost worse. Keith watched him carefully for a few months after the whole incident, ready to send him a sympathetic look when he saw him tear up during a meeting, or when he bent over the counter in the kitchen, abandoning his current project to collapse in on himself again.

Keith wasn't sure how Pidge was dealing. She seemed so out of it, and tired, so Keith suspected she wasn't getting as much sleep as she should have been. He'd heard someone wandering the halls late at night, but that could have easily been Coran.

Who wasn't taking it well either.

He wasn't aware of how close he and Lance had become. Keith had almost gone off on him, after realizing that he'd known Lance had left, but he stopped quickly, noticing the tears in his eyes and sensing the apologies that were about to come pouring out of his mouth. He bit his tongue and gripped the older alien's shoulder tightly instead, before swallowing the lump in his throat and disappearing into the training room for another unhealthy amount of time fighting the gladiator.

Shiro had come to talk to Keith a couple times, wondering if it was him who chased Lance away, or if he could have done something to prevent it... that, or it was to force Keith to go to bed, or talk to him.

Which was where Keith was trapped now, his hand gripping the hilt of his bayard, his head facing the ground. His hair had grown out longer, because Keith couldn't muster up the incentive to cut it again, and the bangs hung down, hiding his face from Shiro. The rest was pulled up in a ponytail above his neck, which was red and wet with overexertion.

"-are you listening to me, Keith? I'm really starting to worry about you, and not just about your..." Keith looked up sharply, glaring at Shiro with a warning in his eye. "...mental state, but your physical health." Shiro finished firmly, not deterred by Keith's aggressive expression. Keith said nothing, and Shiro walked towards him. "You're getting really thin, Keith, I'm concerned. You're not showing up to dinner anymore, and you're not eati-"

"I am eating." Keith snapped, responding to Shiro's advance with three steps backward. "I just don't come to dinner." He muttered, raising his head and averting his eyes as he wiped at his sweaty brow with his free hand. Silence. Keith sighed in exasperation. "I'm fine, Shiro, what else do you want from-"

"Why aren't you coming to dinner? The rest-" Shiro's voice caught in his throat, just a bit, before he continued. "-the rest of the team misses you, you know. Pidge and Hunk especially, they're asking why you never check in on them anymore." Keith didn't say anything. "They miss you, Keith, don't do this to-"

"What's the point?" Keith murmured, his voice dry.

Shiro blinked. "The-the point? Keith, they're your friends, they-"

"I meant- I just-" Keith scrambled for words, but couldn't find anything. "I-I can't talk to them, it was always... they only talked to me because Lance-" his voice cracked, and his shut himself up. He looked down, feeling his eyes start to sting for the second time that day.

There was a moment of quiet, before Keith heard Shiro's steps again. "Keith, I understand that you're upset, but he's alive, I'm sure he's alright, he wasn't happy-"

"And now I'm not happy, Shiro!" Keith blurted out.

The air thickened, and Keith's eyes widened, and he shivered. Shit. He hadn't meant to say that...

The younger boy turned from Shiro and raised his sword. "...S-start training level 23!" He shouted into the room. He heard the hatch in the ceiling open, and he turned towards the practice drone as it hit the floor.

"Wha-Keith, no, stop, what are you-!" Shiro called out. Keith ignored him and charged the drone, meeting it's strike with his own weapon and pushing against it. It was much stronger than the last one, and he struggled as he parried the next blow and threw his own attack. His eyes drooped and he staggered, feeling dizzy all of the sudden.

"Keith!"

He was hit in the stomach with the length of the drone's staff, sending him crashing into the floor.

"End training sequence!"

Keith groaned and pushed himself up onto his elbows, coughing a little from the blow. He felt Shiro's hand on his shoulder, and he smacked his hand away.

"Keith, please, talk to me, I know you're not okay, I need to know what I can do to help you-"

Keith clenched his teeth and shot to his feet, backing away from Shiro while staring at his feet, not wanting his older brother to see his face. "You can't! You can't help me, Shiro, damn it, can't you see?! He's gone, he's gone, what am I supposed to-" A sob escaped his lips, and he clapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide and watering dangerously. He dropped to his knees, giving up.

"...Keith, I didn't know how much he... how much he meant to you, I didn't- were- were you two really that close? It was hard to tell-" Shiro tried to say as he knelt in front of Keith, not knowing what to do or say.

Keith let his hands fall to the floor, his nails scratching against the metal. Tears dripped between his hands, and he hiccoughed, trying to hold back the sobs. "Please, Keith, you're scaring m-"

"I loved him, Shiro, I loved him! Damn it...." Keith raised his hands to his hair and pulled, trying to distract himself. He shuddered, listening to the deafening, shocked silence. He laughed bitterly. "You happy now, Shiro!? You happy!? I went and fell in love with that fucking idiot, and when he wasn't my right hand man anymore, it was bad enough, and then he went and- and-" He sobbed again and slammed his eyes shut, not wanting to see Shiro's no doubt disgusted face. "-and he went and fucking left me!" He took in a shaky breath and decided to face his brother head on, thinking it couldn't get worse than this. "What-what the hell do I do now, Shiro!?" He wailed, letting his hands fall from his hair. Shiro's eyes were wide, his mouth slightly slack. Keith trembled. "What do I do!?"

Shiro blinked, then closed his eyes. He clenched his teeth and before he knew it, Keith was pressed firmly against Shiro's chest in a tight embrace.

"....Keith, we'll find him... what you have to do is keep moving, alright? You're never going to see him again if you die, right?" Shiro almost whispered the words. Keith noticed he was shaking a little, and he curled his fingers into the back of Shiro's uniform. "...Please, Keith... I-we all care too much about you to see you fall apart like this, please..." He squeezed him, then let him go. He grabbed his shoulders and looked him in the face, forcing a small smile to his face. "You have to meet him again, right? Let's see if we can keep you healthy until then..." He tried to joke, but his eyes were glistening.

Keith bit the inside of his lip, then looked down at the floor. Another moment, then he nodded. His lip trembled, and his shoulders shuddered. "...I'm sorry..." He rasped.
Shiro gripped his shoulders again. "Don't be sorry, Keith..."

Keith opened his mouth to apologize again, then closed his mouth. He rubbed his palms against his eyes, wiping away the tears, and Shiro stood up. He looked up at his older brother tentatively as Shiro held out his hand to him.

Shiro smiled warmly, his eyebrows tilted in sympathy. "...let's go join the others for dinner this time, alright, Keith?" He asked quietly.

Keith sniffed and, keeping his eyes turned away, took Shiro's hand and allowed himself to be helped to his feet.

Trying to ignore the aching and stinging of his muscles and his skin, he followed Shiro silently from the training deck.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

"You have to meet him again, right? Let's see if we can keep you healthy until then."

The words echoed in his head, and he scoffed quietly.

Well, he couldn't promise anything like that...

But he would see Lance again.

One way or another.

Hey!

So, updates will probably be irregular, since school's just started and I'll be gettin' back into the swing of things.

But I hope you enjoyed this (infuriatingly short) chapter!

Have a nice one!

Chapter Text

God.

Damn.

It.

Lance tossed onto his side again, curling his legs up to his chest, before stretching out onto his back again and sighing loudly in frustration.

He should be tired... why wasn't he tired?!

He sat up, grabbed his pillow, and flipped it over for the third time that night, before flopping back down onto the bed. He felt antsy, wired, his mind was moving at a mile a minute, and he groaned, dragging his hands down his face.

He'd been home for a week. It had taken some time, and a surprisingly small amount of convincing his family, but he'd told them what had happened to him. Everything. Finding the Blue Lion, going to Arus, and fighting a race of evil purple aliens... well, yeah, that did sound crazy, but he apparently seemed stable enough in the head for his family to believe him, and it helped that the Garrison had accidentally let slip about the sighting of the Blue Lion and the Galra escape pod that Shiro arrived in all those years ago.

So, there was nothing to worry about, right?

So why couldn't he sleep!?

Lance stared up at the ceiling, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Over the past week, he'd probably gotten around 3-5 hours of sleep a day... except for two of those days, where he couldn't sleep at all... and when he did manage to fall asleep...

Lance shivered. The nightmares that plagued him at night had surprised him. He hadn't had them when he was on the ship... well, in the beginning he had, but he got used to it pretty quickly, having felt safe in the Castleship, with the Lions and his teammates around him, and the wormhole to get them to safety in a pinch.

But here, on Earth...

He was so vulnerable- too vulnerable. No particle barriers, no wormholes or teludavs, no Lions...

And none of his teammates.

Lance's eyes teared up, and he let his lids slide shut.

He'd woken up from that first night- the only night where he'd gotten any sort of undisturbed sleep- and realized what it was that he missed.

Or, who it was he missed.

He missed Hunk, he missed his best friend. He was the only one out of any of them who would really spend time with him. They had bonded during their Garrison days, and Lance knew that was a bond that no one could be able to break. He and Pidge were on good terms, they were friends, and he missed her, but they were never really very close, not like he and Hunk were. He missed the playful bickering though, and teasing Pidge while she tried to work on whatever tech she had come up with this time.

He missed Shiro too, to some extent, but they had never been close. Shiro had been Lance's idol, but when he got to know him... he wasn't impressive enough, apparently, to gain any sort of real connection with Shiro. It was always Keith who got the attention, always Keith who overshadowed Lance, who always got praised by Shiro, noticed by Shiro.

Keith.

Lance's cheeks burned with embarrassment, but also with sadness. How could he have formed any sort of romantic attachment to that asshole? The most they ever became was friends, and that was only after Shiro had disappeared, when Lance was piloting Red, when Lance was Keith's right-hand man, when they were-

When they were something.

And then they found Shiro.

And everything went back to normal.

Keith was praised and thanked for finding him. For leading the team. For "holding them together".

And Lance was shut out by Red.

And Lance was shut out by Blue.

And Lance just...

Was shut out.

Allura had apologized about Blue, but nothing more. The two of them weren't close to begin with, Lance had always gotten along better with the other Altean.

Lance allowed a small smile to grace his features, even as tears slipped down his cheeks. Coran. That guy. Damn did Lance miss him. Shiro may have been the other's "Space Dad", but Lance had siblings who were older than Shiro, and Coran was-

Lance's breath caught in his throat, and he clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle any other sounds.

Coran was there when Lance needed someone.

Coran was there when Lance was homesick, when he was crying, when his unstable mental state went too far out of whack, when he just needed someone to listen to him, or when he just needed someone to sit in silence with him as he stared out at the emptiness of space while everyone else was sleeping.

Lance clenched his teeth and sat up abruptly. He threw his long legs over the side of the bed and held his face in his hands, drying the tears away.

He needed to sleep. The only good sleep he'd gotten was the night he returned. He was happy, he was fed with his mother's cooking, he was-

Lance looked up blearily as something in his mind clicked.

He had been drinking.

Lance scoffed and shook his head. No way. Not a good idea. Not at all. Who knew what that could lead to?

He sat in the silence of his room for what seemed like an hour, waiting for himself to get tired, tired enough to fall back under the blankets and pass out. If the circles under his eyes were anything to go by, he should have been tired enough, but he just wasn't.

Lance growled and slammed his fist down on the bed frame, before he yelped and brought his hand to his chest at the pain. He hissed as he rubbed the knuckles that he supposed were quickly reddening from the punch, and he closed his eyes.

Another minute.

Two.

Three.

Lance huffed.

Fuck it.

He got to his feet and made his way through the dark to his door. He felt for the handle, grabbed it, and cautiously opened the door. He looked up and down the hall, making sure no one was awake, before he quietly made his way up the hall and down the stairs. His hand traced the wall, feeling the dents and scrapes from careless childhood games.

He skipped the last step, which he remembered squeaked, and found himself in the dimly lit living room.

Lance looked for the source of light, finding it to be the bright, full moon, whose light was streaming in the window and casting sharp, silvery-blue shadows on the carpeted floor. He couldn't tear is eyes away from the moon, and he slowly crossed the floor, his footsteps almost silent. He moved around the worn down couch and touched his fingers to the cool window pane. He watched the stars for a moment, then almost winced as a strange-yet familiar- feeling made his stomach clench.

Lance's eyes widened as he placed a name to the sensation.

Homesi-

Lance tore his eyes away from the sky and stormed into the dining room, going straight through to the kitchen. He reached up into one of the upper cabinets and pulled down a bottle. He didn't want wine, he wasn't doing this for pleasure, he just wanted to get to sleep, and if this might have been the reason he'd gotten a full night's sleep that first day, then he'd be damned if he wasn't going to try it.

He glanced at the label, not surprised that it was rum. It was his father's favorite, since before Lance could remember. He grabbed a glass and didn't hesitate in pouring a glass.

His heart pounded in his chest, and he kept reminding himself that this was fine, he was legal, he was just doing it to get to sleep, he was fine.

The reddish-brown drink seared his throat and made his tongue tingle strangely, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle... he had scars all over his body from countless injuries, far worse than just an unpleasant sensation in his mouth, and hell, it was better than Nunvil.

He put the bottle back in the cabinet and lifted himself up onto the counter to sit. He knew if his mother came down and saw him, she'd scold him into next week... or, maybe not, she'd been more gentle with him than he remembered... maybe that's what happens when your son disappears for years on end without a trace.

Ten minutes later, the glass was empty, and Lance closed his eyes, happy to feel that he was, indeed, much more relaxed than he had been before. He slid down from the counter and placed the glass in the sink, filling it with water, but not washing it. He wanted to get up to bed before he missed the short window of opportunity.

He turned off the lights he'd flicked on and trudged back up the stairs to his room. He closed the door with a soft click and walked the few steps to his bed, where he collapsed onto his stomach. He lay there for a moment, his brow creased with worry. Was that a mistake? Should he not have done that? Why was he so conflicted about this?
The small flutter of anxiety was quelled as he maneuvered himself under the covers again and rolled onto his side. He smiled, feeling the familiar, welcome hands of sleep pulling at him.

Whatever. It worked.

There was no harm in using it to get to sleep until he calmed down and settled in.

Lance closed his eyes. Tomorrow, maybe he'd go out to find a small job. That would help with the excess energy he had. Maybe he'd try to get out and connect with people... he couldn't stay here forever, he was an adult, he needed to find his own place in the world.

The thought of the Garrison crossed his mind, and he shook his head. No way. They didn't know he was back... if they found out, they'd bring him to some facility and keep him under watch, testing him, interrogating him... Lance was done.

Lance was done with all of that.

Sleep began to muddle his thoughts as he relaxed into the sheets, and he sighed.

"You'll be fine, Lance..." He murmured to himself as he drifted off.

"You'll be fine..."

Whoops.

Well,

Here's another chapter!

I only have one more prepared, so it'll probably be a while before I post again, so I can "stock up" on chapters. :)

Kay, quick note- if Lance is talking to family/Earth folks, he's speaking Spanish unless it's obvious that he's not... it'll say something like "He said in English", or maybe it'll be in italics, I dunno... I'll let you know when the time comes.

Anyways, hope you enjoyed!

Have a nice one!

Chapter Text

"STOP IT!"

Keith gasped as Pidge's fist found the unarmored part of his suit, right in the stomach, making him double over coughing. Blood dripped from his head and hit the metal floor of the hangar, and the room spun wildly.

"Pidge, stop that! He's already injured!" Shiro's voice echoed through the room, and a tiny, bitter smile made it's way onto Keith's face.

Damn it.

Pidge snarled and grabbed Keith's shoulder roughly, pushing him to a standing position and glaring at him. "Well obviously this idiot WANTS to be hurt!" She snapped, but despite the anger, Keith could see the tears forming in her eyes. She shook him. "You've GOT to stop doing these kinds of things, Keith! It's not helping you, it's not helping Voltron, it's not helping anyone!" She shouted.

Keith couldn't find the words to respond, but he was saved from having to as Hunk took Pidge's shoulder and gently pulled her back. Hunk smiled sadly at Keith, and Keith's cheeks burned with shame. He averted his eyes and grabbed his wrist nervously, something he started doing out of habit after...

After the incident.

"Keith."

Keith kept his face turned away, but he heard Hunk, Pidge, and Allura leave the hangar.

He felt Shiro's hand on his shoulder, and Keith ducked his head lower, knowing what was coming.

"Keith, did you do that on purpose?"

Keith stayed silent, remembering the moment Shiro was referring to... flying Red straight into the engine room of the Galra supply ship, and charging into the fray with no one to back him up.

It ended up with a head wound, almost losing his bayard, and almost getting caught in the following explosion as the engine combusted... if Red hadn't snatched him up in her jaws as he floated in the open space surrounding the vessel, he would have died for sure.

This time.

He was sure it was going to work.

Shiro sighed heavily, but Keith could hear the disappointment and exasperation, even if there were no words. Apparently, Keith's silence was enough of a conformation.
Keith was pulled against Shiro's chest, and Keith's resolve began to crumble. His lip trembled, and he shook his head, pressing his face into the front of Shiro's breastplate to muffle the quiet sob that followed. From the motion of Shiro's shoulder, Keith was sure he was rubbing his back, but he couldn't feel it through the white and red armor he wore.

"Keith, you have got to stop this... I know that you feel hopeless, I... I get it, Keith, you know I do." He gripped Keith's shoulder plates and pulled back to look him in the eye. "But it's been a year and a half, Keith... you need to let go." He said, his voice quiet.

Keith shook his head, but stopped when the action made the room spin like a top. He closed his eyes, and a tear rolled down his cheek. He felt Shiro take his helmet out of his hands and place it down somewhere. "...let's get you to the med bay and get that head wound taken care of." He murmured.

Keith didn't complain as he was lead to the med bay and sat down on one of the beds. His fingers curled into the white sheets as Shiro called for Coran over the comms. He winced a little as he felt Shiro press a cotton swab soaked in alcohol to the gash on his forehead, but he didn't move away. He took a deep breath and hoped the silence would last.

It didn't.

Coran entered the med bay with one of his hand-held scanners and tried to force a convincing smile as he approached. "Hello, Keith. Got a little banged up on this last mission, I see." He said, motioning for him to stand up so he could get an accurate reading.

Keith feigned a small smile for him, knowing that Coran was hurting too. "Yeah. I'll be... I'll be more careful next time." He rasped. His throat felt dry and his voice unused. The scanner beeped as it recorded the data, and Coran sighed.

"Well, it's not too serious. You have a mild concussion, and you haven't lost enough blood to reach dangerous levels." He inspected the cut on his forehead with his own eyes, then nodded. "And you don't need stitches, it's not deep enough." He pocketed the scanner with a small breath of relief. He reached out and patted Keith's shoulder. "Slap a bandage on there and take it easy for the next couple days; no training, definitely no fighting, and plenty of rest." He advised, glancing at Shiro, who nodded. With that, he threw Keith another smile, then left the bay.

Silence again.

Shiro huffed.

Keith stayed quiet.

"Keith, this is getting ridiculous." Shiro said.

Keith shrank a little under the words. He knew that. He knew it was ridiculous, he knew he was being childish, he knew all that! God, why didn't anyone just let him follow through and-

"Keith, please, say something. Everyone's- well, I'm sure you don't need me to tell you this, but everyone's really worried about you. This is so unlike you! Over a year, Keith! Please, we're afraid you're not going to bounce back from this!" Shiro's voice rose in a slight panic, and Keith's eyes drew together in guilt.

"I'm sorry..." He apologized.

"I know that, Keith, we all know that! We never blamed you, Keith, everyone knows what you're going through! You don't have to apologize, but please-" Shiro knelt in front of Keith and grabbed his wrists, running his thumbs across the scars. "-please, stop trying to do this! We don't- we don't want to lose another teammate!" He said urgently.

Keith looked away in shame.

"...we don't want to lose another friend, Keith... you're part of our family, and even more so for me, god, Keith, you're my little brother, you can't-" Shiro paused, then cleared his throat. "-you can't leave me, Keith." He whispered.

Keith's eyes pooled with tears, and he opened and closed his mouth, trying to form some sort of sentence, anything, something.

Nothing came out, save for a small, strangled sort of whimper, which made Keith's cheeks flush red. He heard Shiro sigh, before he stood and wrapped his arms around Keith.

They stayed that way for a moment, then Shiro pulled away.

There was silence in the room as Shiro went about placing a bandage over Keith's wound and taping it in place. He took Keith's shoulder and helped him stand. They were walking to the door when Keith finally found it in himself to say something.

"...what's the point, Shiro?"

It wasn't a real question. It was something they had started. Keith would ask, and Shiro would give him a reason.

Who will pilot Red?

Pidge needs someone to make her go to sleep.

Hunk needs you there to be his friend.

Coran can't lose someone else important to him.

Allura needs someone to challenge her when her ideas aren't the safest.

Shiro grabbed Keith's shoulder, and he tensed.

This wasn't going to be the same as the others.

"If we see Lance again, what would we tell him?"

A painful, choking sensation began to grow in his throat, and the tears started to fall. The grip on his shoulder tightened, and Keith nodded silently.

Alright.

Alright.

'I can make it a little longer.'

'Just a little longer.'

The third day after the mission found Keith and Hunk sitting in the common room, a mess of cards between them as they played some sort of version of War with the Altean card deck they'd found a few years back.

Hunk groaned as Keith beat him, and he lay down the rest of his cards. "Alright, fine, you win..." He muttered lightheartedly.

Keith felt a small flicker of happiness temporarily drown out the dark thoughts his mind was making up. He shrugged and let a tiny smile onto his face. This seemed to make Hunk brighten, and he gathered up the card, holding out his hand for Keith's. "Come on, best three out of four."

Keith frowned a little as he handed over his cards. "Is that a thing?" He asked quietly.

Hunk grinned. "It is now." He took Keith's cards into the deck and began to shuffle them. Keith looked out the large windows at the open space.

"It's been pretty quiet, hasn't it?" He murmured.

Hunk followed Keith's gaze, forgetting about the cards for a moment. "Yeah... it's a little weird, but I'm not going to complain." Hunk said, going back to the cards.

Keith nodded slowly and crossed his arms. "I guess... it's just a little unnerving." He sat for a moment, fidgeting, then he sighed and stood up. "I'll be back in a while, I gotta move around a bit." He said, moving towards the door.

"Alright. I'm gonna get something to eat, I'm pretty hungry." Hunk said, following Keith. Keith relaxed a little as Hunk fell into step beside him.

They'd become close after Lance had left... and, of course, after Hunk's anger had dissipated. while Keith had fallen into something that he... well, he hated to call it depression, but that's how everyone else had called it, Hunk had needed someone his age, after his best friend had left, and Keith was the only person on board the ship who really fit the criteria.

Hunk insisted that they were already friends, but Keith wasn't sure... but then again, maybe that was just his head trying to crush him again.

It did that a lot.

"You alright, Keith?" Hunk's voice broke into Keith's thoughts, and he looked up at Hunk. Over the years in space, he'd lost a lot of weight, but it had quickly been replaced by muscle. Not that he wasn't the same exact "teddy bear" as Lance called him, but if you didn't know the guy, he would probably look pretty intimidating.

Keith nodded and pulled a smile to his face. "Yeah. Just thinking."

Hunk hummed and placed his arms behind his head, stretching as he walked. "Alright. Just checking." They stopped in front of the kitchen, and Hunk clapped his hand against Keith's back. "Meet you back in the common room?" He said, opening the kitchen door.

Keith nodded. "Sure thing." He replied, before turning and starting off down the hall. He let his feet move, not really thinking about where to go, and he let his mind tune out as well. He didn't want to think about anything, not right now, not when his mind was doing everything it could to off him.

The silence was pressing in on him comfortably as he walked, and he only realized where he'd gone when the door slid open with a hissing sound. Keith looked up and blinked.

The Blue Lion sat in her hangar, her particle barrier up. Keith looked around, seeing if anyone was there, before he entered the hangar. The door slid shut behind him, and he was left in the room with Blue.

Keith smiled sadly and stepped forward until he was just in front of the pulsing, blue particle barrier. He sat down and crossed his legs. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, and watched Blue. His gaze unfocused a bit, and he let his eyes flutter shut. He breathed out slowly, feeling a little calmer in Blue's presence.

He didn't know how long he was there, but he was jerked out of his thoughts by a low rumble.

His eyes snapped open, and he looked around. It didn't sound like Red, and it didn't sound like there was danger...

Keith raised his eyes to the Lion in front of him, and he stared.

Blue's eyes were glowing, and as he watched, the particle barrier went down.

Keith scrambled to his feet and ran forward. Blue didn't move, but the rumble sounded again, and he realized it was in his mind. He blinked.

'Are you talking to me?'  He asked, mostly to himself.

Keith yelped as Blue suddenly moved, getting to her feet and bending so her face was just inches from Keith's.

Keith stared, then hesitantly raised his hand. Blue didn't seem to disagree when he tentatively touched her metal nose with his fingers, before he pressed his palm to the surface.

He gasped as pictures flooded his head, one after the other, too fast for him to see all of them, but he saw enough.

Lance.

Keith jerked his hand away, but Blue followed.

Bring him back.

Keith's eyes went wide and he watched Blue in disbelief.

Bring him back, Red Paladin...

Keith closed his mouth, then nodded.

Bring back my Paladin.

Chapter Text

 "Angelo! Señor García's boat leaves in 15, and these crates aren't gonna move by themselves!"

Lance groaned quietly and rolled his eyes as he lifted on of the large, wooden shipping crates onto a rickety moving dolly. "Only one load after this, Desi, then it's all set to go!" He called over his shoulder. He grinned and looked back. "Look at you, you haven't even broken a sweat, pretty boy, get that ass working!" He went on teasingly.

Desiderio -Desi- scoffed and crossed his arms across his well-toned chest, but a tiny smile tugged at his lips. "I don't sweat as much because I'm in better shape!" He quipped easily, but he did grab an empty dolly and started to lift one of the three remaining crates. "And you know that even though I'm only filling in for Riel, I still have more stamina than you!"

True to his name, Desiderio was, in one word, beautiful... desirable. Dark tan skin with freckles splashed across his cheeks, forehead, arms, and back. Shoulder-length, wavy black hair tied back into a ponytail, and warm, hazel-brown eyes.

Lance's arms flexed as he hauled the dolly over the gangway and onto one of the smaller shipping boats. He unloaded the crates with the others, then pulled the dolly back onto the dock. He sighed, brushed off his hands, then put an over-exaggerated skip in his step and clapped Desiderio on the back as he jogged past him. "Tell that to Lilia, she could tell you about my stamina!" Lance crowed with a grin.

Desiderio snorted. "Can it, Angel, don't talk about stamina when your's and Lilia's 'thing' lasted all but-" he paused for effect as the dolly clacked loudly against the connector between the gangway and the boat- "two weeks? Right?" He joked.

Lance hissed and tilted his flat hand in a sort of así así gesture. "Different kind of stamina, Desi." Lance looked up at the sound of a short foghorn blast. He grinned and sent Desiderio a thumbs up. "Shift's over- all the crates loaded?" He asked as Desiderio reappeared with the now-empty dolly.

Desiderio gently pushed and let go of the dolly, where it bumped to a stop against one of the wooden rails, before he wiped wood dust and grime from his hands onto his shorts with a grimace. "Dios Mío, how do you all work like this every day?" He complained. He shook his head. "Crates are loaded, shift's over, I'm dirty and gross, and my everything hurts." He moaned as they headed down the dock.

Lance nodded. "Sounds like a good, productive day to me." 'Of course it would to you, Lance, you were a soldi-' "Let's go get some food, I'm starving." He added, rolling his shoulder to try and ease the ache that had settled in there a few days before, after lifting a crate with less care than he should have taken.

Desiderio shot Lance a look. "Bum food off of Decarlos?" He offered.

Lance raised an eyebrow. "Is there any other way to get free food?" He asked.

Desiderio face forwards again as the dock turned to the gravel covered road of solid land. "Decarlos it is, then." He said cheerily.

It took them not ten minutes to walk from the docks to Decarlos' family's small restaurant. They were smart; they opened the restaurant far enough from the docks so that the smell of fish didn't reach them, but close enough for the tired, hungry dock workers to choose their food... and Lance and Desiderio were happy to oblige.

The bell jingled happily, alerting the staff to their presence. Lance and Desiderio approached the counter, knowing that Decarlos' shift was also just about to end.

"Do I know you two?"

Lance chuckled and Desiderio turned towards the kitchen door, smiling at the figure who stood there.

Average height, heavy-set, light brown skin and chestnut hair, Decarlos seemed to Lance the Cuban version of Hunk, minus the muscle and combat training. He had one, dark blue eye, while the other was lighter and clouded over, unseeing. A large portion of the left side of Decarlos' face was marred by a mess of burn scarring, due to a kitchen accident that occurred when Decarlos was ten, and a bad decision earned him a faceful of hot oil. The result was a blind eye, scars, and half an eyebrow. It would have been a scary sight for almost anyone, but Decarlos made it fade out with his huge, warm smile and his even bigger, warmer heart.

Desiderio casually leaned across the counter and clasped Decarlos' hand, a friendly, platonic gesture... if you didn't know the two and you didn't notice the brief, loving eye contact.

Lance shrugged. "I don't know, do you?" He half-joked. He and Decarlos laughed, but they locked eyes for a split second.

It was an unspoken matter, but Lance was sure that Decarlos knew... well, not everything, obviously, but Decarlos had an exceptional memory, and if Lance remembered Decarlos from his childhood, then the younger boy definitely remembered Lance, and knew.

Knew that his first name wasn't Angelo, or Angel, but Lance.

Knew that Lance had gone to the Garrison, then disappeared.

Knew that Lance had seen -and been through- more than he let on.

Well, most people suspected that Lance -or, rather, Angel- had been in the war. Glimpses of his battle scars, the way he would sometimes jump at loud noises or sudden movements, his unwillingness to discuss or share anything regarding his past... not to mention, they all knew not to touch him when he didn't know they were there, unless they wanted an elbow to the stomach or heel to the shin.

Lance knew all of these things only reinforced their speculations, and he let them believe it. He wouldn't confirm, nor deny any assumptions. Better to let them think he'd been discharged from the military on Earth, rather than tell them the truth and convince every person on the docks that he was clinically insane.

"I'm guessing you two are hungry." Decarlos' voice broke into Lance's racing thoughts, and Lance responded by grinning and running his fingers through his hair. This is precisely why he chose a job that made him be physical... it kept his mind off his thoughts.

"You bet, Decarlos." Desiderio cheered, pulling out his ratty wallet. "What's the best thing on the menu today?" He asked.

Decarlos rolled his eyes and reached out, grabbing Desiderio's wallet and putting it in his back pocket. Desiderio groaned in protest and frowned, but Decarlos slapped a hand over his mouth. "You can have it back when you realize that you two don't have to pay for your meals... at least not after my shift's over." He added, laughing. He straightened up and reached behind himself, untying his apron. "C'mon, we'll go to my place and have some quiet, how's that sound?" He offered, opening the door to the kitchen and hanging the apron up on the inside of the door.

Lance stood up, welcoming the excuse to keep moving. "That sounds awesome, actually... besides, I need to see my husband." He joked, referring to Decarlos' dog, César.

Desiderio's face scrunched up in mild disgust as he stood as well. "Gross, Angelo." He muttered.

Lance stretched and smirked as his back gave a satisfying crack. That felt good. "Whatever, Desi..." He turned to Decarlos, pointing at him. "-actually, before we leave, can I just buy a beer real quick? Been a long day." He reasoned. Decarlos watched him and there was a short, slightly awkward silence, before he shrugged and went to the fridge, pulling out a bottle. Lance grinned and pulled out his own wallet. He handed Decarlos 50 pesos and took the beer. He winked teasingly. "Keep the change." He snorted, grabbing one of the counter's bottle openers and cracking open the top.

Decarlos huffed with an exasperated smile and came out from behind the counter. Lance walked over to him and pulled him into a hug, before the three of them headed back out onto the street. Lance sighed and brushed his hair back from his face. It was probably around 32 degrees out, and humid... hopefully Decarlos' air conditioner decided to work today. He took a sip of his drink, glad that he had asked for something cold on this hot, muggy day. He let himself tune out the conversation as he took in his surroundings.

The sound of the ocean and the general bustle of the streets was usually enough to quiet his mind, but it seemed like today, nothing would. His thoughts had plagued him, on and off, all day, from the moment he got up in the morning 'till this moment, walking just behind Desiderio and Decarlos.

Lance frowned and felt the weight of the bottle in his hand, guessing without looking that it was about half empty. It had been worse than usual-the memories, that is. Faces. Battles. Wounds.

Emotions.

"Whoa, Asere, slow it down, it's not even four!" Desiderio laughed. Lance looked up, noticing that he had drained the bottle. He raised an eyebrow at Desiderio-who was walking backwards-and shrugged.

"I've been at the docks since four, I think I deserve to relax a little, hah?" He explained, feeling a little defensive.

Decarlos glanced over his shoulder, then exchanged a glance with Desiderio, then looked back to Lance. "Angel, we're just a little worried... if you're stressed, you should take a day or two off, I'm sure your boss would understand." He said with a small smile.

Lance felt annoyance flicker in his chest, but he forced a grin. He scoffed, then sped up a little to catch up to the other two men, where he fell into step between them. "Don't worry about me, niño, I'm fine. And I uh..." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "...I'm already having a little rent problem, so I might have to take up a second job as it is, I can't take a day or two off, as much as I'd like to... besides," He threw an arm over each of their shoulders. "I get Sundays and Mondays off, and Luis is visiting with his baby this weekend, I got too much to look forward to, I don't wanna risk having to make up work days during the weekend." He smiled warmly. Thinking of his family kept his mind off of other things.

Decarlos returned the smile, and a familiar face flashed in Lance's memories, replacing Decarlos with a tall, burly Samoan boy with the gold headband.
So much for keeping his mind off of those "other things".

The smile faded from Lance's face for a moment, but he quickly recovered and clapped Desiderio and Decarlos on the backs. "We there yet? I gotta put my feet up!"

Desiderio snorted and teasingly brushed Lance's arm off. "Not on any of Decarlos' furniture, he'll kill you slowly."

Lance turned to Decarlos again and pouted, trying to get a laugh. "You wouldn't..." He whined.

Decarlos rolled his eyes and pushed Lance off of him. "You smell like fish." He muttered.

Lance crossed an arm across the chest and pointed at Decarlos with his free hand. "So do you! You work in a kitchen all day!" He shot back easily.

"Dead fish, Angelo; long dead, low tide fish." Desiderio snickered. Lance smacked his shoulder.

"Not my fault they don't clean the docks often enough." He grumbled.

Decarlos and Desiderio chuckled, and Decarlos turned to him. "You can use my shower when we get to my place... you need it." Desiderio barked out a laugh, and Decarlos frowned at him. "You too, you're no better, Desi." He added.

"Ha, you're not gettin' anything tonight if you smell like that, chulo." Lance muttered under his breath, earning two red faced glares from his "closeted" friends.

"Angel, be quiet. Don't talk like that!" Decarlos hissed, looking around nervously. Desiderio patted his shoulder reassuringly, but it did nothing to ease the scared look on Decarlos' face.

Lance felt a little guilty, but mostly just sorry that Decarlos felt so strongly about hiding himself. He knew why; his family was Catholic, and they weren't always the best around gay-or bi-individuals. Lance had only needed to deal with a few years of quiet awkwardness from his family, before they realized that he was no different than he was before he "suddenly liked boys and girls".

He offered him a sheepish smile. "You're totally right, Decarlos, so-"

BANG!

Lance yelped and stiffened, his mind blanking out for a moment. His heart pounded against his ribcage, his hands shot to his hip, where his bayard would be activated, and his shield would go up and protect him- protect him-

His eyes widened. No shield. No shield. He was gonna be shot, he was gonna die, he wouldn't-

"Angelo, Angel, socio, you're okay, you're okay, shit..." Desiderio's voice began to drift into Lance's hearing, pulling him back. His breathing slowed, just enough, and his tensed, trembling muscles began to relax, but he couldn't bring himself to pull his hands away from his hip. His eyes flickered up to Desiderio to find him staring at Lance's steady hands, the only part of his body that wasn't shaking.

Lance straightened a little bit, trying to take control of his breathing again. He looked around cautiously. A couple people had been watching, but looked away quickly as Lance noticed them. He spotted a motorcycle stopped at the curb at the other side of the street, and he sighed, his shoulders slumping.

It had backfired loudly, he supposed, resulting in a sound eerily similar to a gunshot.

"Angelo, come on, let's go..."

"You alright?"

Lance took in a deep breath and grabbed Decarlos' and Desiderio's shoulders. "Yeah... yeah, I'm fine... told you I was on edge, right? Ha..." He tried to joke.

Decarlos and Desiderio nodded slowly, then looked at each other again with apprehension.

Lance's expression hardened a little. They knew what was coming, but they just had to deal with it. It wasn't like he was mean or anything, just not present... completely, at least.

And it was better than the anxiety and the PTSD.

'Now I know how Shiro felt...'

Lance cringed.

Shit.

Shiro.

Allur-

Hunk.

Pidge.

Coran.

Kei-

"Let's take a taxi. I need that shower."

Decarlos squeezed Lance's upper arm. "You got it, hermano."

I be back!

I'm so bummed! I can't watch season four yet, because I'm watching it with someone, and they aren't even finished with season 2, and I just.... raaaaaaawwwr.... so no spoilers in the comments, please, not even hints! I'm walking a dangerous line even BEING on AO3 with all the tempting fanfics, and I can't even look at the tags, ugh.

Alright, well, I hope this was a good chapter, even if it was short... it's obviously been at least a year and a half since Lance has been back, so yeah, that's where we are.

Chapter Text

Hey, I'm back, and I watched Season 4... whoa. My heart.

I won't put any spoilers yet, but I may incorporate some of what happened into this plot, so I'll warn you if I have to, but once it's been about a month, it's fair game, lol.

Anyways... there's some triggering stuff in this chapter (Self-harm), so if you don't think you can handle it, please skip, 'cause it sucks to be triggered, been there, done that, doing that, haha (nervous laughter).

Anyhow, hope you enjoy!

Bring him back, Red Paladin.

Keith clutched his hair and shook his head.

Bring him back.

He groaned and dropped his hands into his lap. He let his head fall back to hit the wall, and he hissed at the warm, sticky feeling beneath his fingers. He opened his eyes and looked down at his bare thighs. He still had his boxers on, but his pants were bundled on the floor.

Keith lifted his hand from his bleeding thigh and winced as the blood-which was starting to dry-pulled at the cuts he'd made. He glanced down at his side, where a razor lay, looking innocent enough on the sheets beside him. He turned his attention back to his legs. Keith's eyes narrowed.

'What the fuck have I become?'

He moaned and sat up, moving slowly, as if that would help the pain. He had to tell someone. He'd promised them, he'd promised Shiro, he'd promised them all...

But maybe not yet.

His breath hitched-much to his displeasure-and he covered his mouth with one, bloodstained hand. He could smell the metallic scent, and it made his empty stomach churn.

'What the hell...' He thought to himself with bitterness, then he slammed his balled fist onto the sheets. '...have I done? This isn't me! What happened to Keith! I shouldn't be doing this! Fuck...'

"Fuck..." He whispered, tears welling in his eyes. He blinked hard, forcing them back. He already had to tell them that he'd relapsed, he wasn't going to be fucking crying while he did it.

He stood up and staggered into the bathroom that was attached to his room. He tripped over a discarded shirt and stumbled, but he caught himself on the bathroom's door frame. He looked back at his messy room and shook his head.

"The fuck happened to you, Kogane?" He rasped. He chuckled mirthlessly. "I didn't think I had enough stuff to have a messy room..." He muttered, entering the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. He'd acquired things over the years, mementos, clothing from other civilizations, weapons... and he'd stopped caring about cleaning up.

After Lance left, of course.

Keith pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to dispel the thought before it escalated into something more.

Please, I beg you, Red Paladin-

"Give me more time, Blue, please..." Keith coughed, feeling the lump in his throat grow. He didn't actually know if Blue was communicating with him, or if he'd actually lost it... he wouldn't really be too surprised.

The voice silenced, the emotions and the pleas, and Keith leaned on the sink counter. He looked up at the mirror and stared blankly at his reflection. Shiro made sure that he cut his hair enough to keep it out of the way, and forced him to take showers... however, there was only so much his older brother figure could enforce, and sleep was not one of them.

He had dark circles under his eyes, and his skin was paler than it had ever been... it also didn't help that at the moment, he had smears of blood on his mouth and chin, and on the bridge of his nose. A small, bitter smile found its way onto Keith's face, and he huffed. He really looked like a crazy person now, damn...

He splashed water on his face, scrubbing the blood away, before he sat down on the toilet with a wet washcloth and a first aid kit. He set about washing his injuries with mechanical, fluid movements-some would say a "practiced ease". He closed the worst of the cuts with butterfly closures, then wrapped gauze around his thighs. He taped the white bandages off, then stood. He looked at the bathroom floor, at the scraps of bandage and cloth, then decided he would come back later to clean it up... maybe.

He left the bathroom and scanned his floor for a pair of loose pants. He eventually found his red pajama pants, which he rarely used, and pulled them on, trying not to dislodge the bandages. He sighed deeply, then left his room, leaving the mess exactly as it was. There was no use in hiding the razor, or cleaning the bloodstains- he was going to tell them anyways.

Keith stood in the hall for a moment, then headed down towards the observatory. It was on one of the upper levels, so he decided to take the elevator. He paused in front of the doors, then forced himself to walk through into the cabin.

"What the heck do you think you're doing?"

"Allura said there's a pool, I'm gonna go check it out... what do you think you're doing?"

"Ugh, same thing."

Keith pinched his arm, pulling himself out of his thoughts. He shouldn't think of that, not right now. Not right now. Not ever.

Unless he had to bring him-

He forcefully pushed the button to the 6th floor, and crossed his arms as the elevator began to rise up smoothly. He hummed something absentmindedly, so he wouldn't think too much, then stormed out of the elevator once it had stopped and the doors had opened. The observatory was just ahead, just behind that door...

"Hey, Keith... do you miss Earth?"

Lance's eyes were far away, and he was calmer than Keith had ever seen him. He cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms.

"I don't know... I mean, I didn't have much." He muttered, shrugging and walking forward so he stood beside Lance's seated figure.

Lance looked up at Keith, his incredibly blue eyes suddenly piercingly focused-focused on him. "Not your shack? Not your friends or family?" He asked.

Keith huffed. "Didn't have any." He said bluntly, trying to ignore the dull ache in his chest.

Lance's brow furrowed. "No friends? Gee, I wonder why, you're such a nice guy." He said dryly.

Keith's heart pounded a little from the pain. "Yeah, maybe that's why my parents left me." He huffed, looking away. There was a silence, then he heard Lance shift awkwardly.

"Shit, Keith... I'm sorry, that was a jerk thing to say..." Lance apologized softly.

I sighed. "It doesn't matter. I'm not upset about it."

Lance barked out a short, crisp laugh. "Yeah, then I'll just have to be upset about it for you." He said, elbowing Keith's calf.

Keith winced. "Jerk."

Lance grinned, and Keith's heart fluttered again. "Whatever, Mullet."

Keith paused in the doorway, seeing that the room wasn't empty.

"Coran?" He called out softly, causing the red-haired man to startle and look around.

Coran saw Keith and relaxed a bit. He offered him a small smile. "Keith, good to see you up and about, but... Hunk was looking for you. Did you find him?" He said, turning around fully.

Keith looked down in guilt. Right. "I-I got sidetracked... sorry." He murmured.

Coran waved his hand dismissively. "I don't think Hunk has it in him to get mad at you about something like that... he did have to deal with a friend who was constantly switching gears... you Earthlings called it ADHD, didn't you?" He rambled.

Keith's heart sank at the mention of the absent, blue eyed Paladin, but he smiled sadly and dug his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants as he approached Coran. He stopped at the Altean's side and looked out at a nebula he didn't recognize... he could have been in a dream, and he wouldn't have been able to tell.

"...I miss him, Coran." He whispered, keeping his eyes trained on the dark expanse before him, not wanting to see the expression on Coran's face.

Keith felt a grip on his shoulder, and Coran sighed. "I do too, Keith... maybe... maybe not in the same way," He chuckled. "but he was like a son to me... it was hard to watch him leave." He murmured, letting his hand fall to his side.

Keith turned his head and watched Coran carefully. His face was an open book of loss and memories, but still he smiled that small, sad smile of his. "Why did you help him leave, then?" He asked, his voice soft. It wasn't an accusation, just a question.

Coran looked at Keith and inhaled deeply. "Well, Keith, it's..." He hesitated, then looked back at the stars. "It's complicated, see... he was feeling lost, and homesick, and-I hate to say it, because he just wasn't, but-he was feeling useless." Coran sighed. "I lost my son Reylif to those same kinds of thoughts... I wasn't about to let Lance do something that-" Coran stopped mid sentence, then cursed quietly as Keith shuffled his feet. "...Quiznak, Keith, I'm so sorry, I forgot-"

"Don't be sorry, Coran, I'm fine." Keith breathed. He forced himself to fake a tiny, hopefully reassuring smile. "Honestly. It doesn't bother me like that." He muttered. He wasn't really lying... sure, it bothered him, but otherwise, it didn't really affect him. His brain was fucked up anyways, it couldn't be made much worse.

"But, Keith-"

"Can you tell me about Lance?" Keith asked, cutting Coran off. He glued his eyes to a bright star far off in the distance, and a small, almost genuine smile graced his features. "You two were close, I'm sure you have good stories." He added, glancing at Coran.

'Anything, anything to make me make up my mind about this whole thing...' He pleaded to no one in particular.

Coran laughed softly. "Well, now... he was teaching me his mother language." He said with a chuckle.

Keith huffed. "You? Spanish?"

Coran grinned and replied with an accent-mutilated "Sí!"

Keith actually laughed a little at that. "That must have been interesting..." He hummed.

Coran nodded, settling himself down on the steps in the observatory floor. "Oh, wouldn't you know it! He was actually a very good teacher!" He laughed.

Keith sat next to him, placing his elbows on his knees. His thighs stung, but he barely noticed. "What else?" He pressed, intent on his "mission".

Coran drummed his fingers on the cool, smooth floor. "He said he loved to dance... and sing. I caught him doing it late at night in the kitchen." He frowned playfully. "I suspect he might've gotten into the Nunvil that night, because as soon as he saw me, he ran like a startled aarlope!" He crowed. He tweaked his mustache. "Not to mention, there was considerably less Nunvil in that bottle after that... I always thought he hated it." He mused.

Keith chuckled. "I think I remember that night, he came into my room by mistake... I think you're right, he'd definitely gotten into the Nunvil." Keith recalled, closing his eyes as the flickering of a memory began to pull at his attention.

"...Hey, Keith, why're you in my room?" Lance asked, sounding just as dazed as he looked. And... was that an accent?

Keith cocked an eyebrow and set down his knife, which he'd been cleaning. He stood from his bed. "...This is my room, Lance... are you okay? You look a little-" Lance giggled, and Keith blinked. "-off." He finished slowly.

Lance suddenly walked forwards and grabbed Keith's shoulders. He grinned widely, and his blue eyes seemed to shine brighter than any star that Keith had ever seen. "I don't hate you, Keith... jus' thought you should know that!" He cheered, before he patted Keith's shoulders and walked backwards towards the door, which activated the mechanism and slid open to let him through. "I'll be going to my room now! Hasta la later, amigo!" Lance's slightly swaying figure disappeared as the doors closed, leaving a confused and mildly flustered Keith standing, alone, in the middle of his room.

"Keith?"

Keith shook his head and smiled. "Just... remembering it." He caught Coran's worried stare and sighed. "It... helps, Coran, believe it or not... I'm not just torturing myself."

Lies.

Coran shrugged a little and laced his fingers together. "There was also the time he tried to skip straight to level 15 with the training bot... as bad as it looked, it was also quite amusing."

Keith scoffed. "Right..." He murmured. He remembered that too... and he remembered what the others didn't.

He remembered he-

-left his room, very late in the artificial night they'd set for sleeping, and began to wander the halls.

He gasped quietly when he heard a door slide open at the end of the hall, and he ducked around the corner, his hand on his knife, which he kept on him at all times.

Keith's eyes narrowed. Was there somehow an intruder in the castle? He relaxed a bit. No, the alarms would have gone off... it was probably just Shiro... despite what he said, his PTSD seemed to be pretty bad, keeping him up some nights, making him almost constantly on edge.

Keith stood slowly from where he had crouched. No harm in checking on him then. He was about to leave his hiding place when the source of the noise ran by, quieter than Keith thought someone could move on the metal floors of the Castleship.

He blinked.

Lance?

He moved without thinking, following the Blue Paladin through the halls of the ship as the taller boy wound his way through the labyrinth of passages to the training deck. Keith watched, eyebrow cocked in curiosity and confusion, as Lance checked that his armor was on and fully secure. The Cuban boy nodded to himself, then pulled a staff from the weapons rack.

"Start training level 7!" He called out, sounding oddly determined for someone who goofed off so much during group training.

Keith watched, awed, for who knew how long, as Lance worked his way through the battle with the Gladiator. He wasn't having an easy time of it, far from it; he was sweating, and had taken multiple blows; he was working hard.

Keith had lost track of time, and only barely managed to run and hide out of sight from Lance as he finished Level 8 and seemed to call it a night.

Keith watched Lance a few times after that, not letting him know that he knew. He felt just a little bit creeper-ish, but...

His determination was incredible.

"Yes, he was quite the determined boy." Coran smiled, closing his eyes after seeming to pick up on what Keith was thinking... even though Keith knew that wasn't possible, even for an alien race like Alteans. "...I'm glad he was here for a few years at least... better than never having met him at all..." There was a heavy silence, and Coran nudged Keith with his elbow. "-but hey! When this war's over, the first place we go, I promise... we'll meet Lance again."

Keith smiled bitterly at the thought.

Once again, the thought of telling the others what the Blue Lion had asked of him made his heart skip a beat.

What would he do when he saw him again?

Keith stood up slowly, dusting off the backs of his thighs. "...Thanks, Coran. That was nice." He patted Coran's shoulder as he turned and left the room. "Enjoy the view... I'm going to go to my room... I'm tired." He muttered.

"Alright, my boy... anytime you need to talk, just come and find me!" Coran cheered, his voice betraying a pity that Keith hated to hear.

Keith clenched his fists, but kept his mouth shut as he left the observatory.

He needed more time to think...

                                                                                                                           .oOo.

Keith entered the room hesitantly, limping ever so slightly, and placed a hand on Hunk's shoulder. The taller man gasped and spun around, then sighed.

"You scared the life outta me, man... I mean, you were always quiet, but jeez..." He huffed, clutching his armored chest.

Keith looked down at his feet. "...Sorry... and sorry I didn't meet up with you again in the common room last night, I just..." He trailed off, not sure what to say. His thighs stung furiously, and he clenched his teeth.

Hunk offered Keith a smile. "Hey, man, it's all good, I get it, you just needed some alone time. No harm done."

Keith sighed and made himself smile back. "Still, I'm sorry." He winced a little and shifted on his feet, trying to relieve the pain of the skin tight suit irritating his bandaged injuries.

Hunk frowned. "Hey, you alright, Keith? You look like you're in pain." He asked, lowering his voice a little so Shiro, who stood a little ways off, wouldn't hear.

Keith took a deep breath. 'Now or never. Get it over with.' "Actually, Hunk, I-I meant to tell you last night, but I- uh- I may have rel-"

"Alright, Paladins! Are we ready?" Allura called out as she strode into the room, cutting Keith off. Hunk shot him a curious look, and Keith shook his head, mouthing 'later'. Hunk nodded, understanding that it wasn't something to just be mentioned in passing, and turned to pay attention to Allura.

Shiro looked up at the white haired Altean, his arms crossed over his broad chest. "What exactly are we doing?" He asked, tilting his head a little. The rest of the team looked just as confused, which made Keith worried that this was one of Allura's brand new, loosely planned ideas.

Allura gestured around the control deck. "We're going to try and come up with choreographed evasive maneuvers- Coran will be here to fire the Castle's defense and offence while we work it out." She explained-somewhat vaguely-with a deceivingly sweet smile.

The remaining Paladins glanced at each other, and Keith cleared his throat, reminded of Shiro's words about him having to question Allura's... unusual methods of training.
"Allura, shouldn't we sit down and plan first? It might wield better-" Much to his chagrin, he was interrupted yet again.

"Nonsense! Zarkon-whenever he pops up again-is not going to give us time to 'sit down and plan'. We may not be having much trouble with the empire at the moment, but we need to be prepared for anything- now, any more questions?" She said.

The group stayed silent, and Allura grinned and clapped her hands together in apparent joy. "Perfect! Let's get to our Lions!"

Without another word, Keith turned to his door to the hangar and began his smooth-yet very time consuming, he had to admit-descent into the Red Lion's hangar. He sighed to himself and shook his head. He'd tell them all later... about everything.

.

.

.

Or, maybe not, fate seemed to dislike Keith Kogane.

Black, Red, Green, and Yellow all hovered outside the Castle in the open space of what Keith learned was the Hyprocant system, waiting. Keith's heart pounded in apprehension.

'Come on, Blue, not now...' He begged silently. He swore he could feel a stubborn strengthening of resolve from the said Lion, and Keith huffed.

"Allura, what's going on?" Shiro asked over the comms, breaking into Keith's thoughts.

"Is Blue being moody again?" Pidge muttered, absentmindedly piloting Green in a lazy circle. Hunk snickered.

Allura groaned. "She's... she's completely shut me out! Her particle barrier is up!" She said in slight disbelief. The whole situation sounded oddly familiar, and Keith's heart ached.

'I miss him...' Keith thought, his eyebrows drawing together in pain.

Then bring him back. Blue said firmly.

It took a moment for Keith to realize why the team had gone silent. His heart dropped. 'Shit.'

"Did you guys... hear that?" Pidge whispered.

Chaos burst out over the comms.

"Blue, what do you mean?"

"How are we hearing her?"

"Why won't you let me in!?"

Keith's grip on the controls tightened, and Red purred comfortingly to him. His eyes slammed shut.

Bring him back. Blue repeated.

"Bring who-"

"Lance."

The team went silent and Keith's gravelly voice cut through the noise.

Keith took in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. He opened his eyes. He licked his dry lips, and a mental image of Lance's smiling, practically glowing face shimmered in his mind- and judging from the collective intake of breath from the team, everyone else had seen it as well.

Keith bit the inside of his cheek, then spoke.

"She wants us to bring Lance back." He rasped.

More silence. Keith sucked in a slightly trembling breath.

"She needs us to."

.... There's only one Spanish word in this, and do I really have to translate Sí  for y'all?

Really?

lol.

See ya next time, guys. Hope you liked!

Chapter Text

'Mamá.'

He wasn't comfortable, wherever he was. He gritted his teeth and shifted.

'Mamá, why did you believe me so easily?'

Lance vaguely felt something touch his shoulder, and he brushed away the thought, trying to cling to the quickly fading dream, trying to remember-remember when-or where-

'Lance, niño, where have-'

'-worried m-'

'-you've been dr-'

"Angel-Angelo, c'mon-"

Lance gasped at the sudden realization that something was grabbing his arm, his right arm, he needed that for his bayard, he needed that free-

His left hand swung around towards whoever had his arm, and his eyes shot open wide. His legs tensed and he searched for ground, and for one desperate moment, he was hanging, scrabbling for purchase-

Someone caught the oncoming punch -as if they'd expected it- and immediately the voices registered in his brain.

"Angelo, calma, hermano!"

Lance's blurred vision focused on the hazel eyes that were right in front of him, his racing heartbeat slowing to a normal pace as he recognized the face before him.

"Desiderio-" Lance breathed, and Desiderio managed a small smile as he huffed. Lance looked to his right, where Decarlos had caught his hand in his. César- a medium sized, beige dog that looked like a lab mix- was barking quietly, tail wagging at the excitement. Guilt stabbed at his chest, and he quickly withdrew his hand. "I-I'm so sorry, I just-"

"It's all good, hermano." Decarlos smiled, his eyebrows tilting in sympathy as he let his hands fall slowly to his sides. It had obviously been him who was trying to wake Lance up, and judging by how quickly he'd reacted to Lance's attack, he'd been expecting it.

Lance groaned and rubbed his hands down his face. "No, it's not, don't lie... Jeez..." There was no response, and he nodded a little to himself. He liked that about Desiderio and Decarlos, once they were called out on shit, they wouldn't fight it. Keeping his eyes on his lap, Lance placed his hands on the arms of the chair he was sitting in. He figured that's why he couldn't find his footing in his half asleep state... he must have been standing in his dream.

Lance frowned as he rose out of his seat. What had he been dreaming about? He straightened up and looked at Decarlos in confusion. "Why'd you wake me up?" He asked. He winced after he'd said it. "I-I'm not mad, or anything, just curious-"

Decarlos laughed quietly and placed his hand on Lance's shoulder. "It's fine, Angel. You were having a nightmare, I think, and it's late, so we thought we'd wake you." He explained, looking concerned. "Are you alright? You look a little dazed." He went on.

Lance smiled and shook his head. "I'm fine, Decarlos... thanks for waking me up." 'I know it wasn't a nightmare... what was it?' He thought to himself as he turned his gaze to Desiderio, who was watching him carefully. "Do you know what time it is, Desi?" He asked, trying to change the subject.

Desiderio pulled his phone out of his pocket and clicked the home button, glancing at it before turning it to face Lance. The bright lights seemed to stab at his retinas, and the numbers doubled in his vision. He frowned, squinting at the screen. Desiderio raised an eyebrow and put the phone away. "It's around 9:40... compañero, are you okay?" He asked, touching Lance's chin and gently turning his head towards him.

Lance chuckled and brushed Desiderio's hand away slowly. "I'm fine, Desi. I just don't think I'm sober yet." He guessed, shrugging.

Decarlos and Desiderio exchanged a glance, just quick enough that had Lance blinked, he would have missed it. He groaned. "Stop communicating tele-telep-shit-telepathically." Lance muttered, tripping up a little on the word. He swore under his breath. He'd always had trouble with some words, and it wasn't helping him in this scenario. And the second glance between his two friends only irritated him further. His shoulders slumped and he watched them with one eyebrow raised. "You want me to walk a straight line? I'm fine." He muttered.

Desiderio snorted. "Alright, alright, buddy, we believe you." He laughed, gently shoving Lance.

Decarlos didn't look as convinced. "Do you nee-want a ride home, Angel?" He asked, crossing his arms across his chest.

Lance lifted one foot off the ground, partially to be sarcastic, and partially to actually test his balance. He made a show of thinking it over, then placed his foot back on the floor. "Nope. I'm all good. I can walk-all by myself, imagine that." This remark earned him a soft kick in the calf. "Ow! Okay, okay, I'm sorry, I'll stop!" Lance snickered, dancing out of the way. He started to make his way to the door. "Thanks for waking me up, guys. Sorry I wasn't much company." He said, feeling the guilt start to spread from his lungs to his stomach. Was he ever going to be anything but a waste of space?

Ha. Spac-

"Angelo, seriously... are you okay? You sound-" Desiderio stopped as Lance turned to look at them, and the taller man looked at Decarlos for help.

Decarlos chewed on his lip, then uncrossed his arms. "...sad?" He offered.

Lance bit the inside of his cheek, thinking it over. Was he sad? Yes. Was he going to tell the truth? "I-I'm alright, just-you know, had a bit of a nightmare." He chuckled weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. He placed his hand on the doorknob and César took notice, prancing towards the door and jumping up on Lance's legs, nearly knocking him over. Decarlos called out a reprimand, and Lance laughed, kneeling down to scratch the dog's neck. He stood, still ruffling César's short fur, and smiled at his two friends. "I'll make it up to you- dinner tomorrow night? I'll pay." He offered, standing with his back pressed against the wall next to the door, shoulders tense.

Decarlos opened his mouth, probably to insist that 'no, there was no need for Angelo to 'make it up' to them', but Desiderio shot him a quick look. Decarlos shut his mouth and Desiderio grinned at Lance. "It's fine, Angel, but sure, sounds good. We're both free tomorrow." He said cheerfully, waving at Lance.

Lance smiled a little. He knew that Desiderio was only accepting so that Lance wouldn't feel like he owed them something, but it was good that he'd be able to make it up to them. "Cool. And you know, I always love to see you, Desi, but I hope that you don't have to make up for Riel again tomorrow- I'll see if Fernán can find someone else if Riel can't make it." He promised, turning the knob on the door and gently nudging César with his foot so the dog wouldn't run outside with him.

Desiderio seemed genuinely relieved at this information as he sighed dramatically and draped himself over Decarlos' shoulder. "That would be heaven, Angelo. Thank you." He laughed.

Lance grinned, happy to see he'd cheered at least one of his friends up. He waved at them and took a deep breath of the air conditioned air of Decarlos' house. "Alright. I'll see you two tomorrow... have fun!" He winked, opening the door enough to slip outside, just before a pillow hit the wall right where he'd been standing.

"Oof." Lance huffed as the thick, warm, summer air crashed into him. He held the side of the house for a moment, waiting for his reeling head to go back to normal. Finally, after about a half a second, the ground stopped moving under his feet, and he turned away from the house, his steps crunching on the rocky dirt road that led down to the main street.

Lance sighed, and tilted his head back so he could watch the sky. The expanse above him was perfectly clear- despite the humidity, clouds had yet to gather, and the stars seemed to glare down at him, twinkling innocently.

His vision doubled again, and he scoffed, letting his gaze drop to the skyline, where the massive, rotating solar panels dominated the horizon.

"Stars don't twinkle in space." He muttered to himself as he turned onto the main road. He shook his head and tucked his hands into his pockets, as memories of the hours he would spend in the Castleship's observatory, staring into the black expanse, wishing that the stars would shimmer, flicker, offer him some familiarity of home; they never would. They hung, still, suspended in oblivion as they maintained an intense staring contest . Of course, the stars never winked, and Lance would never admit that the tears in his eyes were anything but basal- saline tears meant to protect his eyes dry corneas.

Lance growled and kicked a rock with a little more vengeance than he'd intended. It struck a large dumpster at the mouth of an alley, and two startled yelps echoed from the dark.

"Ey, watch it, singao!" A man's voice called out. Lance rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Disculpe..." He half-called out, not fully willing to apologize. Whether the man heard him or not, Lance wouldn't know. Not that he cared. It was probably just some guy with a prostitute, nothing for him to worry about.

Although, he didn't particularly love being called singao, in any case.

Lance snorted, remembering a time when he himself had called Keith something to that effect, after the black haired boy had accidentally rammed Blue with his own lion. He'd said it in Spanish, of course, mixed in with other sputtered words of a colorful response, but he'd still gotten scolded by Shiro, seeing as the intent and the quiet choking noise from Hunk's suppressed laughter made it obvious what he'd said.

Lance lurched in his seat as Red slammed, full-force, into Blue as Lance was rounding the corner of the Galra battle cruiser. His neck cracked painfully as the jolt gave him whiplash, and Lance cried out in pain and shock. ""Keith! estás jodidamente ciego?! Mira a dónde estás volando, hijo de puta! Dios, cabeza de pinga!" The words were really only meant to make himself feel better, but the comms were on, and the tone made his meaning clear.

"Lance! It doesn't matter what language you're speaking, you still have to watch it!" Shiro snapped, voice crackling in Lance's ears. "And Keith, make sure you watch where you're going-"

Lance gasped as his foot hit a crack in the sidewalk, and he staggered. His hands shot out and he grabbed the wall of a building to catch himself. He looked around hazily, seeing that there were a few people across the street looking at him and chuckling, and that he was already at the end of the main road, and his apartment complex was coming up.

Lance shook his head as he righted himself. Damn memories would pop up, no matter how much he wanted to forget them... he wondered if he had anything in his fridge back at the apartment, so he could get to sleep easier... sometimes, sleep provided an escape... well, rarely, if he was being honest, but rarely was better than nothing. But when "rarely" didn't happen, his memories would resurface, good and bad (usually bad), and make his chest ache for some reason or another.

Lance frowned as he continued his walk back to his apartment. He'd been experiencing some sort of memory when Decarlos and Desiderio had woken him up, right? It wasn't bad, he didn't think... There were no shouts, or staticky comms, or the shriek of metal as it expanded and exploded from the heat of a well placed shot from his gun or Red's white hot blaster...

Vaguely aware that he was climbing the steps to the balcony walkway that would lead to his door, Lance reached into his pocket and pulled out his key, all the while racking his brain for anything that felt familiar. No recycled, cold, Castleship air... no disembodied voice and the metal footfalls of the training bots-

His keys scratched against the keyhole, leaving yet another pale score-mark in the metal as Lance cursed his blurry vision. He was too tired for this shit. He wasn't even that drunk, only tipsy... he'd been up since four thirty, and the only sleep he'd gotten was the broken, restless nap at Decarlos' house.

After an infuriating moment, he succeeded in unlocking the door, and soon he was inside, the door safely locked behind him, keys on the kitchen counter, and his fingers fighting with the stubborn pull tab of a cold beer can as he fought back to the urge to check every room of his small apartment, just to make sure no enemies lurked in the shadows.

He collapsed onto his old, second-hand couch (given to him by his older brother, Luis- he wasn't desperate enough to risk bedbugs or other crawling horrors) and took a sip of his drink, placing his feet on the coffee table after toeing his sandals off of his calloused and torn up feet.

Mind still half-searching for the lost dream, he remembered that he still hadn't called his mother-'She might be worried...' He thought as he pulled out his phone and opened the dial-pad. He carefully typed out the first three letters, then pressed the icon that said Home. He took another sip as he held the phone to his ear.

One ring.

Dos.

"Mijo! It's late!" Lance laughed quietly, and his mother continued. "Well, it's late for you, anyways... how was your day, mi alma?" She asked, her voice soft.

Lance smiled into the metal top of the can. "...long, mamá, I'm not gonna lie... the weekend'll be a relief." He chuckled.

"...Mijo..." Something in her tone made Lance's mind perk up. 'There!' He thought. 'That was part of the dre-' "Have you been dr-"

"No, no, mamá, no, I haven't!" Lance lied quickly, already knowing the question she was asking. "No, I'm just-I'm very tired, mamá, it's been a long day, and they were short on people at the docks... I'm going to bed soon, but I wanted to call you first." He said, trying to place the reason for his slow speech on another culprit.

"...alright, mijo. I believe you." Angela sighed. "You'd better not be lying." She said, her voice betraying the fact that she was only half-teasing him.

Lance chewed on his lip as he placed the beer can on the coffee table as quietly as he could. "Of course I'm not, mamá..." He murmured. He could feel his head still reeling as he searched for the memory-something about lying-believing-something-

Lance's eyes widened a little and he grinned triumphantly as he finally grasped onto the memory. Duh, of course, how could he forget that-

"Lance, I know you're not listening to me." Angela's voice reached him preventing him from thinking too deep on his new-found memory.

He blinked, then scrambled to regain control of his tongue. "Ah-sh-sorry, mamá, I'm sorry, I just-" His lips stumbled over his words as he tried to get them out, and Angela laughed softly, cutting him off.

"Go to bed, mijo... you need to sleep it off."

Regret and guilt once again resumed their attacks on Lance's lungs, and he sighed, sinking back into the couch. "You don't miss anything, do you, mamá?" He asked sadly, his voice quiet.

There was a small pause. "Not with you, mijo." Angela responded. Lance heard the clink of dishes in the background, and he could almost picture his father busying himself over the sink after dinner.

Lance closed his eyes and leaned back into the couch. "...I'm sorry, mamá, I just- I didn't want you to worry..." He muttered lamely, shame tinging his words.
"It's what a mother is supposed to do, mi corazon. I can't help it." Angela murmured in reply.

Lance exhaled slowly, then smiled. "You don't need to worry about my health, that much I can say." He said, his voice certain. That was the one thing he wasn't lying about. He was fine, he was safe. He was okay. "Te amo, mamá." He added, blowing her a kiss through the phone and causing her to laugh a little.

"Te amo, mijo. Sleep well." Angela said, keeping her voice light.

"You too, mamá." He said, smiling. "Good night."

"Good night, Lance."

He heard the click of the phone being replaced onto the hook, and he hung up the phone on his end of the line. Huffing at himself, he tossed his phone onto the couch beside him. He leaned his head back and stared at the water stained ceiling for a moment, then closed his eyes, breathing in deeply.

He didn't need to sleep for the memory to return to him this time. He cringed a little, remembering it. He was definitely in a bad place then. It was only a couple months after he'd returned, right before things went down the drain...

"Mamá..." Lance murmured quietly, trying not to frighten the older woman. For someone so off balance, he'd entered the kitchen with pretty much no sound.

It didn't work. Angela jumped a little, the spun around, a soapy glass still in her hand. Upon seeing who it was, she smiled and set down the glass. "Lance, niño, where have you been? You worried me!" Angela sighed, wiping her hands dry on her apron. She stopped in front of Lance, frowning. "You've been drinking again..." She noticed, reaching up and touching Lance's flushed, copper cheek.

Lance chuckled a little and placed his hand over Angela's. "Sí, lo siento, mamá..." He trailed off, closing his eyes. After a moment, he shook his head. "Mamá, why did you believe me so easily? About... about space, and the war, and... everything?" Lance asked quietly.

Angela's hand tensed, and she hesitated. Lance opened his eyes and pleaded silently with her, begging for the truth. Upon seeing his expression, Angela sighed and took Lance's free hand. "Let's... sit down, Lance... this is going to be a lot for you, I think." She said finally.

Swallowing nervously, Lance took a seat at the kitchen table, feeling lightheaded... and he wasn't sure that it was completely the liquor's fault.

Angela sat next to Lance, facing him in her chair. She took in a deep breath, then nodded once. "I... I met one... a... a Galra, Lance... just two years before you were born." Angela confessed.

Lance's heart skipped a beat, and his mouth fell open. "You-I-what? A Galra? Here? On Earth?" He paused, then continued. "In Cuba? Not even America? That's where it seems all aliens used to go, space-type or otherwise!" He half-joked with a nervous laugh.

Angela smiled weakly, then went on. "It was a day after a massive hurricane hit, hurricane Irma... she had gotten separated from her group during the storm, and she washed up on the beach." She said.

Lance held up a hand. "Hold on; a female Galra? We never saw any pure blood female Galra... not that it matters, I guess... sorry." He murmured, letting his hand drop into his lap again.

Angela laughed a little. "Anyways... I was terrified, at first, but I-I don't know, she was barely breathing, and-and it was just after- after what happened with Raul-" Her voice caught in her throat, and she paused. Then, she cleared her throat and continued. "I brought her to the house, your father helped. We washed and dried her, fed her, and gave her a place to stay until her group found her again." She smiled. "She didn't speak much, Spanish, English, or otherwise, but she was kind. When Maria tripped and skinned her knee, she was over there before I was... she said she was a medic of sorts... she was mostly blind, too, but it didn't stop her from fixing Maria up before I could ask 'what happened'."

Lance was dumbstruck. "What... what group was she in?" He asked. He leaned forward, placing his elbows onto his knees and clasping his hands together. "Did she say?" He knew it didn't matter now, but if this Galra had been on the wrong side, and she was near Angela... well, there was nothing he could do except for thank the Ancients that she and the family were unscathed.

Angela frowned, thinking hard. "She said it was the... the blade of Manorah?" She mumbled. Lance's eyes grew wide. "Blade of Monarah? Something like that..." She said.

"The Blade of Marmora..." Lance rasped, his mouth slightly agape.

Angela looked up at Lance. "Y-yes... she said there was a war, and she was fighting for freedom, and she was going to... to protect Earth." She smiled, then met Lance's eyes. "And then, 22 years later, after you've disappeared, you return and say that you're fighting the same war." She finished. She sighed. "How was I supposed to think you were lying?" She asked, not sounding like she needed an answer.

Lance's head reeled. A female Galra from the Blade of Marmora had stayed in this very house 22 years before, and his family...

"And you didn't tell anyone? That you had an insanely tall, purple alien as your house guest?" He asked incredulously.

Angela shrugged. "I didn't need the trouble, she didn't either, and she had a mission... who was I to hinder her?" She replied easily. She smiled. "Besides, she was quite a wonderful guest." She added playfully.

Lance swallowed and shook his head. "Her... her name... do you remember her name?" He asked quietly.

Angela nodded. "How could I forget?" She breathed deeply. "Amarita... she called herself Amar, and the kids called her Amarilla." She chuckled. "That's part of the reason I remembered... her eyes were a bright, glowing yellow." She whispered, her eyes misting over as she looked past Lance into some long-ago memory.

Well, that settled it; she was telling the truth... Lance hadn't mentioned the Galra's yellow eyes to anyone, so Angela couldn't have possibly known about them unless he had seen them for herself.

"Alright, mijo, you need to sleep." Angela's voice broke gently into Lance's racing, confused thoughts, and he looked up dazedly at his mother. If she was worried, she didn't show it in her warm smile, nor in the weathered, lined hand she held out to Lance from where she stood. She'd learned (almost the hard way) that touching Lance without warning, or otherwise startling him was a bad idea... trauma from battle, Lance supposed, but nevertheless, it was something he needed to work on, if he ever wanted to be a functioning member of society again.

Lance smiled reassuringly at his mother as he took her hand. She helped him up, and Lance pulled her into a hug. "Thank you for telling me, mamá... it's good to know, for some reason." He murmured. Tears welled in his eyes, and he held her tighter. "Dios, I'm so glad you're all okay." He laughed quietly. He took a breath, then pulled away. He held Angela's hands and looked her in the eyes. He was still amazed how the blues in her eyes almost perfectly matched his. "I'm going into town tomorrow, I'm going to look for a job... something physical, I, uh... have too much energy." He said with a weary grin.

Angela's face seemed to light up. "The docks are always looking for extra hands." She offered, nodding. Her smile softened, and her eyes swam a little. She touched his cheek again. "...I'm so glad you're getting back out into the world, mijo, they're missing out on a great boy... but take your time, please... now-" She let go of Lance's hand and lightly smacked him upside the head. "Teeth, face, bed! Sleep it off, I'm getting you up early to get ready!" She cheered, gently shoving Lance towards the stairs.

Lance laughed. "Alright, mamá, I'm going!" He said, making his way halfway up the stairs. He paused, then looked at Angela and blew her a kiss. "Te amo, mamá." He said happily, even if his voice betrayed his deep-set confusion.

Angela smiled softly at Lance. "Tomorrow's another day, Lance. It will be better." She promised, making Lance's eyebrows draw together in a sad smile. Angela breathed out slowly, then pointed up the stairs. "Bed, mijo." She repeated jokingly, before she disappeared back into the kitchen.

Lance sighed, leaned against the banister, and ruffled his hair. 'It's gonna be a long day tomorrow, Alvarez...' He thought.

Lance scoffed quietly. "Better get some sleep..." he mumbled, remembering what he'd said to himself as he had been walking up the stairs that night. He pressed his hands to his face and pushed the heels of his palms gently against his eyes, groaning to himself. "Why is life such a crazy bitch...?" He complained to the otherwise empty room.

He hated it, how tangled lives could get. His mother meeting a Galra before he was even born, a Blade member no less... him being so attracted to the idea of outer space, which ultimately led him to being accepted into the Garrison, which led to him meeting Hunk and Pidge, which found him on the roof of the Garrison Tech dorms- and he didn't need to think hard to remember what that had led to.

He laughed bitterly as tears pricked at his eyes. He raised his head and dropped his hands. "Should've stayed in bed. Should've let Hunk go up to meet Pidge... They would have dragged him along when the craft crashed... they would have met Keith, someone else would have piloted Blue, brought them to Arus... and then I wouldn't have been let down again..." He chuckled.

He sat still for a moment, then stood up. He left the half empty beer can sitting on the coffee table, where the condensation had begun to make a dark circle on the wood. He walked, letting his brain shut out his surroundings as much as he could, into his small half-bathroom, where he brushed his teeth and washed his face, avoiding looking at the mirror above the sink.

He didn't need to be reminded of how much of a mess he looked.

He flicked off the lights, letting his memory lead him to his room. He lay down on his bed, pulling at the tangled sheet until it covered his lower half.

He stared into the dark, watching colors and patterns shift in his vision, before he closed his eyes.

"Tomorrow will be better."

"Tomorrow is another day."

"And it will be better."

Lance frowned as he felt his body starting to drift off to sleep.

"It will...."

Hermano- I feel like I don't have to translate this one, but it means Brother (Term of endearment among friends).

Compañero- Term of endearment among friends, especially in Cuba.

Mi corazon, mi alma- My heart, my soul, terms of endearment among people (even strangers, in some cases (In Cuba)).

Calma- I think you can guess this one.

Estás jodidamente ciego?! Mira a dónde estás volando, hijo de puta! Dios, cabeza de pinga!- Pretty much translates directly to "Are you fucking blind? Look where you're flying, son of a bitch! God, ....dick head.
(Cabeza de pinga is apparently a Cuban insult, so I jumped on the opportunity to use it, haha.)

Singao- Another Cuban insult which essentially translates to "fucker".

Te amo- Oh come on, you guys know this one.

Disculpe- I'm sorry/Pardon (more of an excuse me than an "I'm sorry").

Lo siento- I'm sorry.

Mijo- A term of endearment among family, a shortened form of Mi Hijo (My son). *Fun fact, I tried to check this with Google Translate, and sometimes it translates it to Millet XD*

Sorry for being gone so long! School's been a hassle, and a writer's block's had me pinned down, but I think it's going away... therefore, this chapter may not be my best work, but I figured it's better late (and not amazing) than never!

Also, sorry for more Spanish to English translations, but some words just fit better than the English ones, and I could resist throwing in that long rant... it was funny to write.

Hope you enjoyed, though!

Thanks for reading!

Chapter Text

Mm mm.

No, no.

No.

"You knew about this?!"

"For how long?"

No...

"Keith, you know you can't keep information like that to yourself!"

"What if we actually had to form Voltron?!"

"Keith, are you listening?"

"Keith, you have to-"

"Keith-"

The Red Paladin drew in a shuddering breath, clenching his fists in his lap. The Paladin armor was cold against his skin, but it was doing nothing to soothe the heat that was rising in his chest.

He couldn't deal with this.

"Keith, are you even listening-"

"Allura, please-"

"Princess-"

Keith jumped as a heavy hand fell on the shoulder plate of his armor, and his heart rate sky rocketed.

"Allura, it's not that big a dea-"

"Hunk, while I normally appreciate your judgement, in this case-"

"Look at him, Allura!"

'No, please don't look at me.' Keith grumbled silently, exhaling and lifting his head just a little. "I..." His voice was just quiet enough to be a whisper, and the room went silent, waiting. Keith's eyes traveled tentatively to Allura's face.

He flinched, recognizing the emotions there: hurt, betrayal, anger, confusion- all the emotions he'd heard in Lance's voice when Blue first shut him out... the same feelings that poured down his cheeks when Red had closed himself off after Keith had returned from his time with the Blade of Marmora.

"I'm sorry..." His voice broke, and he tried to cover it with a small, choking laugh. He heard Hunk murmur a protest as Keith slowly stood up to face Allura, trying to muster up some of his old conviction- some of his remaining dignity. "I-I only- I only knew yesterday... I-I-" he felt a lump forming in his throat and his brow furrowed in irritation. 'What the hell?!'  He thought angrily. He coughed and continued.

"After I left Hunk, I-I found myself in Blue's hangar, and she-" He cut himself off, reminding himself of the hurt in Allura's eyes; she didn't need to know that Blue had let her particle barrier down for him. That would kill her.

"She-she told me to... to bring him... bring Lance-" His lip trembled. "-back." He forced out with a grimace.

'What the fuck is wrong with you?!'

'You're not Keith!'

Allura stepped forward, looking no less angry than before. Shiro tried to put his human hand on her shoulder, but she brushed it away. Her voice shook as she spoke, but her eyes still blazed, making Keith feel even smaller than before. "And why did you not come to anyone immediately? Did you think it was unimportant?!" She stood directly in front of Keith now, her shoulders back. Hunk's hand was still on his shoulder, but it provided little comfort in the cold control deck, under the heated gaze of the Altean. "Did you not think it would affect us!? What if we were attacked!?" She snapped, her lip curling unpleasantly. Her eyes had a sheen of tears that Keith couldn't miss. "What else was so important that it outweighed the safety of the team?!"

Keith's eyes widened, and his hand twitched, longing to grab his thigh out of reflex as the lacerations flared with remembered pain. His breath hitched. "It-" He gasped, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find words, a lie, an excuse to run. Another string; he could imagine the cuts being ripped open beneath his flight suit, dirtying the inside of his armor. He shuddered. "I-I was-"

He heard Pidge say something- he didn't know if it was to him or not- but he couldn't make out the words- it was like he had water in his ears.

'Think something up!'

'Tell them, idiot.'

'This isn't the time, asshole! Stop being selfish!'

Keith straightened up, trying to quell the voices and stop them from tearing him apart. I-I wanted to think it ov-" Tears jumped suddenly to his eyes without his permission- but since when did they ever ask? He sucked in a breath, his face crumpling. "I- fuck- I- oh god..." He wrenched himself away from Hunk's grip, backed away, looked around frantically for an escape. His eyes locked on to the door, and he staggered backwards, away from the protests and outstretched hands of his teammates as the room filled with water, threatening to drown him- he turned and ran, ears shutting out the sounds behind him, the shouts, apologies-

Keith sobbed as he ran, feet carrying him as his hands struggled with the clasps of his chest plate. He barely heard the clatter of his armor- his shoulder, back, chest plates- hitting the floor as he ran. They were quickly followed by the arm protection an flight gloves.

Keith slowed to an uncoordinated stop outside of his room, where he clung to the wall as ugly, loud tears twisted his face. "What the hell- is wrong with me?!" He choked out to the wall. He pressed his forehead to the cold metal and clenched his teeth. "Fuck!" He screamed, pulling back his fist and slamming it into the solid, unforgiving wall. He cried out as his knuckles screamed in protest, but he only did it again, twice, before he switched to the other hand. "You have no fucking right to feel like this! You self-loathing son of a whore! Pull your life together, god damn it!" He roared at the blurred shape reflected in the metal wall. He snarled, and he wound up for another punch-

"Keith!"

A warm hand caught his fist, and Keith's resolve and fury disintegrated. He crumbled, knees hitting the floor. A large figure, clad is yellow and white armor, followed, still holding Keith's clenched fists to prevent more potential damage.

Keith looked up, eyes wide and probably bloodshot. "What the fuck happened to me!?" He wailed, ripping his hands free so he could place them on either side of Hunk's neck, desperate for contact, desperate for an answer.

Hunk's pained expression offered no such thing, ad the only thing he could do was gather Keith into his arms, trying to ignore the unusual feeling of bone- Keith had lost a lot of weight when Lance had left, and he'd never fully gained it back.

"What... what's wrong with me, Hunk?" Keith's shaking voice was quieter now, but the worry betrayed by Hunk's furrowed brow didn't lessen as he squeezed the older pilot tighter "Why can't I just- just not-" Keith cried, chest heaving. "I hate it! I can't stop doing things! I make bad decisions, I don't think, I keep fucking up!" He sniffled, and his hands tensed. "Last-last night- what was more import-important than t-telling you all about Blue was- I went and- my-" His body curled in shame. "-I need- my legs- my- I hurt my-" He couldn't finish his sentence, and a slightly hysterical laugh bubbled up in his chest. "God, I'm like a goddamn child! I'm almost 23, and I'm acting like I'm 7!" He giggled, not knowing how to at anymore.

Hunk took in a breath, then grabbed Keith's upper arms carefully. He stood, pulling Keith gently to his feet as well, and he helped him the few steps to his door. "...let's take care of your legs, alright?" He murmured softly.

Keith hiccuped, wiping furiously at his eyes as he nodded. The door slid open, revealing his cluttered room to the Yellow Paladin, who hadn't seen it in at least a month. If he thought anything of the mess, he didn't say, to Keith's relief. He only sat Keith down on his bed, took the razor that lay on his nightstand, and disappeared into the bathroom. He reappeared moments later with the first aid kit, quietly telling Keith to take off the rest of his armor and his flight suit. Keith hesitated, then slowly complied as Hunk began to take off his own armor, leaving him in the black flight suit that allowed for more movement.

Keith sat silently on the bed as Hunk knelt on the floor next to him with the open first aid kit. Keith watched the opposite wall as Hunk worked the blood encrusted bandages off the cuts. Something beeped quietly and steadily in the room. Soft footsteps sounded outside, faltering a little outside Keith's door, before they continued on.

Keith's quiet sniffles and hiccups subsided as he calmed down. The tears dried, leaving his face feeling tight and itchy. He glanced down at his body, which as bare except for his boxers. He knew he should feel more self conscious than he did, but he couldn't bring himself to. Hunk had done this before. Keith inhaled through his nose. "...did you throw it away?" He rasped after a while, as Hunk was cleaning his thighs with a disinfectant.

Hunk's face remained neutral. "Yeah. Are there others I should know about?" Hunk replied, his voice quiet.

Keith closed his eyes, feeling terrible that he wished Hunk hadn't thrown the blade away. "I wish." He admitted.

"Not an option. Sorry, buddy." Hunk said firmly as he taped a bandage securely over a particularly bad cut. Keith opened his eyes and watched as Hunk worked, his fingers steady and his movements certain.

"...why are you so good at this?" Keith finally asked, realizing that he never had.

Hunk paused, then sat back on his heels as his eyes took on a distant quality. "...I had a friend a while back who used to... well," He gestured with one head, then continued to bandage Keith's legs. "you know." He finished.

Keith sighed as Hunk placed the last band-aid-like strip. "...I'm sorry." He said.

Hunk smiled sadly up at Keith, before he stood and sat down on the mattress next to him. "They got better." He said, placing a hand on Keith's shoulder. Keith dropped his head, angry that he'd relapsed, that he hadn't gotten better. Hunk seemed to catch on. "Hey. Whatever you're thinking, stop it. It's hard. I get it." He insisted, gently shaking Keith until he looked up again. He smiled when Keith finally met his gaze. "But it is possible to get better. You can't forget that."

Keith exhaled quickly, and shrugged. "Maybe..." He mumbled.

Hunk squeezed his shoulder. "Little steps, buddy. It goes a long way." He stood up and stretched. "Now how about we sort through this mess?" He grinned, pointing at the cluttered floor. "You can't exactly walk around the castle naked. He joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Keith felt a little of the pressure lift from his chest, allowing him to stand. He took a deep breath and dragged his hands own his face. "...you have a point." He said, feeling a small smile tug at his lips.

Hunk gave him a thumbs up as Keith dropped his hands to his sides. "Let's start with finding finding a shirt. How's that sound?"

"...sounds great, Hunk."

The worst part of his occasional breakdowns weren't the moments when they were happening, it was facing the team after the fact.

Keith squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. He was okay now, he could do this. It was just a talk. Allura had been angry, sure, but she was reasonable, she wouldn't be anymore.

Keith walked forward, and the door to the meeting room slid open quietly. The other Paladins and Coran sat at the long table, talking quietly. They looked up as the door opened, and a hush swept over them. Keith's cheeks burned, but they'd been through this before- just so long as he didn't need to answer any questions.

Without a word, Keith walked to the table and sat down next to Pidge, who gave him a soft smile as the others resumed a quiet, apparently unimportant conversation. Keith assumed that Hunk had informed the others of his situation, and he glanced up gratefully at the Yellow Paladin, who sat across from him. Hunk grinned and playfully kicked Keith's boot, earning a small smile and an eye roll from the older man.

"Hey, Keith." Pidge greeted.

Keith looked at Pidge and offered the Green Paladin a little half-smile. "Hey, Pidge." He murmured, his voice not raspy for once, since he'd actually gotten enough sleep the previous night. "How are we feeling today?" He asked.

Pidge nodded. "Tired, but overall good."

Keith gave her a thumbs up, and, thankfully, she didn't shoot his question back at him. He didn't feel like letting the others know about the confusing mess of apathy and anxiety boiling in the pit of his stomach. He drummed his fingers on the table. That was a conversation for another day.

Allura's voice cut into Keith's rambling thought, and he blinked at her. "Hm? I'm sorry, Princess, I didn't catch that. He almost winced at how passive aggressive that sounded- he really didn't mean it that way.

Allura tilted her eyebrows in an odd expression of guilt and sympathy. "I was just... we're sorry for making you wait, Shiro was informing me about a little drone mishap on the training deck. Allura explained.

Keith glanced at his older brother to see that there was a small burn mark on his cheek, and the disgruntled look in his eyes still hadn't completely disappeared, even as he smiled warmly at him.

"And now, since we're done with that, we need to discuss the... current events, I guess you could say." Allura went on, folding her fingers awkwardly in front of her on the table.

There was a brief lapse in sound as everyone remembered what had happened. Hunk was the first one to break the silence.

"My question is why would Blue shut Allura out now? It's not like-" Hunk stopped, then continued without hesitation, as if he'd made up his mind about something. "-It's not like Lance let yesterday- it's been almost two years now, and it had been months since he'd piloted Red or Blue when he left... what's different now?" He asked.

"I can't imagine that Allura did anything to upset Blue..." Shiro mused, placing his chin on the backs of his hands. "And anyways, it's not like Blue is one to get angry and hold a grudge."

"She also wouldn't put the team in danger like this- with our situation the way it is, we can't form Voltron. I know that she and Lance had a strong connection, but..." Keith trailed off, not liking how all eyes were now trained on him. Losing his confidence, he shrugged and looked down at his hands. "Just-just thinking out loud... but we are vulnerable like this." He finished quickly.

Pidge picked up where he left off. "Maybe she just feels like we're stronger when Lance is the Blue Paladin? No offense, Allura." Pidge added quickly. Hurt showed in Allura's eyes, but she waved Pidge off, and the youngest Paladin continued. "Or... I know it's a stretch, but... maybe a virus Or a malfunction of some kind, which is causing her to over look dangerous probabilities?" Pidge offered, her voice unsure.

"For the Lions to malfunction or pick up a virus of any sort would be very rare...so... what if there is no danger?" Coran interjected. Upon receiving several confused and disbelieving stares, he continued. "No large danger, anyways- it's been very quiet lately." He said, picking up a tablet from the table and opening a holographic map. "We have only fought when we've located a supply or prisoner ship and sought them out- recent battles have severely depleted their resources in terms of ships and bases, and with the aid from the Blade of Marmora and Matt's rebels, the attacks against us have all but stopped." He said, pointing to the few spots on the map where recent battles had taken place, before he closed the map and looked up at them. "The Lions were built with a literally otherworldly material, about which not much is known- they became sentient without the use of programming, they developed personalities, and it is very likely- due to Keith's description of the specific dates of arrival in the cave where the Blue Lion was found- that they have the ability to see and perceive what we cannot." Coran said, pulling his moustache. "In short, perhaps the Blue Lion is aware of the circumstances, and knows that we are not in immediate danger. That leaves us free to do what we must."

Silence again. Keith regarded the other Paladins, and noticed they all shared the same hesitant expression. After a moment, as if in a silent agreement, Keith and the other Paladins looked to Shiro to ask the question. "What we must?" He repeated quietly.

Coran gazed at them, his blue eyes piercing. "If the Blue Lion refuses to open up to Allura, and we know who she wants to pilot her, then there is only one option; we don't know how much time we have, and we cannot wait around and stay open like this- like Keith said, we're vulnerable." Coran took in a deep breath. "We have to bring Lance back." He said firmly.

The air grew heavy and thick. They knew they should be happy, but there were so many questions. Keith closed his eyes. Lance had made it home, he'd made it back to his family, why would he leave? Was he even still alive? Did he reach Earth? If he had, had the Galaxy Garrison gotten a hold of him? The last few months he'd been on the Castleship, they hadn't exactly had time to be with him, what, with the constant barrage of attacks and coalition work-

"Would he even want to come back?" Pidge whispered the question that was on everyone's minds.

Keith clenched his fists. He wanted so badly to disagree with Pidge, but she had a point. Lance didn't deserve them, the people who had pretty much abandoned him after he wasn't able to pilot a Lion-

"Of course he will." Hunk broke into Keith's darkening thoughts, and the black haired man looked up at the Yellow Paladin. Hunk stood, gesturing with his arms like he usually did. "Lance wouldn't turn us away, I know it- we're his friends. Not only that, he wouldn't let the universe be in danger like this. He'll come back, he will..." Hunk began to tear up, and he cleared his throat. "Those in favor of mission 'Recover Lance', raise your hand." He said, lifting his hand up.

Coran's hand went up, followed slowly by Allura and Pidge. Shiro was next, and Keith sighed.

'I have to face him eventually.'  He thought, rubbing his wrists. He looked at the arm guards he now wore beneath his gloves- the tough fabric covered his forearms, and the ugly scars that marred them. He sighed, then raised his hand.

The group simultaneously put their hands down, and they watched each other quietly for a moment.

Pidge huffed. "Well then... pack your swim suits, I guess... we're going to Cuba."

Hey, y'all! Sorry I've been gone, my computer blue screened, and I lost everything... all my art, all my writing, all my shit. I'm still upset, to be honest, haha... but I just got a new computer, so hey, new year new me? Meh... anyways, sorry if there are any mistakes, I'll fix them as I find them, but my new keyboard is tiny as shit, and my hands are too big for it, so mistakes are going to be abundant until I get used to it, haha.... anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter, sorry if the characters are a little ooc, there are reasons for it, but I hope you had great holidays!

Love y'all!

Chapter Text

“Angelo, help me haul this up?

“Ah, sure, Miguel.”

Lance’s muscles strained as he pulled on the nets, hauling the heavy, flopping catch onto the deck of the fishing boat so they could sort through the catch. Lance checked to make sure his gloves were properly on- he didn’t want to be bitten by anything- and proceeded to kneel down and pull the nets away from the catch.

Miguel watched him. “...you’ve changed, Angelo.” He said, the statement so out of the blue that it made Lance look up, completely caught off guard.

Lance laughed, and continued to search through the writhing mass of fish. “Odd thing to bring up- ah, here’s a cod.” He said, pulling a good sized fish towards him by the tail, almost getting himself slapped across the chest.

Miguel gestured to the side of the boat. “Toss her back, then.” Lance huffed as the lifted the large fish and threw it over the side of the boat- the fish hit the water with a splash, and disappeared into the dark blue of the open ocean, and Lance returned to the pile. “And it was just an observation. I’m not sure what it is…” Miguel scratched at his stubble through his glove. “...redder, maybe?”

Lance snorted and tossed a couple small fish overboard. “It’s called a sunburn. We live in the Caribbean, Miguel.” Lance teased.

Miguel shrugged. “You should wear sunscreen, Angelo; just because you’re not a yuma doesn’t mean you’re safe.”

Lance huffed and took a moment to look out at the water- it was beautiful. There were no clouds in the sky, and the sun beat down on the waves, making the water glimmer as it rocked the fishing boat and sent sea spray into the air. “I do wear it; but, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re both soaking wet.”

Miguel opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by his girlfriend, Aleja, who came up behind Lance and made him jump as she scolded them.

“Ey, meatheads, are you gonna chat, or are you gonna put this fish in the coolers? It’s cooking out here.” She muttered, taking a large tuna and placing it into one of the massive coolers they had on the deck. “If they spoil, I’m gonna make you eat them.” She threatened, ruffling Miguel’s hair as she made her way to the bow and making him groan.

“Gross.” He muttered as they hurried to put the fish into the coolers.

Lance shrugged. “I mean, we’re gonna smell like fish anyways.” He said.

“It’s still gross. You’d think you’d get used to it.” Miguel complained.

“Most people do.” Lance jabbed, shooting his tall, brown-skinned companion a cheeky smirk.

“Don’t make me throw a fish at you.” Miguel warned, picking up a fish, before frowning at it. “Too small, sorry, pescado. ” He muttered to himself, tossing the (hopefully still alive) fish into the sea. “Hey, your brother’s coming tomorrow, isn’t he? With your nephews?” He asked suddenly.

Lance paused, heart clenching at the thought. “Y-yeah… what made you think of them; the fish?” He asked incredulously.

Miguel chuckled and closed one of the full coolers. “The way you talk about them, they’re in the water enough to be classified at guppies.” He joked.

Lance laughed. “I s’pose.” He replied, grinning at the thought of his three nephews, two of which were old enough to be swimming and hyperactive balls of energy… it made having the family get togethers bearable.

“Hey, Angelo, what’s wrong?” Miguel asked, sounding concerned.

Lance frowned and filled up one of the coolers, packing the ice gently around the fish. “...Alexandro is coming over too, not just Luis and Veronica, and there's no way Marco would be able to make it here…” Lance murmured, continuing to pick up the remaining fish as he spoke.

“Is he still giving you hell?” Miguel asked softly.

Lance sighed, then gave a resigned laugh. “He’s not the type to let go of shit, y’know?” He said, shrugging. “He seems to think-the way he talks about it- that I’m still, ah…” Lance rubbed at his nose, feeling it start to itch, and his senses were flooded with the pungent scent of fish and salt. “...you know. He thinks I was doing it just for the hell of it.”

Miguel’s gaze softened. “He doesn’t believe it was because of… of the war flashbacks?” He pressed, his voice dropping as he tried- yet again, as everyone subtly did- to get Lance to open up, or to admit he was in the war.

Lance smiled bitterly. Sure, he was in a war, but not the war there on Earth… but again, better to let the observers assume, rather than let his secret out. “...you could call them that, yeah.” Lance hummed, putting the last of the fish into a coolers. He felt Miguel place his hand on his shoulder, and Lance scoffed quietly as he remembered Shiro doing the same thing once or twice. “Angelo, my brother was in the war, if you need to talk to-”

“Hey, Angelo, are you stealing my boyfriend?” Aleja called from her seat by the motor. She grinned as they looked up, and Lance smiled back, thankful for the interruption. Aleja had taken her gloves off, and she swept the long, black hair of the unshaved half of her head back behind her ear. “Stow those nets, boys, we’ve got a good haul for today, and I think the wind’s gonna really pick up soon.” She said, scratching her cheek. “We’re gonna head back now, sound good?” She asked.

Lance exchanged a glance with Miguel, and they nodded. Lance gave Aleja a thumbs up. “We’re good with that! It’s too hot anyways, and I need a shower.” Lance joked. He began to take his gloves off and started towards the coolers to drag them to the shaded area below deck. Miguel grabbed Lance’s shoulder, and Lance flinched.

Angelo, really, I think he could-”

Lance held up his hand to silence Miguel then smiled at him to let him know that he wasn’t mad. “Thanks, Miguel, but I’m okay. I promise to talk to you if I ever change my mind, okay?” He said. ‘I never will, but whatever.’

Miguel sighed, then patted Lance’s arm. “Alright, compañero. Long as you know you have people.” He said, giving up.

Lance laughed and gently taped his fist against Miguel’s bicep (not feeling totally ashamed for enjoying it), then turned away. “I’ll deal with people later- let’s get these coolers in the shade, yeah?” He said bending his knees to pick up a heavy cooler without completely throwing out his back.

Miguel scoffed, and mirrored Lance’s actions. “You got it, amigo.”

Three hours and a thorough shower later, Lance found himself standing outside his apartment, phone in hand, ready to head out to meet Decarlos and Desiderio for dinner at a nearby grill- he had promised them dinner, after all.

Lance looked down at himself, wondering vaguely if he looked presentable- he worse a pair of pale tan slacks, a light blue polo shirt, and his only nice shoes- a pair of bright teal and white espadrilles. Of course, he was more worried that even the shower (and before that, Riel had found it fit to push him off the boat and into the water) hadn’t gotten rid of the smell of fish… he was wearing a nice cologne that his father had gotten him for his 22nd birthday.

Lance blinked. 22. He was 22 years old. He’d been back on Earth for almost two years. He tucked his phone into his pocket and regarded his hands. Long, slender, tan fingers, large palms and ragged fingernails- despite all the scrs on the rest of his body, during his time as a Palad- a pilot, his hands had been covered by protective gloves, and his hands were not in a great place for enemies to easily hit-

No, the scars came from a year and almost 5 months of working on the docks- simple lacerations, blisters and burns from accidentally touching a hot engine, a particularly nasty, raised scar from when he’d gotten a fish hook caught just below his right thumb- now that was painful.

“Ey, socio! You coming, or what?!”

The call made Lance look down off the balcony at the street, where Decarlos and Desiderio stood, grinning at him.

Lance’s face broke into a much needed smile. “I got the money, right? What are you gonna do without me?” He said, walking to the metal stairs and trotting down the steps to meet them.

Desiderio rolled his eyes. “Decarlos probably has his wallet hidden in his pants, knowing him-”

“Hey! I do not!”

“So. Make sure he doesn’t manage to use it, alright, Angel?” Desiderio winked at Decarlos, which earned him a shove from the 19 year old cook.

Decarlos scowled playfully at Lance, only one eye (the unscarred one) narrowing significantly. “Let’s just go; I’m hungry, and I’m sure Angelo hasn’t eaten properly today.” He said pointedly.

Lance scoffed and shook his head as the trio began to walk down the sidewalk, towards the center of the town that had sprung up amongst what had been the bombed out ruins of what used to be a tourist resort. “No, Aleja was kind enough to make me and Miguel sandwiches.” He shuddered for effect, In reality, they hadn’t been terrible this time- only marginally bad.

Desiderio groaned. “How does Miguel put up with that cooking? You’d think he’d be begging Decarlos to tutor her already.” He teased.

Decarlos laughed quietly. “He loves her. It makes the food better.” He joked.

Lance jumped on the opportunity when he saw it. “Yeah, why do you think Decarlos finds your food edible?” He asked quietly, a smirk on his face. Honestly, Desiderio’s cooking was pretty good-but he wasn’t about to pass about to pass up a chance to tease them.

“Angelo!” Decarlos snapped, cheeks furiously red.

Desiderio merely raised an eyebrow. “My cooking is great, and you know it.” He shot back easily.

Lance snickered. “Whatever, gaybirds.” He mumbled, just loud enough for Desiderio and Decarlos to hear.

“Bi Bitch.” Desiderio quipped back in heavily accented English.

“You two, please!” Decarlos was the best with English out of the pair, and he had no trouble understanding Lance’s jibe.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop…” Lance trailed off, still chuckling as they fell into a comfortable silence, walking down the sidewalk in the dimly lit streets of Varadero. “...Homono- ow!”

She was definitely eyeing him.

Lance glanced at the woman, interested, as Desiderio and Decarlos talked over their food.

Short, maybe 5’3’’, petite buld, clothed in a tight fitting white dress that contrasted her wavy, dark brown hair that fell to her breast. She smiled at him, then turned away.

Lance smirked to himself, and reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and standing up.

Decarlos looked at him and huffed in amusement. “Uh oh, guapo’s seen a lady.” He teased, his manner loosened by two coronas and the easy, light hearted atmosphere of the grill.

Lance scoffed and gestured to the door. “I’m just giving my mamá a call; it’s getting late.”

Desiderio snorted and gently shoved Decarlos from across the table. “Yeah, so señorita quatorze doesn’t hear him calling his mami before he bed-slams her.” He drawled, grinning. Decarlos giggled into his wrist.

Lance shook his head. “I do not “bed-slam” people, as you so articulately put it.” He began to dial his home’s number as he backed away towards the door. “I treat them right.” He stuck out his tongue at his friends, then hit call and slipped outside, where it was quieter.

Uno.

Do-

“It’s my little starboy.” Lance could hear the teasing smile in her voice. “How are you, mijo? How was your day?”

Lance smiled, and looked up at the overcast sky. ‘Thank god for clouds.’ “It was good, mamá. I’m at dinner with Desi and Decarl-”

You’re at dinner and you’re on the phone?! Mijo! Go back to your friends!” Angela scolded, sounding appalled.

Lance grinned. “Hold on, mamá, I have something important to tell you-” he laughed.

“What? Are you okay?” Angela asked, suddenly sounding worried.

Lance drummed his fingers against his thigh. “... te amo, mamá.” He chuckled. Angela groaned, and he continued. “-y papá. Tell him for me, please?” He finished.

Angela sighed. “You give me heart attacks… I’ll tell him, mijo. Te amo. Now go back to your friends.” She said.

Lance blew a cheeky kiss through the phone. “Alright. Night, mamá.”

“Goodnight, mijo.” with a laugh, she hung up

Lance tucked his phone away, after turning it to silent. He looked up.

The clouds had cleared, for the most part, but the lights of the town drowned out some of the stars’ brilliance. He could see enough though.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He heard the waves crashing faintly offshore, smelled the salt and the food and smoke from the grill.

He could almost feel his gloved hands gripping the joysticks of a spacecraft, the hyperactive chattering in his head satisfied by the ever-shifting, complicated holographic maps and information. He imagined himself whooping in joy as he shot through the open air of Arus- darting past a light years tall nebula, listening to his teammates over the comms-

Suddenly his helmet was too tight. He couldn’t breathe. He watched a Galra cruiser explode- all those lives lost among the shrill shriek of engines combusting, sending decimated metal and what he assumed were countless bodies spinning into open space-

Lance ripped his eyes from the sky and went back to the open door of the grill, pulling back the gauzy, grease stained curtain to enter the dimly lit restaurant. He caught Desiderio’s eye and winked. Desiderio grinned an rolled his eyes as Lance wove through the tabs to the crowded bar area, where the woman from before stood, sipping what could have been a mixture of cranberry juice and soda or vodka.

“ Buenas noches, Cariño.” She said, smiling cheekily at him over the rim of her glass (definitely soda water, not vodka, Lance noticed).

Lance returned the smile. “ Tienes swing, mami. ” He purred, quirking an eyebrow and placing a hand on the counter next to her. “Just an observation… can I ask for your name?”

The woman nursed her drink and hummed teasingly. “....Maya. And you?” She said, setting her glass on the counter and gesturing to him, all the while carefully jutting her hip out into her open, small palm. “Who’s the pretty man I have the honor of talking to tonight?” She joked, her words light like spun sugar.

She was flirty- Lance liked that. This could go somewhere, even if it was just for the night.

“The name’s-

.

.

.

“Angelo!”

Lance shuddered, clenching his teeth, before he exhaled sharply, a drop of sweat tracing it’s way down his heat-flushed jaw. Maya’s head collapsed back onto his pillows, the sheets a mess and the blankets askew. Maya’s warm brown eyes glinted, half open and dazed, in the gold lamp light as she caught her breath, smiling loosely.

Lance lay down, panting, at her side. He gently turned her face toward his and kissed her, but the soft moment didn’t last long, since neither of them had fully regained their breath. He closed his eyes, his hand on Maya’s abdomen as the rise and fall of their chests slowed and evened out. He sighed contentedly.

After a quiet moment, broken only by the increasingly steady breaths, Lance sat up on the edge of the bed, tidying himself a little and tossing the spent contraceptive into the bin by his bed. He ran his fingers through his hair in an unmotivated attempt to tame the wild mess of brown locks.

He felt the bed shift, and a pair of warm hands ghosted over the mottle white and red burn scars that covered his back. He tensed, but he was prepared enough for it that he didn’t flinch or worse- lash out.

“So many scars, Cariño....” She murmured sleepily, draping herself on his back and wrapping her arms over his shoulders. Her breasts pressed against the twisted, ridged skin of his back and her long brown hair tickled his forearm. “You’ve had quite the life, hm…?” She sounded like she was dozing off, and Lance chuckled. He leaned down and reclaimed his boxers from the wooden floor, pulling them on. Maya sat back on the bed as he stood and turned around to face her.

“No one’s perfect… except for maybe you.” He flirted, winking at her.

Maya took his hand and pulled him toward her, so he was on his knees on the bed in front of her. She smelled like dusty rose incense and Lance imagined she was the type of girl to read a new book every week, judging from those deep brown eyes that now blinked so slowly at him. “No one is… I'm so glad; life wouldn’t be nearly as exciting, hm?” She giggled, then fell back on the bed, laying exposed and beautifully unashamed before him. “You’re certainly not dull.” She teased, tugging lazily at his fingers.

Lance’s heart panged, and he swallowed. Too open- the haze of pleasure was making him too easy to read- he felt like one of the emotional fiction novels he was now sure Maya liked to read. And Maya was smart, he could tell that much.

Pale tan skin and indigo eyes flashed in his mind.

The last time he’d fallen in love with an intelligent beauty, he got hurt… badly.

Lance smiled and lay beside her. His foot fumbled with his white sheets for a moment, before he finally pulled it up to his hand. He slid it over the two of them and released a long, slow breath. Maya seemed to have read the mood and had fallen into a comfortable silence beside him.

He could enjoy not being alone for a night, despite his obvious deep-set attachment to a man he could never even hope to have…. Even if he still did hope. He hummed quietly, finding himself wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her small body close. “Maybe not…” he drawled, closing his eyes. There was a soft moment of near-silence, before Maya shifted in the bed, sitting up. Lance heard a click, and even with his eyes closed, he could see the yellow light vanish, leaving them in the silky darkness of Lance’s bedroom. Maya settled herself with a sigh against his chest, her breath feathering his neck and her thumb tracing small circles on his left pectoral.

The high, cloudy feeling of being pulled into a deep sleep prevented his mind from wandering, and he smiled into the darkness.

‘Life certainly had been exciting.’

He wondered how much longer he could continue to convince himself that he’d had enough.

I don't think I need to translate the stuff like pescado and te amo.

Tienes swing- A Cuban phrase that means, "you've got flavor". It's a come on, haha.

Homono- This was me making a terrible pun that I should really just take out- He took the word "hermano" and mixed it with "homo" to be a putz.

And I've decided that when the dialogue is in Bold Italics it's in English.

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Sorry I've been gone so long! My computer is a stupid butt-head with this tiny ass keyboard, and I have to get used to it.... oh well. 

I hope you like this chapter!

Sorry for any mistakes, I'll go back and fix things eventually.

Chapter Text

“...This is stupid.”

Keith and Hunk looked up at Pidge, who sat cross-legged on Keith’s bed with a computer in her lap. She shut the lid and took off her glasses so she could pinch the bridge of her nose. “I mean- I get at we need to be as careful as possible, and we have to contact the rebel forces ad the Blade to let them know our situation, but still- time is ticking!” She complained, putting her computer on the bed beside her.

Hunk looked at his hands, inspecting the small, watch-like device he’d been tinkering with. He sighed, and shuffled a little where he sat on the floor, his back against the bed frame. “Usually, I’d disagree about slacking on safety, but you’re right.” Hunk said, using an (in Keith’s opinion) impossibly tiny screwdriver to place an equally tiny screw back into its place. “I mean- we contacted the Blade- that should be enough cover, right? They can look after everything while we’re gone. It’s already been-what, almost three months?” He asked, looking to Pidge.

‘Two months and nineteen days.’ Keith thought to himself. He couldn’t say that out loud, though, they’d only just started to stop worrying about him. “It’s been too long- we’re vulnerable, and the more time we waste, the less time we have to get Lance back. Do we even have a plan?” He asked instead, curling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. His eyes lingered on the arm guards on his forearms- they were thick, meant to block the weaker blade strikes. Black, and running from his elbow to just under his gloves, they hid everything that they needed to- he’d picked them up at the space mall several months before, when he’d been feeling particularly self-conscious about the scars, and it looked like they were going to prove themselves useful.

That is, if they ever ended up going back to Earth.

“This feels like an awful thing to suggest, but…” Pidge trailed off, then sighed, leaning back against the wall. “...You don’t think Allura is stalling, do you?” She murmured, her voice dropping.

Keith looked around at Pidge, then at Hunk, who was looking at his hands again. Keith shuffled his feet. “I mean… I don’t know. If she is, she has to stop- it’s costing us time we don’t have.” He rasped, not wanting to sound harsh, but wanting to be blunt all the same.

Hunk hummed awkwardly. “Well, I mean, think of it this way- for months, she finally gets to follow in her father’s footsteps, and then suddenly, she’s just shut out.” He reasoned.

“Yeah? Who else do we know who had that happen?” Keith asked, raising an eyebrow as the other two looked at the ground in response to the rhetorical question. Keith huffed and continued. “Yeah; Lance. Twice.” He said. His heart clenched at the thought of the blue eyed Paladin with the bright, cheeky smile, and a flicker of anger- not directed at any particular person-rose in his chest.

“Yeah, and I think Lance got to Earth faster than we’re gonna be able to.” Pidge snorted, then frowned and looked up from her clipped fingernails at the other two. “Too soon?” She asked sheepishly.

Hunk scoffed. “...No. It was kinda funny.” He mumbled, rolling his eyes with a slightly exasperated grin on his face.

“Keith?” Pidge checked, her voice soft with guilt.

Keith allowed himself a small smirk. Maybe it was because here was a good possibility of seeing Lance again, or maybe he was just tired, but the light-hearted quip directed at the absent former-Paladin didn’t hurt as much as it normally would. “...as much as I hate to admit it, here I am, smiling.” He confessed, picking innocently at his rough cuticles. He’d taken to biting his nails when he got stressed- maybe it was time to stop.

Pidge snickered. “It’s a good look for you, you should wear it more often.” She teased, laying on her back and leaning over the edge of the bed.

“Oh, shut it, Pidgeon.”

Hunk opened his mouth-either to tell them off or to join in (it was hard to predict with Hunk)-just as Coran’s voice called effortlessly through the Castleship’s intercom.

“If all the Paladins could hustle down here to the control deck, we have some news.” His voice chipper as always- although, it had perked up considerably since the possibility of bringing Lance back had arisen.

Pidge smirked as she stood, adjusting her glasses. “I love the way he says ‘deck’” She chuckled, watching the now-silent intercom speaker.

“Pidge…” Hunk warned playfully as he and Keith got to their feet.

“Di-eck.” She repeated in an almost spot on imitation of Coran’s Australian-esque accent.

“Pidge!”

“What?!”

Keith followed the squabbling pair down the hall towards the Control Deck- it wasn’t a long walk, only about five minutes from the bedrooms to the Deck- and crossed his arms, trying to block out the thoughts that cluttered his mind.

Allura was re-accepted by the Blue Lion!

We won’t have to go back for Lance.

Blue found a new Paladin!

Keith’s heart fluttered nervously as the three of them arrived at the Control Deck, where Shiro, Allura, and Coran all stood, waiting for them. Keith looked at Shiro, trying to silently ask him several questions at once.

Shiro met his gaze, took in Keith’s (slightly panicked) expression, then smiled reassuringly. Keith calmed down, his heart rate returning to normal. ‘Thank god.’ He thought, relieved.

Coran stepped forward, his eyes almost shining. “I’m happy to inform you that we have succeeded in contacting the rebels- oh, Pidge, Matt says he’s jealous, he told me to tell you.” Coran added, and Pidge snickered. “-and we’ve told them what we’re doing. They’ve agreed to watch over and protect the freed planets while we are away, while the Blade will be sending aid in watching over the Castleship.”

Hunk held up his hands. “Okay, so wait- what’s the plan? Are we leaving the Castleship in space?” Hunk asked.

“No, Hunk, we’re going to land an entire alien Castle spaceship in Times Square Memorial.”  Pidge scoffed.

Allura-who had been looking rather somber- finally spoke. “The plan is to orbit a small planet in the Kuiper Belt- the Castleship can easily hide itself from your planet’s scanners and radar. The Blade will have a vessel waiting just outside the Kuiper BElt, ready to alert us to any oncoming objects, Galra ships or otherwise.” She said.

Keith cocked his head. How will we be able to get down to Earth’s surface without being seen?” He asked, uncrossing his arms.

“ We have a tentative plan for that.” Shiro broke in, coming forward to stand with the other Paladins. “We take the Green Lion- it’ll be a tighter fit than we’re used to, but it’s fast, and it’s cloaking ability will prove useful.” He explained. “The Lions are fast enough to bring us from the inner edge of the Kuiper Belt to Earth in around a day and a half- we’ll time it all so that we will be entering Earth’s atmosphere around Cuba at night, but we will land several miles offshore- the Green Lion will be able to bypass Earth’s scanners, just like the Castleship.”

“Then what? We swim to Cuba?” Hunk asked skeptically.

“In a sense!” Coran interjected cheerfully. “You will land the Green Lion underwater. Your Paladin armor will allow you to propel yourself from the Lion to the shore. Once there, find an isolated area, and change from your armor into your casual clothing.” He explained.

Pidge raised an eyebrow. “Our soaking wet clothes?” She asked.

“Of course not, Pidge. We will equip you with waterproof satchels, large enough to carry your clothes- we can’t help you with the armor, though… you may have to hide it, somehow.” Allura said apologetically.

“There’s also the issue of money- even if we brought some with us from Earth, it probably wouldn’t be enough to pay for transport or housing.” Keith pointed out.

Hunk shook his head. “We might not need it- after the worst part of the war, Cuba adopted a pretty gracious attitude towards refugees, and a lot of the habitable bombed-out buildings became free shelters… at least, that’s what Lance told me, back in the Garrison, and then when I went there, it seemed true enough.” He said thoughtfully.

Shiro shrugged. “Not much can change in three years-usually. It’s probably still like that.” He smiled. “And hey- if we find Lance fast enough, we probably won’t have to worry about money for very long.” He said hopefully.

Keith hummed in half-hearted agreement, and he felt Shiro’s human hand on his shoulder. His racing thoughts slowed enough for him to close his eyes and gather himself. “So… when do we leave?” Keith asked the oddly quiet room, opening his eyes to watch his teammate’s reactions.

Coran was busy looking at a tablet screen, but he answered. “All that’s left to do is to make sure our trajectories are in order, the defense systems are working, and work out the kinks, then we’ll be good to go.” He said, tapping away at his screen.

“How long do you suppose that will take?” Allura asked, coming out of her silence.

Coran took a moment, looking up as he thought. “Let’s see… oh, maybe a week? A week and a half at most. Then we’ll be set.” He replied, resuming whatever he’d been doing.

Keith’s heart thumped. ‘A week and a half?’

“So-so we’ll be back home in about a week?” Hunk breathed, sounding a little stunned.

“More like another month, unfortunately. We can’t exactly wormhole straight into the Kuiper Belt- we’re going to wormhole to the outer edge, then navigate through to our destination- that will take us around a week on it’s own. Then, from there, it’s another 5 to 6 days from there to the inner edge of the Belt, and we tentatively know the rest from there.” Shiro cut in.

Hunk nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah… yeah, I guess that makes more sense, doesn’t it?” He muttered sheepishly.

Shiro patted Hunk’s arm. “You’re just excited to see home- we all are, I think.” He said, his eyes flickering briefly to Keith, who pretended not to notice.

Keith didn’t know how much he missed Earth… there was so much to see out in space, so many more interesting things-

But there was something precious to him back on Earth.

Keith almost shivered. Had he really let himself become that attached? He thought he’d learned his lesson about that- apparently he hadn’t.

At least he wasn’t totally alone this time.

“Keith? You alright, dude?” Pidge asked quietly, breaking into Keith’s thoughts. The others were discussing trajectories and plans and the like, but Pidge had remained standing beside Keith.

Keith took a deep breath. “...I will be. I’m just glad we’re not idling anymore.” He responded honestly.

Pidge smiled. “Me too. I’m gonna see if I can’t speed this up.” She said, walking towards the group. “I miss Lance too much to waste more time.” She murmured quietly, just loud enough for him to hear. Maybe it wasn’t meant for his ears, but he caught it all the same.

Keith exhaled. ‘Me too, Pidge.’ He thought, rubbing his forefinger and thumb together anxiously. ‘Me too.’

His heart pounded.

He held his shirt, knuckles white with tension.

‘Just calm down.’

“Keith?” Keith took in a deep breath at the sound of the familiar voice and straightened from his position- bent at the waist, forehead against the wall, watching the metal floor with eyes blurred from lack of proper sleep. “Are you coming down to the control deck to be with us?” Shiro asked as Keith turned around to face him. “Are you okay, Keith?” He murmured, placing a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder. “You look a little out of it.”

Keith sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He licked his lips, tasting the sharply bitter, admittedly disgusting taste of Nunvill left on his mouth. “Just… just anxious.” He replied softly.

Shiro patted his shoulder. “Anything in particular?” He pried, eye gentle and patient, as per usual.

Keith slumped against the wall, looking at his covered forearms. “How… do I explain them? What will he do?” He wondered, voice grating against his throat. His mind was buzzing softly, too preoccupied to produce tears, so he continued on steadily. “Will he hate me?” Keith clenched his fists. “What if he thinks I’m-like-a pussy, or something? What if he find out about…” He touched his chest absentmindedly, then let his hands from to his sides. “...you know… what if he thinks I’m disgusting?” He whispered awkwardly. Even if he’d told Shiro about his sexuality nearly two years before, he didn’t bring it up much, and he always felt… odd… about it.

Shiro scoffed sadly, a small smile on his face, and pulled Keith into a hug, holding him tight. Keith resisted the childlike urge to bury his face into his brother’s shoulder, and instead held onto the back of Shiro’s shirt. His heart unclenched a bit, and he exhaled slowly, closing his eyes in comfort.

“If we find Lance and he hates you or condemns you for any part of you, we’ll have found the wrong guy.” He assured the black haired man. Keith relaxed a little, and Shiro pulled away, that sad smile still on his lips. “Let’s get you some food on the way to the Control Deck- you’re gonna throw up if all you have in your stomach is that nasty space juice.” Shiro teased, gently flicking Keith’s forehead.

Keith scoffed, and a little grin pulled at his face as he rubbed his forehead. “Don’t make it sound as if you just knew… I’ll bet you 20 bucks you saw me.” He shoved Shiro teasingly, and Shiro snorted.

“Yeah, I did.” He pushed Keith forward, down the hall towards the kitchen. “C’mon. Let’s go.” He smiled at Keith over his shoulder as he passed him. “The whole team’s waiting.”

Keith took in a deep breath.

‘The whole team’s waiting.’

Lance’s grinning face lit up Keith’s mind, spreading the warm, buzzing feeling to his chest and fingertips.

Keith smiled.

“Let’s go.”

Hey, I'm back. My computer/typing system still sucks, but have two more chapters finished... The problem is typing them.

Thought I'd go over something; I keep mentioning a war in this... this is just me trying to come up with some reasons for why there is a need for fighter pilots in VLD's world, and it also helps with constructing my plot, haha... anyways, it'll build more about this world, 'cause it takes place in the future, and I wanted to make it interesting.

Also, I have an Instagram with my art and stuff... I don't have a lot, but still! If you want to send me art for this fanfic, I really wanna see it... not that this is a very popular fanfic, but still. My name is 'click_bait_klance' (I wasn't feeling too creative, lol)

Anyways, hope you liked this chapter, even if it wasn't that interesting! Have a great week, until next time! <3

Chapter Text

“Tío!”

Lance huffed as two small figures barreled towards him, one of them jumping up trustingly. He caught his oldest nephew in his arms and hugged him, laughing. “Hey there, corazon! Que bola?” He ruffled the young child’s dark brown hair, then beamed down at the younger nephew, who clung to Lance's leg with a shy grin on his face.

“Lance.” A stern voice said as a tall, well-built man entered the room. “Careful with your tío.” The man chastised gently, placing a large hand on his hip.

Little-Lance (as Lance liked to call him) grinned cheekily and stuck his tongue out at his father. “I should be careful with you!” He teased, wiggling out of Lance's arms.

Lance ‘Oohh’ed jokingly as he let the five year old boy go. He ran off, and after he gave Lance a hug, his twin- Eterio- took off after him, disappearing into the house, probably to find Veronica. Lance smiled fondly after them, then walked over to his older brother, who hugged him. “Hey, Luis. It's been a while.” He said, pulling back with a grin.

Luis smiled and clapped his hand on Lance's shoulder. “It’s only been two months, hermano.” He said, laughing.

Lance shrugged. “Any time is too long for me, you know that.” He chuckled, then looked around-it had been a while since  he'd been home, about three weeks, due to him working overtime… it was good to be back in the large, spacious, welcoming house for a while. “So, where's Alyssa? And the baby? I haven't seen him in so long!” He cheered, changing the subject.

Luis gestured to the door of the living room. “She's in the living room with mamá and papá, but she'll be back in a minute.” He replied, placing a hand on Lance's back and steering him toward the living room. “I'm gonna go help them out, why don't you go on in? Amanda is here too.” He said, patting Lance’s shoulder, before he too left the mudroom to find his wife.

Lance paused, then hurried to slip his feet out of his sandals. He heard several voices talking and laughing over each other in the living room as he entered, and his heart warmed at the thought of his family, together… with him-

“Lance!”

“Hello, Lance.”

Lance smiled briefly at his older sister, Veronica, and her girlfriend, Amanda, but his gaze was quickly drawn to his brother, who stood between him and Luis in age and who sat, stretched out and comfortable, on the second couch.

Lance watched him carefully as a tense silence began to permeate the living room. “Alexandro... how are you?” He asked quietly, not quite meeting his brother's deep brown eyes.

Alexandro raised his eyebrows. “Whoa, what's with the formalities, little brother? What have I done this time?” He stood from his seat and held out his long arms. Lance was once again reminded how much he hated the fact that he and Alexandro looked very similar- while Alex had brown eyes and his father's black hair, he was just a bit shorter, with a long, lanky frame that gave away exactly who he was related to, if he and Lance ever found themselves in the same room at the same time… which was a rare occurrence.

“C'mon, hermano menor, let's keep it civil tonight, yeah?” Alex said, drawing Lance into a hug, whether Lance wanted one or not. “You know how mamá hates it when you pick fights.” He laughed quietly, patting his younger brother's shoulder as he draw back.

Lance clenched his teeth, biting back a scathing retort that he knew Alex was trying for. “Sounds good to me, Alex. I'm in a good mood today.” He replied easily, before turning abruptly to his sister and her redheaded partner. “ Dios, Veronica, Amanda, I feel like I haven't seen you in years!” He laughed, forcing his heart to relax its painful grip on his chest. He sat down next to Veronica and embraced her, before leaning over her to do the same with Amanda.

Veronica chuckled and took Lance's hand, squeezing it. “How've you been, Lancey-Lance?”

Lance placed a dramatic hand on his chest. “Lancey-Lance has been decent… I've been working a lot, and I've been a little tight on money, but I can't really complain.” He said, leaning back into the couch with a smile.

Alex broke into the conversation then, much to Lance's chagrin. “Money troubles? You haven't changed jobs, have you?” Lance felt his chest burn, and his smile began to fade from his face. “Where’s the money goin’, Angelo?” He asked, his face just innocent enough to tick Lance off just a bit more than he wanted to be. He could see the accusation in those brown eyes, and he turned to him, even as Veronica murmured a protest.

“Don't call me Angelo.” He said firmly.

“Your friends do.” Alex shot back.

“Yeah, my friends do call me Angelo, you're right… don't call me Angelo.”

“ Ey! You two, are you fighting again?” Lance looked up to see his mother standing in the doorway, holding a tray of fresh fruit. Lance Jr. and Eterio were at her heels, with Luis and his wife, Alyssa, following in suit. Alyssa carried in her arms a baby, who was only about a year and a half old- a little boy with jet black hair, tan skin, and light blue eyes.

Lance stood as Angela placed the tray of fruit on the coffee table, then kissed her cheek. “ Disculpe, mamá. Just a sibling spat.” He hugged her tightly, happy to see her. “How are you?” He asked, grinning happily.

Angela smiled at him. “I'm well, mijo . It's good to see you in person.”

Lance squeezed her hand, then walked over to greet Alyssa. “Hey, beautiful! How's my sister-in-law?”

The many greetings and ‘How have you been’-s landed Lance in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his baby nephew, Ché, in his arms, while his father, Rolando, cut vegetables for dinner. Lance generally felt comfortable around his father, mostly because he understood Lance the most out of all his family, seeing as he had suffered through war as well… but that was years before.

“So, Lance… how is Lilia?” Rolando asked, a small, teasing smile directed at his youngest son.

Lance hummed and gently bounced Ché in his arms, making the baby coo and giggle. “...I uh… haven't- I don't know, we broke up a couple weeks ago.” Honestly, it had been about a month and a half, but he didn't blame Rolando for not knowing- he didn't tell them much about his relationships… or his lack thereof.

He already knew of someone he lo-

“I'm sorry, hijo … is there anyone you're thinking of?” His father asked quietly.

Lance’s mind thought back to the previous day- four thirty am, leaving Maya sleeping in his bed with a note on the counter telling her to help herself to the fridge, apologizing for having to leave for work so early. She was gone (as expected, of course) when he returned that night… but she wasn't who Lance thought of almost every day.

Lance shrugged. “Well, yeah… but I'm probably never gonna… see them again.” He admitted.

Rolando paused halfway through cutting a clove of garlic, staring at his hands. “...someone from out there?” His father had taken to calling Lance's previous role in the universe as “out there”, finding it hard to call it ‘the war’. “That girl? Allura? The alien?”

Lance exhaled slowly and stuck his tongue out at Ché. “No. Not Allura…” he sighed. “And again, I haven't seen them for almost two years… I probably won't meet them again.” He lapsed into silence, and after a moment, he felt his father's hand on his shoulder. He looked up at him.

“There are plenty of fish in the sea… you'll find the one soon, I'm sure.’ He assured Lance.

Lance smiled, then straightened up, taking his weight off the counter. “Thanks, papá.” He tapped Ché’s small nose and grinned at him. “Ready to find Papí?” He asked, his voice skipping a couple octaves higher as he left the kitchen, eager to leave the subject of love behind him… He needed some alone time already.

‘This is gonna be a long night.’

They managed to make it all the way through dinner without incident- ‘they’ meaning Lance and Alex. There had been a few backhanded insults and irritated glares, but nothing big.

Now it was just the adults, minus Luis and Alyssa, who were tucking the kids into bed. Lance sat between his father and Amanda, who was wonderful-if not quiet-for dinner conversation. At the end of the table sat Angela, with Veronica across from Amanda and Alex (of course) across from Lance- he had a clear line of fire, and judging from the expression Lance was reading just then, as Amanda and Veronica were telling his parents about their new apartment, that shot was coming soon.

Lance sipped resentfully at his wine, hoping the conversation would continue without pause and wishing that his drink were just a bit stronger.

Lance was just finishing his glass when the inevitable lapse in speech fell over them all. He almost saw Alex’s eyes flash, and Lance's heart leapt into his throat.

‘Here it comes.’   He thought bitterly.

“So, Lance. How are things with you?” Alex asked, his light voice cutting sharply into the silence like a ceramic fillet knife.

The question would have been seen as innocent and friendly, had the prying, condescending tone not been present in Alex's voice.

Lance put down his glass and casually glanced at his fingers, as if inspecting his once-flawless nails… they were now grimy and chipped. “As I said, I've been fine. Little bit of money trouble, since my rent went up- ” he said, shooting a challenging glare in Alex's direction. “-but the weather’s been good on the docks, and I had dinner with Decarlos and Desiderio the night before last, which was nice.”

Angela jumped in before Alex could say anything. “Oh, that's right! How are they?” She asked, shooting Alex the most subtle warning glare Lance had ever seen.

He smiled. “They're doing well- Desiderio just bought himself a nice camera, and I dread the day he starts taking it everywhere with him.” He joked, chuckling.

Amanda grinned. “Why? Worried that he'll take pictures of you?” She asked.

Lance scoffed. “Amanda; as good as I look now, I am like a trash can compared to how I was before-” he cut himself off, feeling the tension rise a bit. Whoops. No ‘war-talk’.

“Lance, don't say that- it's a very different kind of beauty.” Veronica broke the silence first, and Lance smiled at her, grateful.

“Awe, thanks, Veronica, but it's you who got all the natural beauty in the family.” He teased.

Rolando clapped Lance on the back. “Maybe so, but it's my boys who got the handsome genes.” He said fondly, earning a grin from his youngest son. “They can charm any girl they want.” He obviously forgot about Amanda, who was so gay Lance was surprised her hair didn't grow in rainbow, but he had learned to let such slip-ups go.

“Ah, yeah, I meant to ask you, Lance; do you have a girlfriend yet?” Alex asked.

Lance answered cautiously, his voice guarded. “...no...no, not yet. I'm not really ready to settle down…”

Alex cocked his head. “You don't have to settle down, but maybe just put yourself out there… ever heard of a party?” Lance's eyebrow twitched and the mood darkened as Alex's goal became apparent. Alex laughed quietly. “Stupid question. Have you been to any parties lately?” He rephrased, with a smirk on that face that was unbearably similar to Lance's.

Lance's fingers curled around the stem of his empty wine glass, taking a deep breath. He resisted the urge to run his hands across his face, or sniff, knowing it would show Alex that he'd successfully irritated him. “No.” The reply was crisp and clipped, and didn't warrant a follow-up question, which, of course, Alex wanted to ask.

“No? Huh. That's unlike you.” His older brother eyed Lance's glass. “You finished that quick. Want another?”

Several things happened at once- Lance shot to his feet and shoved his hands into his pockets as his mother slammed a hand on the table with a loud exclamation of “ Alexandro Roman Álvarez!”

“I'm going outside. I'll be in later.” Lance said quietly, yet firmly, scowling grimly at Alex the whole time. He heard Veronica murmur a protest as he walked around the table and out of the dining room. He barely registered brushing past Luis on his way to the mudroom, and before he knew it, he was alone, outside, with the salty breeze and the crashing waves. Gravel pressed into his bare feet, but he ignored it, fumbling in his pocket for his lighter and groaning, realizing that he'd forgotten his cigarettes back at his apartment-he didn't smoke regularly, but he needed them for situations like this one, for obvious reasons.

Lance instead stood in the drive, flicking his simple, cheap lighter on and off, on and off, distracting himself from his thoughts. He heard the door open, then close, and someone came and stood beside him.

“Hey.” Luis’ deep voice was quiet and calm, and Lance's eyes flickered to him. Luis held out his hand for the lighter, and Lance tossed it to him. He looked back down at his feet as Luis lit something, before the heady scent of marijuana made him lift his head. Luis held out the joint. “Here.” He offered, smoke escaping from his mostly pursed lips.

Lance chuckled. “My brothers are pushing drugs on me.” He joked, but he accepted it and took a long drag, holding it in, before tilting his head back to watch the thick smoke curl, ribbon-like, from his lips into the air. “Why’d’ya come out?” Lance finally asked, his shoulders beginning to lose their tension.

Luis took back the joint. “Didn't want my baby brother smoking cigarettes.” He replied.

“So you give me pot?”

“Better than the shit they put in Marlboros.”

“True.”

Luis was quiet for a moment. “...it looked like you needed it. You seemed pretty stressed out today; what's up?” He asked. When he got no reply, he went on. “Did something happen?”

Lance had the joint again, and he was finally relaxed for the first time in months-not counting, of course, his night with Maya. “...I flipped out the other day, when I was with Decarlos and Desiderio.” He admitted, the words slipping out without his permission- he wasn't even aware that that’s what had been bothering him.

Luis hummed, understanding what Lance meant. “Mind if I ask what set it off?”

Lance sighed, ashing the joint onto the gravel, watching the flakes disappear into the dark, gritty gray. “Motorcycle backfired.”

Luis hissed. “Ooh. I'm sorry.”

Lance shrugged and took another drag, watching the tip glow orange, before he handed it back. “I have to get used to it; it's not like strangers can go out of their way for me.” He said, running his fingers through his hair.

He could feel Luis looking at him, his eyes boring into his right temple, and Lance picked at a scab on his thumb to avoid the eye contact he knew his brother was attempting to make.

Luis’ breath as sharp and audible as he blew smoke out in front of him. “...how’d you deal with it?” He asked.

Lance was quiet. “I just… carried on.” He lied, forcing the memory of bitter liquid from his thoughts. He had no reason to feel guilty, or awkward, but still…

“Yeah?” Luis pressed, his voice lofty. Lance rolled his eyes and sat down in the gravel, feeling too light headed to stand. Luis followed his lead. “Just like that?” He snapped his fingers.

Lance snatched the joint from his brother's hand. “You been talkin’ about me with mamá?” He snickered. He sucked in a deeper breath of smoke than he had intended, and he coughed lightly.

Luis leaned back on his hands. “I always talk to mamá.” He said easily.

Lance raised his eyebrows with a nervous half-grin. “About me.” He finished.

“No.” Luis murmured.

Lance shoved his brother's shoulder. “Stop lying.” He teased.

“I'll stop when you stop.” Luis shot back, pushing Lance back with his left hand. A breeze picked up, carrying the scent of salt and sand and some sort of grilled meat- someone was probably having a cookout on the beach. It brought with it the cool ocean air, and the smoke drifted lazily with the invisible current.

Lance closed his eyes. “I went home, had a beer, and went to bed.” He didn't lie, per say… maybe not the whole truth, yeah, but better than worrying his brother for no reason. He was done with causing people worry.

Luis had taken the joint back with Lance noticing. It was almost gone, which meant-Lance hoped, at least- that their conversation would soon be coming to a close. “Do you always do that when shitty stuff happens?” Luis tried.

Lance laughed softly. “No, Luis. Believe it or not, I'm smarter than I look.”

Luis looked at him, and Lance in turn looked at the ground, to his calloused feet and the sand-bound gravel. “I know you're smart; you made it into the Galaxy Garrison on a scholarship.”  He replied quietly. Lance heard the spent joint fall to the ground, and Luis stepped on it. “...you know you're allowed to talk about it, right?” He asked, his voice gentle.

Lance huffed. “No, I can't. No one wants to listen to ‘Lance's space adventures.’ They don't need to hear more complaints, or sadness.”

Luis gripped Lance's shoulder, and for once, Lance didn't jump, his nerves dulled by the THC. “Lance, it- it's war, it was part of your life; if you want to tell it, I want to listen.”

Lance finally looked up at Luis. His vision was blurry, and there was a small-yet horribly painful-lump forming in his throat. “You have no idea how much I miss them.” He confessed, voice breaking, after a moment of thick silence. He gave Luis a tear drowned laugh and hid his face in his hands. “Every day, I think of them- my best friend isn't here with me- the first person I ever really loved is out there-” He swallowed, gesturing somewhat frantically at the night sky, and shook his head. “...I don't even know if they're alive anymore! I didn't know that so much could happen in two years, but so much can happen, so much can change…” He drew in a shuddering breath, then laughed again. “Sorry… I should go to bed, try to get some sleep, you know…” He said, letting his brother's hand fall from his shoulder as he pushed himself to his feet. He turned to go back inside, then stopped when Luis spoke again.

“Hey, Lance?” He said. Lance looked over his shoulder; Luis’ eyes were intense, truthful, even if glazed and pink. He smiled sadly. “Alex is jealous of you… intimidated. Not sure why, but keep that in mind when he's being a dick.” He explained.

Lance smiled. “Night, Luis. See you in the morning.” With that, he turned around again and returned to the cool air of the house, forgoing the dining room and opting to instead to go straight to the upstairs bathroom to get ready for bed.

Standing in front of the mirror, listening to the muffled argument downstairs and staring into his own face, Lance scoffed. He touched the scar that lay on his left cheek, above his jawline- shrapnel from a small explosion on some remote, previously Galra occupied planet. His gaze traveled from his scar to his eyes.

The redness of his whites made the blue irises stand out like a moon against the sky; red and blue- nebulae they passed, the skins of different aliens, odd plants and flowers, the colors of both his Lions-

He smiled mirthlessly.

“Whatever you're jealous of, Alex, please tell me-” He rasped, his throat stinging a little from the marijuana smoke. He touched the reflection of his scarred cheek and exhaled slowly.

“Porque yo quiero una cosa ser orgulloso de.”

Porque yo quiero una cosa ser orgulloso de- Because I want one thing to be proud of

Que bola- Cuban slang term, essentially meaning "what's up?"

Chapter Text

“Are you sure that the stabilizers are up to snuff?”

“For the last time, Hunk; yes.”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to hit Hailey’s coment’s mean older cousin while the stabilizers aren’t working properly.”

Keith stood in the doorway to the tech room, watching Pidge tapping away at her computer while Hunk fiddled with some kind of small device. He looked around the room,taking in its almost trashed appearance- pieces of equipment and tools lay on and beneath tables, and water pouches lay empty on the floor next to the overflowing “recycling” bin.

“Is… is this a bad time?” Keith asked, slightly amused as Hunk and Pidge jumped in surprise.

Pidge shut her computer. “Nope. Well, for Hunk, maybe, but I'm going to bed early- we have a long couple of days ahead of us.” She said, hopping from her perch on the table to the floor and setting her computer down in a (relatively) safe place.

Keith hummed in agreement- currently, they were drifting at the edge of the kuiper belt, waiting for the Blade to arrive and set up communications and temporary scanners on a small, planet-like celestial body- but the real hard part had yet to come… at least, it was the hardest part for Keith.

Keith gently took Pidge's shoulder, stopping her from leaving what she and Hunk liked to call the “Tech Deck”. “Hold on, Pidge, I uh… I gotta talk to you.”

Pidge gestured to the door and continued to walk. “Walk and talk, I'm all ears.” she said as the door slid open. Keith waved to Hunk, telling him he'd be back later on, then ran after Pidge, who had made it quite a ways down the hall.

They walked in silence for a while, as Keith crossed his arms and drummed his fingers on his skin, before Pidge broke it. "So... what do you need?" She asked. To anyone else it may have sounded aggressive, or even sarcastic, but Keith heard that it was mostly curiosity, maybe with  a touch of concern.
Keith sighed, and rubbed his palms along the coverings on his arms. "...Scars. Is there any way to get rid of them?" He asked finally.
Pidge stopped walking, then turned to look at him, eyes cautious and almost sad. "... Why?" she replied, voice softer than Keith would have liked.

Keith looked at the floor, at his work red and black boots. One thing he hated about the Castle was its lack of a true climate- it always maintained the same, bearably cool temperature. No breeze, recycled air- no real sunlight to warm their faces.

It made finding distractions much more of a project.

Keith shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. “I just- I want to leave it in the past, and if Lance sees them, he'll-” he stopped, then shook his head. “he won't see them. I won't let it happen. One way or another.” He said, determined.

If Lance saw them…

Keith would be ruined.

Just knowing that he knew.

Pidge raised a skeptical eyebrow. “...there's- as far as I know -no true, effective way to get rid of… that amount of damage.” Pidge said, eyes flitting to Keith's wrists. She scowled. “Take those off, Keith, we know they're there, you don't have to worry around us.”

Keith tucked his hands protectively into his armpits. “...they make Hunk and Shiro upset.”

Pidge gestured around the empty hallway. “Does it look like Hunk and Shiro are here?” she asked. When Keith didn't respond, she sighed and continued. “When it- when you were in the healing pod, all the damage reversal that could be done was done- the most you could do would be to cover them, like you already do.” she explained.

Keith kind of figured that. He huffed. "Then I guess I'll do that." He said, untucking his arms.
Pidge innocently checked her clothing, picking imaginary lint off the sleeve. "You gonna wear nothing but those damn gauntlets when you two are 'getting jiggy with it'? Or do the gloves stay as well?" She asked, but Keith assumed it was rhetorical.
Keith flushed up to his ears and made a face. "Pidge, you-there's-there are so many things wrong with that, first of which is 'getting jiggy with it'- that's straight from the nineties. Second, Lance is straight ." Pidge snorted, but Keith ignored her, a small smirk now playing across his lips. "-and yes, for your information, the gloves always stay."
Pidge made an exaggerated gagging noise and waved him off. "Alright, Kink Kogane, that is all I want to know about your long dead sex life-never touching your gloves again, by the way." She added teasingly, before turning away. "I'm going to bed now- I'll see you in the morning."
Whatever pleasure Keith had derived from his crude comment was crushed by his stomach as it dropped. Keith floundered silently for words, before he stepped forward and caught Pidge's shoulder. She looked at him, curious but apparently unsurprised, and Keith averted his eyes to the floor again. "Is-is there really no way to- at least make them less...there?" He asked, almost wincing at how desperate he sounded... but the worst part was that he felt that desperate.
Pidge's eyebrows draw together sadly, and they turned and took Keith's forearms in her own hands, smiling softly. "It may be awkward, but it won't matter to him- he's your friend." There was no reply, so she went on. "Hey- sleep in my room tonight- it's cold, and I need a warm body." She offered.
Keith felt a little sick. He looked at Pidge's face, expecting to see pity, but finding only neutral eyebrows and oddly emotional eyes.
"...why not Hunk?" Keith asked.
"He is the worst blanket hog."
"Your room is a tip."
koo"I cleaned it two days ago."
"I kick in my sleep." Keith lied. In reality, he did kinda want to sleep with someone ( platonically, of course ) that night, but 1) he would never admit that and 2) he hated being a charity case.
His train of thought was derailed by Pidge squeezing his fingers and looking him in the eye. "Keith, you're not alone in your anxiety about this- I love questions, but only when I know the answers... and there are so many unanswerable questions about this." She said. "Is he alive? Is he safe? Will he come back? Does he want to see us?" Each question cut deeper, and Keith found himself clinging to the sensation of increasing pressure on his fingers.
"I'm scared too- and honestly, I don't want to be alone right now." Pidge sighed. "But I understand if you don't want to... but it's not me trying to cheer you up." She assured Keith, apparently reading his mind.

Keith exhaled slowly. “...Okay. I'll bunk with you tonight- but I have to say goodnight to Hunk.” He said, backing away.

Pidge smiled. “Thanks, Keith.” She said.

Keith shrugged. “It's… no problem.” ‘It's the very least I could do.” He finished silently.

“Okay… well, I'll be in my room, come whenever.” She murmured, turning around and walking down the hall towards the bedrooms.

Keith stood there for a moment, feeling a little lost.

Pidge was right- this was going to be an ordeal for everyone, one way or another. He wasn't the only one struggling.

“You’re not the only one hurting, man.”

The corner of Keith's lip curled up a little in what was almost a smile. Lance had been right. Pidge was right. It was time he sucked it up and accepted the comfort he was being offered… maybe. He wasn't quite ready to make that commitment yet.

He turned to go back to Hunk and get ready for bed- tomorrow, they would begin to pick their way through the Kuiper Belt, and from there…

Keith sighed. From there, it was going to get harder.

But he could deal with it.

He had to.

Keith always loved running- that feeling of wind on his face, the sensation if his feet pounding on the ground, the rush of adrenaline flooding his veins; everything made the gasping for breath and the burning lungs worth it.

But the adrenaline didn't seem to be coming from a liberated joy this time.

His feet were bare for some reason- sand kicked up into the humid air in his wake as he darted across what he now recognized as a beach. The water was a deep blue, and the sky bore heavy, white clouds that promised rain. His feet stung, his heart thrummed in his chest,  but he didn't stop. He ran up the beach, slitting his ankles and bare shins on the beach grass (since when was he wearing shorts?) and scrambled over the loose ground. He helped as his foot hit a rock and he tripped, sprawling into the surprisingly soft, lush grass of some field that lay just over the ridge of the beach. There was no pain in his foot, but it was so damn hot- he plucked at the collar of his black suit (A suit now? In this weather?) And found it stuck to his skin with sweat. Why was he wearing black in this boiling sun? He got to his feet, and his heart stopped dead.

There were black-clad figures all around him, their faces blurred and indistinct, and they watched a still, cold gravestone that stood before Keith.

Heart dropping into his stomach, Keith tried to ignore the unsettling silence and knelt in front of the grave, squinting to see the oddly out-of-focus inscription. Weird. He had 20/20 vision. He only made out a couple of letters (m, a, and l) when a voice- oh god, it was so familiar- sounded from in front of Keith.

“They got my name wrong.” The voice said lightly.  Keith looked up and stared.

Lance was on the other side of the headstone, apparently kneeling with his arms slung as comfortably as possible o we the simplistic gray slab. This Lance, however, looked older somehow, his eyes a bit duller, his smile not so bright.

Then, Keith noticed. How had he not seen it before!?

There was blood coating the right half of his face, dripping a little still from a massive wound in his skull- it looked as though something blunt had caved in his head, and yet, he showed no signs of pain.

Lance-obviously not noticing Keith's horrified stare- tapped the inscription, and it suddenly became visible. “Lance McClain. They forgot my middle name.” He pointed out.

Right. Lance had mentioned that before, hadn't he?

“Why did they forget it?” Keith asked. There were tears in his eyes, and a stinging in his lungs, and why was it so hot?!

Lance chuckled and stood. “Because I never told you… you don't know it!”

Keith mind reeled, and in the confusion of the moment, he almost didn't notice the blood starting to pour, scarlet and viscous, from Lance's head wound. The taller boy’s eyes rolled back up into his head and he keeled forward. Keith gasped and lunged towards him, arms outstretched, sweat dripping from his jaw, screaming-

“Lance-”

Keith jolted awake, panting, drenched in sweat. The sound he'd made was more of a strangled, choked out mutter than a scream, but terror still made his blood rush like a jet-plane.

Keith looked around in the darkness- Pidge lay beside him, still sleeping, drooling onto her pillow. Keith huffed and squirmed out of the covers, realizing that he was overheated, which explained the sweat.

Shaking a little as he lay on his back, Keith placed his hands over his eyes and groaned softly. He couldn't get the image of his former teammate’s bloodied face out of his head- he wondered if there was any hope of him getting back to sleep. He looked to the bedside and read the clock that Pidge and Hunk had built. He sighed. 4:23 am earth-time (roughly); there was almost no way he was getting to sleep again… but he got a good seven hours, so he figured that was enough.

As quietly as he could, he got out of the bed and crossed Pidge's room to the door. He paused, knowing that if he got up then and there, there was definitely no going back to sleep.

Shrugging to no one but himself, Keith activated the sliding doors and stepped out into the dimly lit hallway.

The lights cast an almost eerie blue over everything, and Keith walked slowly, both to appreciate the near lack of color and to not wake up the others with loud footsteps. He reached out with one hand to touch one of the lights installed in the wall, hoping to find that it radiated some kind of warmth, but-as always- it maintained the same bland cool that the rest of the Castleship offered. It almost made him wish for the humid heat of his nightmare.

His original plan was to go to the training room, maybe practice some techniques, but he found his feet carrying him towards the hangars. His mind was being drawn to the Blue Lion (whether she was instigating the pull or not), and he let himself walk the halls to her door. They slid open with a hiss, and Keith stopped.

A slim, white haired figure sat before Blue, as close as the glowing particle barrier would allow. Upon recognizing the unexpected company, Keith sighed a little pand walked forward, and even though he knew she could hear him, she didn't seem to acknowledge his arrival.

Allura wore one of her many long, elegant nightgowns. It was a light pink, and fell to her ankles- or, it would have, had she not been sitting with her knees tucked against his chest.

Keith sat down beside her and watched Blue with her. He didn't know how many minutes passed, but it was a while before Allura broke into the silence.

“Do you think I did something, Keith?” She whispered the question, but it sounded like a gunshot in the quiet hangar. “Something wrong?”

Keith was still. “...no. I don't think so, Allura.” He replied easily.

Allura turned her oddly colored eyes to him, and he was shocked to see years glimmering there. “Then why am I not good enough for her?” It wasn't an angry or aggressively posed question, and it made the defeat in her voice almost unbearable.

Keith awkwardly traced abstract patterns on the cold floor with his index finger. “I… I think it's not a matter of ‘good enough’, it's just that…” Keith floundered for words that would explain his thoughts and not sound like an insult. “-that it's just got to do with personality- or maybe Blue thinks that we need your help from the Castle, rather than her cockpit.” Keith tried. Nevertheless, Allura's face fell, and Keith forced himself to place his hand on her back… He sucked at support, jeez. “...you-you're an amazing pilot, there's no doubt about it- so don't worry about your skills.”

Allura shrugged. “Perhaps… but maybe it's because Blue just doesn't like me.” She admitted, burying her face in her arms. “It's ridiculous, I know, but I can't get the thought out of my head… maybe she resents me for having to change our Lions, resents me for Lance leaving…”

Keith closed his eyes, and another silent minute passed. Then, smiling (but keeping his eyes comfortably shut), he spoke. “You know Lance was willing to step aside to let you pilot Blue?” He said quietly.

Allura looked at him sharply. “ Lance did?” She almost whispered. “But he was so…”

Keith squeezed his eyes shut tighter against the memory. “...yeah. When we had just found Shiro again, he came to talk to me about it… he said that he should just step aside to let the-” Keith steadied his voice, then continued with a carefully maintained tone. “-he said that we should have our best soldiers on the front lines.” He finished. He hated that memory- the sadness and doubt in Lance's eyes that didn't suit the exuberant Paladin at all… he always tried to block it out.

Allura was quiet for a moment. “...It seems that there is a lot about him that I never bothered to learn.” She breathed. Keith heard clothes rustling, and opened his eyes to see Allura adjusting herself on the floor, so she sat cross legged. She stared up at Blue distantly. “I wish I knew him better.” She sighed.

Keith exhaled softly, then smiled at Allura. “...you have the chance.” He responded, keeping his voice as light as he could.

Allura turned to look at Keith, then smiled half-heartedly. “Yes… I do.” She turned again to face Blue. “...I will try to be a better friend… not just a teammate.” She promised, although Keith felt that promise had not been directed at him.

Keith also looked up at Blue- her metal glinted in the dim light, and her eyes seemed alive, even when dark.

‘Yeah.’

‘That sounds like a plan.’

Hey y'all... I'm so sorry it took so long to update. I've been busy with end of the year testing and stuff, and I've had no time to transcribe the chapters... I hand write all of this, then type it up, so it takes a REALLY LONG TIME. Oh well, it's how I get my best work done, and my FREAKIN' COMPUTER WON'T CRASH ON MY WORK AND-

...

I'm still salty about that.

Anyways, here's the new chapter. Sorry if it's not really great, but it's not terrible.

Love y'all!

Chapter Text

“What if he's dead...? What if he thinks I'm dead?”

“I can't tell you, buddy, I'm sorry…”

“Even if he's not dead...-'s'sso far away… out there…”

“Come on, man, you gotta get some sleep.”

“‘M not tired, I jus'- I wanna see ‘im, tell ‘im-”

“I know, buddy…”

Lance groaned, stomach turning, head spinning. He gripped onto his sheets, just to keep himself grounded. He pressed his forehead into the bed-the bed? Fuck, he didn't even remember getting there- nevertheless, he felt like he was stuck in zero-g… not in a pleasant way though.

“You gonna throw up?”

Lance frowned, trying (weakly) to fight through the haze in his mind to place a name or a face to the voice. Coming up with nothing, he moaned again and shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “Mmmmmno~ no, no, I jus’... gonna lie here…” he slurred, licking his dry lips; he was thirsty, why was he thirsty? “...jus’ for a while… y'don’ hafta stay here…” he said slowly. He didn't know who was there, but he was being a burden, being a burden…

“‘M jus bein’ a burden.”

“Why would you think that?”

Lance's brows pulled together as he tried to recognize the person, but he quickly gave up. He vaguely noticed that a sheet had been pulled over him, and he shifted a bit towards the voice. “...because y'always end up takin’ care ‘f me an'-”

“Damn right I do, Sharpshooter… doesn't mean you're a burden.”

Lance's pinched expression relaxed. Ah. It was just Keith… just-

His blue eyes opened in confusion, and he looked up blearily. His vision blurred, but he'd recognize that hair anywhere. When did- how did Keith get there? And… why?

He sat up as best as he could, watching his old teammate smirk at him with one of his stupid eyebrows raised on that stupid face of his. “H-Why are you here?” Lance asked, trying to pronounce the words right. They seemed to lag behind the movements of his lips. “‘S the war over? You win? What-”

Keith scoffed. “ Wow, you are drunk … no, the war isn't over.” Keith sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. Lance noticed that it was light out already, with the sun streaming in through the window, the rays catching the motes of dust and glinting off Keith's eyes. “I just… I was worried about you.” He finished, turning slightly to smile, pink cheeked, at Lance.

Lance scowled, trying to make sense of the odd happenings. “W-worried? Why?” He finally said. “Not… really like you…”

Keith grabbed Lance's hand. “I didn't- didn't know if you were dead or not, and I just-” Keith's eyes were swimming now, and even with the heavy weight of alcohol in his blood, it clicked.

“Ah… I'm dreaming.” He realized, sighing. “Figures… you'd never care that much ‘bout me.” Lance murmured. He wanted to let go of Keith's  (weirdly cold) hand, but another aching part of him wanted to cling to him, and never let him go again-

Something dripped onto Lance's face, and his eyes focused on the face that was now right in front of his. Keith sniffled, and touched his nose to Lance's. “I don't- I don't want it to be, I-I miss you, I- we need you back with us, I-”

“This is what I want, Keith.” Lance muttered, even though it hurt to admit it. He took one more glance at Keith's eyes (why were they blue? Keith's eyes weren't blue) and closed his own. He tried to ignore Keith's tears hitting his cheeks. “I'm sorry…”

“There's no need for you to be sorry…”

Lance squirmed. “Ugh, you're getting me wet, c’mon…”

“Well, yeah. Duh.”

Lance cracked an eye open and sputtered. Water pelted his face, cold and honestly miserable. He flailed for a moment, trying to find his bearings.

“You finally awake now, hermano?”

Lance shook his head roughly, and his wet hair slapped against his face. The water beat down on him, soaking him and his… pants. Wow. Okay.

‘You are sitting in the shower with pants on.’ His brain offered helpfully. Lance shuddered, and looked up through the crack between the edge of the shower curtain and the wall. Decarlos watched him carefully, kneeling next to the tub with his chin in his hand, elbow on the ceramic. “What- why-” Lance stuttered, then cleared his throat. “...do I even want to know?” He asked quietly.

Decarlos pulled the curtain back a bit and leaned his other elbow on the edge of the tub. “...you threw up and kinda… got it on yourself, and you were out cold, so…” he gestured to the cold shower. “...yeah.”

Silence. Lance's cheeks burned. Water dripped from his nose into his water logged lap, and he sighed. “I'm sorry you had to deal with me.” He finally said, humility pressing his volume down to a weak murmur.

Decarlos reached out and grabbed his shoulder, apparently not caring if his arm got wet. Lance looked wearily at his younger friend. “You could have died, Angelo, if we hadn't been here.” Decarlos said, voice stern.

Lance shrugged one shoulder and turned his face down to his feet, picking at the belt loop of his right fitting jeans. “Coulda happened at any time… docks are dangerous.” He still felt a little out of it- how long had he been passed out?

“You… you have a problem, hermano. ”

Lance chest tightened and he shook his head, all the while moving to stand up. “Yeah, I do- my problem is this water is freezing.” He said, cranking the temperature up briefly to warm himself up before he shut off the water.

Decarlos watched him, looking lost as Lance struggled out of his wet pants, leaving him in his boxers. “Angelo-”

Lance stepped out of the tub, grabbing a towel and scrubbing at his hair. “Decarlos.” He mimicked, drying himself off as best as he could.

Decarlos huffed. “Angelo, I know it's hard to-”

“Decarlos, I don't have a problem!” Lance snapped, gritting his teeth. He immediately felt bad for his outlash and he tightened his grip on his towel. “I...I'm sorry, it's… I just had a rough day.” He murmured.

There was a short silence, then Lance resumed drying himself off.

“...What happened?” Decarlos asked softly.

Lance paused, towel over his head, allowing him to only look forward at the door, rather than at Decarlos, who stood at his side. He exhaled slowly. “My dad's PTSD flared up- scared my mamá real bad, and I had to… to intervene.” Memories flashed through his head, and he hummed thoughtfully. “He... got pretty freaked, He was convinced there were people looking for him, and he started looking for his gun… mamá got scared for him and called me.” Lance sighed heavily and sat down on the closed lid of the toilet. “It took a while to calm him down, and then I had to calm mamá down, so then I was tense so I decided to let loose, and I guess I, uh…” he looked sheepishly up at Decarlos. “...got a little carried away.” He finished.

Decarlos grimaced. “A little. Right. We get a call at 9:30 saying you're already too drunk to walk yourself home.” Lance looked away in shame as Decarlos got down to eye level with him. “It's not a healthy way to deal with your issues… I mean- take my madre , for example.” He smiled weakly.

Lance shook his head and faced Decarlos. “I may have problems, but drinking isn't one of them.” He said firmly, standing up. “I'll let you know if I need help.” He snipped, heading to the sink to-at the very least-brush his teeth.

“Angelo, you need to at least have someone to talk to.” Decarlos pleaded, straightening up and coming to stand beside Lance.

Lance stiffened a little. “Decarlos… did I say… anything? Last night?” He asked, worried that his dream might have been a bit more real that he had originally thought.

Decarlos sighed. “You said a lot, but nothing important… that's what bothers me-” Decarlos started, brows arched in concern. “-even when all your defenses are down, you still won't let people in… I'm worried about where that will put you.” He said.

Lance sagged, watching himself in the mirror. His eyes were dull and bloodshot, his skin-as much as he hated to admit it- blotchy in places. He sniffed, rubbing his nose. He'd never looked this bad, this sick… he really needed to do something about his insomnia, it was really messing with him.

“I mean, you dont show any anger or anything, and I'm-”

“-worried I might snap?” Lance croaked, staring himself dead in the eye. He gritted his teeth. “Worried I might punch a wall and start looking for a gun?” Lance gripped the edge of the sink. “...worried I might go and really fuck myself up?” He laughed and looked at Decarlos with a mirthless grin. “I already did that, in case you don't remember.” He huffed, closing his eyes and itching the tip of his nose (fucking allergies.) “I've already scared the life out of my family, twice now… I'm not about to do it again.” Decarlos fell silent, and Lance turned to the bathroom door, scrubbing at his torso with the towel. “Is Desiderio still here?”

Decarlos was quiet as he followed Lance out of the bathroom. “No. He left a little while ago, he had to go to work.” He replied softly.

Lance sighed, half in relief, half in disappointment. “...I have to apologize to him, and thank him…” Lance turned to Decarlos, smiling softly. “-and you. I'm sorry you had to deal with me.” Decarlos’ eyes were sad, and Lance's heart sank. Nineteen. Decarlos was only nineteen, he didn't need to deal with Lance's shit. “But… whoever called, I'm glad they called you. I… trust you.” His eyes went wide suddenly. “ Mierda! Mi madre, did I-”

“I called her, I let her know you were… safe.” Decarlos assured Lance, grabbing his hand. “She uh… she wants to talk to you… she was worried after you left.”

Lance hissed, pulling away. “Ah crap… ” he spun around and pressed his forehead against the wall, gently pounding the wood with his fist. “ Dammit. Did you tell her?” He asked.

He heard Decarlos shift where he stood. “That you were off your ass? In so many words, yeah, I did.” Lance groaned and Decarlos scoffed. “Angelo, even if I could lie to Angela and get away with it, I wouldn't- not in this case. No matter what you think, we're worried about you. It's what we do, as friends, as family.”

Lance curled in on himself, just a bit. Even after almost two years, he wasn't used to having the focus on him, having people worry about him- he never knew how to deal with it, except-

“There's nothing to worry about, and I especially don't want to bother mamá with it- she's under enough stress.” He said after a long, tense moment of quiet. He turned around and took a deep breath. “...you should get going, Decarlos- your shift starts in an hour.” He murmured, glancing at the clock.

Decarlos frowned. “Angelo, I want to stay and make sure you're-”

“Please don't make me be the reason you're late.” Lance rasped, closing his eyes.

“... hermano- ”

“Please.” Lance interrupted, turning back towards his bedroom. His head pounded and his stomach churned, his body was screaming at him in anger, it seemed. “I'm fine. Please.” He hated that he was begging, but… He just needed to be alone.

There was a pause, and Lance couldn't see Decarlos’ face, but he was sure he looked worried. His shoulders tensed, hoping that would be it, that he could be alone-

“...okay, Angelo.” Decarlos breathed, sounding defeated. Lance relaxed a little. “But- please. Please call if you need my help.” He said. “Or-or if you just wanna talk, or whatever.”

Lance smiled sadly. “Will do, Decarlos… have a good day.” He choked out around the lump in his throat.

There was a pause, then Decarlos’ footsteps began to fade towards the front door of Lance's apartment, and Lance spun around. “Hey, Decarlos?”

Decarlos stopped, door half open, and looked at him, eyebrows slightly raised in curiosity. Lance exhaled.

“Thank you.” He whispered.

Decarlos only smiled at him, before he left the apartment, door closing behind him with a soft click.

Lance slumped against the wall, eyes stinging, stomach rolling unpleasantly. He groaned and pulled at his hair, shaking his head. “You've got no reason to cry, Lance Angelo Álvarez-McClain.” He snapped at himself, slamming his eyes shut. His breath caught in his throat, and he almost cringed at the broken laugh that escaped his lips.

“...I've messed up everything.”

.

.

“Just one disaster to the next…” he whispered to himself, sneaking a glance at the man laying next to him, sound asleep. Lance groaned and sank back into the unfamiliar covers, both at the pain in his head and the pain in his- other places.

He broke one of his most important rules- no drunk sex. He always stood by that, always.

And yet, there he was, in a stranger's bed, not three days after Decarlos warned him of going off the rails.

Lance reached out blindly for his phone, which- he recalled from his hazy memory- lay on the cluttered bedside table. After almost knocking over a stale glass of water and cursing quietly, he finally grabbed his phone and turned it on. He frowned in guilt. ‘9 missed calls from Mamá’ his phone screen silently chastised him. Two of them were new, he noticed.

Lance checked the time and sighed. His afternoon shift started in two hours, and he hadn't even decided how he was going to handle the situation yet.

Lance looked down apprehensively at the other man as he stirred in his sleep, turning to face Lance, but (thankfully) not touching him. Tall, fit, most likely of some Asian descent, gorgeous, Lance saw immediately what had drawn him to his face, even if he remembered little to nothing from the previous night.

Lance's heart clenched and he rubbed a hand down his face. What would they think, of they knew what he was doing? Sleeping around, trying desperately to avoid relationships…

Lance pulled his mind angrily out of those thoughts and slipped as quietly as he could out of the bed. Maybe he couldn't change the past, but he could potentially leave the stranger's house without him waking up. He didn't need the soul-witheringly awkward morning conversation of an intoxicated one night stand.

After swiftly gathering his clothes from the floor and glancing one last time at his new “close acquaintance”, Lance at least took the time to refresh the glass of water by the bed- he wasn't so heartless that he would leave someone with a nasty, stale drink of water the night after drinking.

Lance pulled out his phone as he left the small apartment and found his way out into the street. After taking a minute to gather his sense of direction, he headed towards the main street and took a deep breath, staring at the nine missed calls and four new messages from his mother.

He sighed. “Now or never.” He breathed, tapping on the earliest message and holding the phone to his ear as he walked down the sidewalk, weaving through the people who tended to crowd the path at midday.

“Hola, Lancito- I'm calling because I'm worried, Desiderio called and told me what happened last night, and I should have called right away, and I'm so sorry you had to see that, you shouldn't have to deal with that, and- well, it's too much to say in a message, just… call back, mijo. Te amo.”

Lance tried to ignore the pain in his chest from her broken tone as he darted across the street, narrowly missing an electric Vespa as he made his way to the other side.

“Hola, mijo, it's me again… I don't know if your phone died, but I just wanted to make sure that you're safe… at least let me know that… and your father wants to talk to you too, he's so sorry, he wants to apologize, so… so please- call us back, Lance. Te amo.”

“Lance, I'm really worried now, I need you to call me back, or let me know you're safe. I'm your mother, I have to know that you're okay, and Decarlos says your phone is working, and I don't know why you're avoiding me, mijo, I'm not angry, I'm just worried… and- just respond, Lance. Te amo.”

Lance paused outside a convenience store, leaning against the wall to take a breath. His head killed, and he felt sick to his stomach. He was probably going to throw up soon, he needed to get to his apartment…

“Hijo, please! It's been three days now, I'm scared! Your father is scared! Please tell me something, Lance, a call, a message, just please let us know you're okay! I'm scared- the last time you did this, you were-”

“ Mensaje borrado”

Lance leaned his head back against the wall or the building, sighing. The clouds were strikingly white against the sky, streaking across it like a drying paintbrush. The sun burned at his eyes and he closed them. He tucked his phone into his pocket and- swallowing against the bile threatening to rise into his throat- he resumed his walk towards his own apartment.

He'd get the day out of the way, then he would suck it up and call his mother back.

‘So much for not worrying her.’ He thought bitterly. He shook his head. There was no time for thoughts like that- he had work ahead of him.

Lance gagged and clapped a hand over his mouth, earning himself a few disgusted and curious glances. Cheeks burning, he does up his walking.

‘...okay. Hangover first. Then work.’

.

.

Lance adjusted the strap of the heavy, insulated bag as he stood awkwardly outside the door. He heard the bags of ice crunch together, and he frowned a little.

“Is this considered bribery, or a peace offering?” He muttered to himself. He stared at the door with the chipped, red-brown paint for another moment, then forced himself to knock. Maybe the social interaction of work had exhausted him, but this was his family, and he more than owed them.

The door opened, there was a small gasp, and all of the sudden there was a woman's arms wrapped around him, and Angela buried her face in his shoulder. “Oh, mijo , please tell me that you're okay.” She said, reaching up to hold his face in her hands.

Lance smiled softly at her, and hoisted the bag from his shoulder. “I am now, but if we wait much longer I dont think this shrimp will be.” He joked, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

Angela smiled, immediately recognising the fresh seafood as an apology (of sorts), and ushered him inside. “Well, then let's get them started- we'll get papá to go out for some fresh vegetables.”

Lance slumped a bit, knowing that if she was getting Rolando out of the house, it meant she wanted to talk to Lance seriously.

…

He supposed he owed her that too.

Although it wasn't until later, when he was shelling and deveining the shrimp, that Angela's tone became more somber.

“ Mijo… how have you been lately?” She asked, her pace unfaltering as she chopped a green pepper into small cubes. When Lance didn't reply, she went on. “Honestly.” She added.

Lance sighed, and peeled the shell off of the last shrimp with little more passion than necessary. “Mamá, I'm okay. Anything to say at this point would just be a repeat of shi-stuff I've said before.” He responded truthfully, picking up the small knife and deveining the shrimp before rinsing his hands and drying them off on the dish towel.

Angela took a moment to look at him, her brow wrinkled in concern. “That doesn't mean it's any less of a problem.”

Lance shrugged curtly. “It's not a problem, they're just complaints… besides, it's all in the past now, I shouldn't be so hung up on it.” He said it quietly, as if he didn't have full faith in his own words.

“Would you say that to your father?” Angela asked easily, going back to her original task. Her voice was smooth and firm; quiet, but they resonated in Lance's head as if she had screamed them in his ear.

Lance stiffened, knowing he was stuck. He slumped a little. “...no… but it's different-”

“No, it's not, Lancito.” Angela cut in, her knife slamming into the wooden cutting board with a thunk. She placed the blade down and moved the chopped pepper to a plate. She picked up a cube of the sweet green fruit and held it up to Lance as if he were still a toddler. “We're all just worried about you. Your family, friends… all of us.” She smiled. “I'm sure your friends out there are as well.” She added softly.

Lance smiled sadly and took the paper between his teeth, chewing on it as he picked up a small habanero. “I left for a reason, mamá… I don't think they even miss me that much.” He said.

Angela huffed. “If they don't, they're blind, and I'll need to give them a good talking to.” She tsked, only half-joking, it seemed.

Lance chuckled a bit at that, and the silence that fell had lost some of its tension. “ Mijo , if they came back… what would you do?” Angela asked, voice gentle and curious.

Seeing as how Lance asked himself that very question more often than he wanted to admit, it didn't spark the normal burst of panic that most of “those” questions did. He leaned against the counter, ruffling his hair with one still-damp hand and gazing out the window at the yard, where a few chickens roamed, searching for bugs in the sparse grass. After a moment, he shrugged. “I don't know, mamá… it depends on what they come back for.” He answered, smiling a bit as he watched the family cat creep up behind the birds.

“What if they come back after winning?” She said.

The white and gray cat wiggled its haunches. “I’d celebrate them, but I doubt they'd come to me.” He said.

Angela's movements stilled. The smell of minced garlic permeated the air, making Lance’s nose tingle. He sniffled. “What if they come to take you back?”

Feathers scattered and the hens fled in all directions, stirring up dust. Lance's blood ran cold.

“Nothing they could offer me would be worth the lives that I took.” Lance's trembling voice whispered. The cat’s tail flicked in irritation.

“Nothing is.”

Mensaje borrado- Message Erased

Chapter Text

A peaceful night on the beach.

Even that was too much to ask?

Apparently so.

.

.

.

Lance's night had started off fine. Five days- almost a week -after his mother had presented him with that question, Lance was almost back to normal. The night before his day off work saw him making his way across the beach, the setting sun casting a warm orange glow on him and a small group (some friends, others strangers) as they talked, thankfully about nothing in particular.

The sand turned cold quickly after the sun finally disappeared beneath the waves, but the bonfire took care of that problem (yeah, it was technically illegal on Varadero Playa , but that was only because they never bothered to change the laws after the war). Lance sat across from Decarlos and Desiderio, and from what Lance could see through the roaring flames, they were pretty much glued to each other's lips- that said a lot about Decarlos’ state of inhibition, but it wasn't like his family was there to witness the display, so it ultimately didn't matter.

“Ey, Angelo, you figure out your money situation yet?” Riel asked over the rim of a solo cup.

Lance groaned light heartedly and shoved Riel’s solid shoulder. “Riel~ I came here to relax, not worry more than I usually do!” He complained, taking a small sip of his beer.

Riel chuckled. “Hah, well, Aleja and I thought you might be able to land a job at Los Guaricandillos…” He wiggled his eyebrows. “They could always use a new dancer.” He teased.

Lance stuck out his tongue at the mention of one of (who was he kidding, the only) Varadero's low-class male strip clubs. “What an insult- I'm higher class than that, I only do private dancing.” He joked, jabbing Riel in the ribs with his elbow. Riel doubled over, and Lance leaned across his back to look at Aleja, who sat “innocently” next to Riel on the log-turned-bench. “By the way, Aleja, where's Miguel? He's usually with you when you come to these things.” He asked, kind of missing his older friend's presence.

Alexa sighed and balanced her bottle on her knee as she rubbed her tanned forehead. “...his brother's been in a bit of a rough patch, so he's spending some time with him. He's gonna join us on the boat for a bit, too.” She smiled, and Lance tried to ignore the pang of jealousy he felt upon seeing the look of soft affection in her eyes. She grinned at Lance after a moment, waving him off as Riel recovered and straightened up, pushing Lance off his back. “-but don't worry… you can continue to court my boyfriend soon, you'll see him on Wednesday.” She laughed, and Lance snorted.

“It's almost like you want me to steal him from you.” Lance played along, finishing off his drink.

“Eh, I just like to see you try.”

“Jesus Christ, have those two even come up for air yet?” Someone crowed, and Desiderio pulled away from Decarlos.

“Oh, fuck off, Garcia; go jump off the dock!” Decarlos muttered, leaning into Desiderio's shoulder as the other man laughed.

Lance smiled and closed his eyes, savoring the warmth radiating from the fire and the smell of the ocean.

“Feels good to not think, huh, Angel?”

Lance hummed in agreement. “Nothing better.” He said quietly to Riel as he leaned back on his hands.

“‘Cept maybe sex.” Riel joked.

“Same thing.” Lance grinned.

“Maybe for you, chulo.”

“Prude.”

“Excuse you!”

“Sorry.”

.

.

.

“Angel, watch your step, my foot isn't a cockroach.”

“Oh really? Shit, my bad.”

“Don't get sassy with me, I'll kick your incompen- incomp- your stupid ass.” Desiderio nearly tripped on a hole in the sand and swore loudly, almost bringing Decarlos and Lance down with him.

Lance cackled, leaning into him heavily. “Aw, y'almost had it though~! Word's ‘incompetent’.” He teased, lazily patting his shoulder. “Better luck next time.”

Decarlos sucked in a breath. “Angelo, watch your-”

Lance hit the sand hard, having tripped over a rather large mound of sand. He groaned, spitting out sand and dusting his shirt off as he turned onto his back. Desiderio and Decarlos were laughing, even as the latter held out a hand to help him up. “T'be fair, sand's hard to walk on sober, gimme a break…” Lance grumbled, taking Decarlos’ hand and pulling himself up.

Desiderio snickered as Lance staggered to his feet, not quite finding his balance on the shifting ground. “There you go, amigo, you got this.”

Lance shoved him, almost sending him toppling. “Don't be a dick.”

Decarlos groaned and moved to stand between them. He patted both of their shoulders, sighing. “Desiderio, play nice- Angelo, don't make a scene.” He said tiredly. Even if he'd started out being the one with the highest BAC, it was clear that he was now the most present of the three. “It's almost two am for heaven's sake.” The lack of cussing proved his sobriety, Lance liked to think.

Lance's face broke into a lopsided grin as the left the beach in exchange for the cracked, asphalt road. “A scene, huh? We don't wanna look like a group of spring break teens, huh? I get it…” he murmured, bending over to clumsily undo the straps of his sandals.

“Angelo…” Decarlos warned as Desiderio chuckled, his arm wrapped securely around Decarlos’ waist.

Lance held his sandals in one hand, imitating the high school age, high heel- wielding tourists on their escape from the D.A.* during the spring months, who tended to take advantage of the low drinking age.

“Decarlos doesn't want me to make a scene - as if I would~” he drawled in mock offense, walking haphazardly down the street, only slightly exaggerating his uneven, lilting gait.

“Angel, you've tripped once already, watch where you're going, you drunk idiot.” Desiderio teased.

Lance quickly straightened up as they passed him. “Buzzed, Desi- I'm not the one hanging off of Decarlos.” He shot back easily.

Desiderio shoved him as they passed, making him stagger dramatically to the side. “I'll settle for tipsy- either way, you need to get to bed.”

Lance regained his balance and fell into step beside them, not bothering to put is sandals back onto his calloused feet. The lights of the lower city drew nearer, and Lance hummed to himself as they swam in his vision.

Maybe bed was a good destination after all.

.

The walk to his apartment left him feeling more clear headed than before, and yet, Decarlos was hesitant to leave him alone… for once, though, Lance wasn't anxious to have them leave.

“You sure you dont wanna just come with us, Angelo?” Decarlos said, standing against the railing if the balcony walkway with one hand on Desiderio's shoulder. “I mean, you don't have work tomorrow-”

“Decarlos- s'alright… I'm honestly more worried about you two making it home.” Lance grinned, eyeing Desiderio, who was apparently too tired to even flip him off. “You two could stay here, I'll sleep on the couch.” He offered, taking out his key and luckily fitting it into the lock with no trouble.

Decarlos shifted on his feet. “I wouldn't wanna take your bed-”

“S'really fine, you can stay if you want to-”

“Do you… want us to stay?”

Lance dropped his key after opening the door and swore, holding onto the door frame to bend over and pick it up without face planting. The hidden question behind the words made Lance tense up.

‘Do you need someone with you?’

“I-I don't care either way, just thought it'd be easier, but I guess you'd be more comfortable in your own bed, huh?” Lance quickly back tracked.

Decarlos smiled. “I think it's best if I bring Desi back to his place… but thanks, Angelo.” He took Desiderio by the arm, waking him from the dazed trance he was in. “See you soon… take care.” He said cheerfully. Desiderio mumbled something along the same lines as he was pulled along, but it was lost in the breeze.

Lance looked up at the sky after they were gone. His head spun so that he had to grip the door frame tighter, and he smiled drowsily, knowing he should really go inside and get some sleep before the window of opportunity passed, but he was content for once as he watched the sky above the ocean.

Wanting a better view, he crossed the narrow walkway and clung to the railing, breeze lifting his hair from his neck and prompting him to take a deep breath… good night… it had been a good night, after a good day, and the stars were beautiful and bright and-

Interrupted

Lance blinked, frozen where he stood, as a bright, burning streak appeared in the sky, cutting a blazing line through the black before seeming to disappear into the ocean.

Lance's lungs screamed, every muscle tensed, every vein constricted. Dazed and horrified, Lance shook his head.

Not another one- he wasn't that bad, not now, when lucidity was just out of grasp- he couldn't have one now-

He stumbled into his apartment and locked the door behind him, hands shaking- he knew it was just one of those damn hallucinations, again, that it couldn't hurt him-

A hysterical laugh ripped it's way out of his throat, and he sank to his knees, breathing becoming shallow and rapid.

‘Can't hurt me, can't hurt me-’

‘Why not?’

‘You hurt them!’

‘Don't you deserve it?’

‘All those lives you took- this is karma- the Galra are coming, they've come for you-’

“Shut up, shut up!” Lance punched the cheap welcome mat, scraping his knuckles on the abrasive surface, before he pulled on his hair and curled into himself.

“I'm done with all that! They can't hurt me, not anymore, they can't hurt me-”

‘What if they can?’

Lance growled and pulled himself off the floor. “There… are ways… to shut you up…” he hissed to himself, to the incessant, nagging voice in his mind, as he forced his way through the thick panic to his cabinet.

"There are ways to shut you down.”

.

.

.

“Angelo!”

“Angelo, open the damn door!”

The voices sounded just as distorted and distant as the ring of his cell phone, but Lance made no move to get up. He shuddered, running his thumb back and forth across the lip of the bottle, its astringent, nose-dryingly bitter scent no longer registering in his brain.

‘If I open the door… what if it's just another hallucination? They can't hurt me here, they can't hurt me-’

‘They can-’

Lance's mouth stung at the contact with the foul smelling liquid, but the wince no longer came.

“Angelo!”

“Agh! Hold on, I'm just gonna open it!”

“How- You have a key, of course you have a- Angelo, we're coming in!”

Lance curled his knees up against his body, hiding himself in the corner of the couch. If the door opened, that meant real people were there…

That was somehow worse.

‘What if it's them-’

One last draft and the contents were gone, yet he still clung to the bottle, thumb circling the glass rim, breath speeding up as his thoughts slowed down.

He barely heard the click of the lock, nor the frantic footsteps that followed. Lance's hand twitched. Two pairs- he could handle them-

“Oh dios, Angelo…”

“Ey, hermano -” Someone knelt in front of him and took his face in both hands. Lance exhaled sharply- Spanish -not them. The hand gently slapped his cheek. “C'mon, menor, open your eyes, lemme know you can hear me, yeah?”

Lance forced his heavy eyelids up- four- no, two men stood before him, one who kinda reminded him of Hunk and the one who was kneeling-

Lance groaned. “Oh no… Luis… va, va… ” He couldn't- not his big brother- “I don’ want you t’ see me like this…” He slurred, hiding his face in his hands. They were drawn away, and even through his doubled vision, Lance saw the concern in his brother's eyes.

“L-Angelo, talk to me, bro, how much have you had?”

“Have you eaten?” Decarlos- that was Decarlos.

Lance pawed at the bottle between his legs and lifted it. “S'gone…” he chuckled bitterly, letting it drop onto the couch next to him. His legs went limp and slipped off the cushions, nearly hitting Luis’ knees. His stomach churned and he groaned, head lolling to the side. “‘ve eaten… not gonna… gonna die, don’ worry…” He mumbled, turning onto his side only to fall onto the couch, laying uncomfortably on the bottle.

Luis pulled him back into a sitting position like he weighed nothing. “When did you start, hermano?”

Lance hiccuped. “...sunday…” He admitted quietly.

Luis swore and Decarlos made a sort of whimpering, shocked sound that made Lance's heart sink. “You've been on a bit of a bender, huh, baby bro? Have you left the house?”

“Why didn't you call me? Or Desi?”

“How much water have you had?”

“What happened?”

Lance's eyes welled up against the barrage of questions. “Hal-hallucinations... hic... the- comet, or-or ship, Luis, dios mio, Luis, yo p-pensé que-”

He was pulled into a tight hug as soon as the tears hit his cheeks, and Luis gently rubbed his back. “Oh, hermano, lo siento, mi alma, calma, por favor…” His voice shook, which only made Lance cry harder. “Decarlos, could you get him some water while I get him cleaned up?” He asked quietly as Lance broke down into his shoulder. Decarlos’ footsteps faded into the kitchen, and Luis pulled away. “C'mon, Lancito-” he whispered, taking Lance's shoulders and pulling him to his feet. “You need to- whoa-”

Lance staggered past him, one hand over his mouth and the other on his stomach, towards the bathroom. As soon as he bent over the toilet, Luis’ hands were holding his hair back and rubbing his shoulder blade. Lance retched, his stomach trying to dispel two days worth of poison from his system, even if it was pretty much useless. He trembled, cold sweat on his forehead, as he gagged, over and over.

Luis was talking again. “ - mamá called me- ayuda tu hermano, ayuda Lance, he's not picking up any calls, he won't listen to me…” His voice cracked. “Why didn't you talk to me, menor? I said you could talk to me…” he asked quietly.

Lance spit into the toilet, gripping the sides with shaking hands. He lifted his head enough so that he wasn't inaudible. “...didn't… You can't help… if I called… if I called-” his stomach lurched, and he moaned miserably. “-I wouldn' know what’s real…” he rasped.

Luis’ hand paused on the space between his shoulder blades as he exhaled slowly. Lance felt his nausea subside enough for him to sit up a bit and take in a few, much needed deep breaths.

“Lance…” Luis started, his voice hesitant. “...this doesn't change that fact that I want you to tell me when you're having trouble, but…” Lance felt uneasy, and didn't look up at Luis, but waited as his older brother sighed. “...that ‘comet’ wasn't a hallucination.” He said softly.

Lance's head was back in the toilet in record time, shock making his stomach upend itself once again. Luis held his shoulders tightly, anchoring him.

“Calm down, menor, it was on the news, it was just an old satellite that finally fell out of orbit-”

“They're back, they're back, Luis, hermano , they've come for me, they're gonna kill me-”

Luis pulled him back from the toilet and into his arms, so Lance's back was to his chest. Lance gripped Luis’ arms so tight his knuckles paled. He struggled weakly against him, breath speeding up, heart rate skyrocketing and the room spinning wildly. “My bayard, bayard, Luis, please, I need-” He sobbed, and he felt a hand run through his hair.

“Shh, menor, you're okay, no one is here except for me and you and Decarlos- no one is coming for you, alma …” Lance distantly heard water running, and the next second, someone was gently cleaning his face with a warm washcloth.

Fresh tears replaced the ones that had been wiped away, and he reached out blindly, grabbing the wrist of whoever held the cloth.

‘Soft..’ Lance registered the feeling and his fingers moved to the hand, clinging tightly to Decarlos as Luis held him, carding fingers through his hair and humming into his ear.

“You're okay, amigo. ” Decarlos murmured. Lance could barely make out his face, but he recognised the blue eyes, one dark and the other cloudy with scarring. “You’re safe.”

Lance laughed at the word, tears streaking down his face and neck. He felt Decarlos hold up a glass to his lips, and he forced himself to calm down, taking a few, tiny sips to rid his mouth of the sour taste of bile and liquor.

Luis gently tapped his cheek. “You feel a little better, Angelo?” He asked. Lance only huffed breathlessly in response, groaning softly as his stomach fought to keep the water down. “You're breathing better.” He noticed.

Lance's head drooped, and he struggled to keep his eyes open. There was the washcloth again, cold this time, then the water. He took a bigger sip than he meant and spluttered, coughing a little. This did nothing but bring his hiccups back. “Don't pass out just yet, hermano, we need to make sure you're okay.”

Lance reached back and dug his fingers into Luis’ upper arm. “Luis…” He whispered. Luis hummed to let him know he was listening. Lance turned his head a little to face him over his shoulder. “If they… if they come… what'll happen to me?” He slurred.

Luis squeezed Lance in a tight hug. “You're not going anywhere unless you say so… I promise, hermano .” He said firmly.

Lance's face twisted into a sort of tired smile, and he slumped helplessly into his brother's arms. “‘M sorry, you guys… have t’ deal with me…” He mumbled.

Decarlos gripped his hand tightly, and Luis chuckled. “Don't ever be sorry to get help, hermano.” Decarlos said. Lance's eyes closed.

“We've all got our battles… we never have to fight them alone.”

Chapter Text

“‘You should come to Cuba with me when we get back to Earth!’” Pidge mocked their missing teammate as she unfolded her clothes from the small, watertight packs that Coran had dug up from somewhere in the castle.

Shiro chuckled. “Pidge, we've only been here for two hours.” He said, already dressed, his Paladin armour in a neat pile beside their fire.

Pidge grumpily shook out her green and white shirt, which had started to become a bit tight around her chest and upper arms, Keith noticed. She'd definitely grown; they'd need to get new clothes. “ Sharks, Shiro! The first face I wanna see when we get to earth is not a fu-freakin’ tiger shark!” She grouched, gathering her clothes into her arms and stomping off towards a dilapidated building, where Hunk was still changing. “I'll be back in a minute.” She grumbled, already complaining under her breath about the sand.

Keith and Shiro exchanged an amused glance, and Shiro shrugged. “I've encountered worse creatures.” He said simply, unwrapping a ration bar as he sat down on a stone next to their small, hopefully inconspicuous fire. Whether he had been referring to the sharks or the disgruntled Katie Holt, Keith didn't know, but either way, it was an accurate statement.

Keith looked around, yet again wondering at the brilliance of the stars. There was no light pollution on this small island, and it didn't look like there were any people either. Keith had been inside the building to change as well, and had taken note of the organized, military style of abandoned and rusted equipment. “I haven't really thought about the war here on earth in a while.” He said aloud, also sitting down. He frowned into the flames. “It's easy to forget how other countries were affected by it.” He said.

Shiro hummed, finishing off his ration bar. “Cuba was hit pretty hard, I think, especially following WWIII… It wasn't nearly as bad in the Democracy, back when it was the United States.” He paused. “Aside from New York and D.C, that is.” He added.

Keith huffed. “No, they had other problems.” He muttered. There was a silence, broken by the occasional snap of the fire. Keith exhaled slowly. “...we're back on earth, Shiro.” He murmured dumbly.

Shiro laughed lightly. “We're back…” He repeated.

Keith rubbed his forearms out of nervous habit. “Feels weird.” He breathed. Another silence. “What would happen if we stayed?” He wondered.

Shiro snorted. “Allura would kill us, then save the universe on her own.” He joked. He raised his eyebrows at Keith. “Do you… want to stay?” He asked quietly.

Keith shook his head. “Nothing much to stay for, y'know?” He replied gruffly.

Shiro was quiet, staring into the fire. He knew Keith wasn't exaggerating, but even after all their years by each other's sides, he still didn't really know how to respond to statements like those. That was fine; Keith didn't need a response.

They sat in comfortable silence until Pidge and Hunk rejoined them at the fire. Pidge- never one for wanting to fuss with sand or dirt- sat next to Keith on an old log, while Hunk sat down across from them on the ground.

“So,” Hunk started, looking at each if his teammates in turn. “Do we have a plan?” He asked.

They all hesitated. Their plans had consisted mainly of getting to Earth, not what to do once they were there. “Um… somehow get to the main island, find Lance, get back to the Castleship?” Keith offered, only half-sarcastic.

“We haven't really thought this through, huh?” Shiro said, crossing his arms in thought. “Given the fact that there are footprints and other evidence that people still come here, it's a good bet that there'll be a boat coming here soon.” He continued.

“Worst comes to worst, there are some life rafts in that building- they look a little sketchy, but the mainland isn't too far.” Hunk interjected helpfully.

“Yeah, Hunk, we'll just float ashore, on a beach, in an old life rafts in midday- two rough looking Asian dudes, a freakin’ hulk of a Samoan, and a little twiggy gringa. ” Pidge said, her voice dry and her eyebrow quirked.

“I think it's yuma here, not gringa.”

“Either way, it's not much more suspicious than if a boat comes by here and sees us.” Keith interrupted, amused.

“Keith and Pidge have a point- we may not be able to find a completely believable story, but we have to come up with something that's at least plausible.” Shiro added.

“...we could be tourists.” Hunk said.

“Who got left by their group on a tiny island- perfect, Hunk.”

“Pidge, watch your temper, please.” Shiro chastised their youngest member. “Tourists may be the most believable story we have.”

“We could have been camping here and our boat drifted off.” Keith shrugged.

Hunk nodded, then frowned. “Do we even know if this island is open to the public?” He wondered?

Pidge took out a tablet from her pack and pulled up what looked like a holographic map of the islands. “I can always cross reference with recent Earth info, with some work, but from what I see, we're on Cayo Romero, and last Lance knew, it was open to public use.” Pidge explained.

Lance.

Keith's eyes were drawn to the horizon, where the water met the sky, and his mind started to slip out of focus. He was tired, emotionally exhausted (as per usual), and the direct mentioned of their blue eyed Paladin didn't help his drifting thoughts.

His head apparently tired of thinking about the heavier questions, he found himself wondering about things like his appearance- how much had he changed? Was his hair longer? Shorter? Maybe he had a beard now, or freckles and a deeper tan from the sun exposure that they'd lacked in space. He couldn't imagine him with a different body type (he'd been tall and slender for as long as Keith had known him), but perhaps he had lost some of the muscle bulk he'd gained from fighting.what kind of job did he have; would he have a job? Where did he live, how-

“Kei~~~th~”

Keith blinked blearily at the hand being waved in front of his face. Pidge grinned teasingly. “Falling asleep there, buddy-man?” She asked.

Keith could only find the strength to nod, and Shiro chuckled. “Maybe it's time to get some sleep, it's late- early-” he frowned. “- it's time to sleep. We'll continue in the morning.” He said, standing. “So- we sleeping on the beach or in the building?”

Keith lost himself in the babble again, and mindlessly followed his team to the building, where they managed to make themselves slightly comfortable before they settled in to sleep.

There was a window in the wall, above where Keith lay on the floor- he could look up and see the stars above the tops of the trees and he smiled softly, wondering if Lance was seeing those same stars too.

‘We're here, Lance.’ He thought, closing his eyes and giving into the lull of sleep. ‘I hope you're ready to go.’

.

.

Keith found it almost unbelievable that after just a day (which did, fortunately, give them time to plan), a boat did indeed come right to shore where they currently sat, still groggy from two nights of less than perfect sleep.

Pidge spotted the fishing vessel first, being the most awake out of all of them (probably being used to running on less than 4 hours of sleep), and stood excitedly, immediately beginning to recheck that everything had been taken care of.

Shiro chuckled, trying to get her to calm down, while Hunk made sure that any alien tech was out of sight in their small, watertight satchels.

Keith was too tired to say anything, but he'd already done a mental check of everything- they had cloaked the Green Lion, and it waited-hidden from any Earth scanners- about a mile off shore. They had done a quick search of the island and found a suitable place in the woods to hide their Paladin armour and bayards  (again, hidden with cloaking… man, they owed a lot to Pidge for that technological feat), so they were all set, as long as their story held water with the quickly approaching fishermen. Keith looked around at their group- lean or otherwise strong and muscled, scarred, and tense- yeah, sure, tourists. Keith scoffed, shaking his head. “No way they're gonna believe any story we have.” Keith murmured to Hunk in slight amusement.

Hunk grinned. “Bet you 20 bucks they'll call us out.” He whispered back.

Keith rolled his eyes. “It's obvious I'm not gonna take that bet.”

“Probably best.”

15 minutes later, they boat had shored in the shallow water, and three men were deboarding, boots splashing in the water as the larger group trudged down the sand to meet them (with Hunk at the lead, knowing the most Spanish out of all of them).

“ Buenas días, señores! ” Hunk called out, his hand raised in a friendly greeting. That was probably the most Keith would understand, having only taken the required four years in school and only paying attention for four minutes of them in total.

One of the men laughed as they all walked out of the break and onto the sand. “ Buenas tardes, compañero… un poco cansado, sí? ” He joked in a deep, smooth voice. Keith… couldn't help staring at the broad, tanned shoulders and the sparkling hazel eyes… Jesus.

Had Lance's shoulders been that broad? No, he was more slender, but-

“Hey, Earth to Keith- pick your jaw up before you get sand in your mouth.” Pidge interrupted, smirking.

Keith glared at her. “Shut up…” he grumbling, flushing a bit at having been so obvious.

“- y perdimos nuestro bote en el mar… no lo anclamos bien.” Hunk laughed, sounding fairly convincing.

The men looked at each other, then at the group. “ Turistas, eh ?” The second man-slim, with black hair and a stubbly beard-said, sounding unconvinced.  “ Todos ustedes parecen soldados para nosotros.. oh, no se preocupen!” He grinned. “Don't worry- ingles, sí? Sí, we know enough.”

Shiro stepped forward, a small smile on his face. “You could say that… but we are tourists; we’re looking for an old friend- meeting up with him, but the camping trip didn’t go as planned, obviously.” He chuckled, referring to their lost, non-existent boat. “You wouldn’t happen to have space on your boat when you go to the mainland, would you?” He asked.

The third man grinned. He was the shortest, and well built, with a large scar across his left shoulder and a missing little finger- he looked a lot like the man with hazel eyes… probably brothers, Keith suspected. “Maybe if we get your names.” He said it while smiling, but Keith heard the guarded mistrust.

Shiro stepped forward, human hand extended. “My apologies- my name is Takashi.” He said. Keith took note to use his first name in company, in case people remembered the missing Kerberos pilot, Shirogane.

Hunk shook hands with each of them. “ Yo soy Hunk. Ella es Katie, y este Keith.” He said, thankfully handling the introductions for the two more socially awkward members of the team.

After the brief introductions, the team followed the three men (Miguel, Riel, and Cedro) onto the fishing vessel, their small satchels in hand. Keith wondered for a moment about how easily they were allowed on board, and Cedro seemed to notice his alert expression. He dropped back a little to walk alongside him.

“Anyone that open about being a soldier to a Cuban can’t have been on the wrong side of the war.” Cedro murmured. His eye turned intense, and he looked away sharply. “Where were you stationed?” He asked quietly.

“Cedro, you should know better-” Miguel started to say, but Shiro laughed, taking everything in stride.

“It’s alright, fair question. We were stationed in Hawaii- I’m afraid I’m not allowed to tell you where else.” He lied, looking apologetic.

Cedro sighed, shrugging. “Ah, I get it, don’t worry.” He clapped a hand on Keith’s back. “Wherever you were, I’m glad to see you’re all here, brothers.” He paused, looking at Pidge, before opening his mouth again.

Pidge held up a hand with a lazy shrug. “Just keep it simple, it’ll be easier for all of us.” She said.

Shiro shot her a look, but Riel laughed. “I like you! You remind me of someone-in a good way.” He chuckled, before turning to Miguel. “ Si los consigues  cómodo en cubierta, voy a dejar que Aleja sepa que tenemos compañía.” He said, before disappearing into the lower part of the boat. Cedro followed him, and so the team was left in the hot sun with this tall (incredibly attractive, what the hell?!) man.

Miguel eyed Shiro for a moment, then nodded to him. “Hell of a scar you got there, compañero… not to mention....” His eyes flickered down to Shiro’s Galra arm, and Keith tensed, exchanging a glance with Hunk and Pidge. They were so used to it that the highly advanced technology didn’t even cross their minds as an issue.

Shiro (as always) seemed prepared. He smiled, and held it out for Miguel, who almost eagerly grabbed it to inspect it, eyes lit up like a child with a new toy… which was funny, considering he couldn’t have been much younger than Shiro, if not the same age.

“It’s more flashy than anything… it’s a very normal prosthetic, just with a bit more metal work.” Shiro was saying, quickly covering their asses with a smoothness Keith only wished he could achieve.

He heard footsteps behind him, and Cedro reappeared, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. “Aleja va a estar aquí pronto, ella solo nos está volviendo hacia el puerto.” He told Miguel, his fingers playing with a cheap lighter down by his hip.

Miguel frowned, letting go of Shiro’s arm and marching past Hunk to the shorter man. “Saca esa cosa de tu boca.” He muttered, too fast for Keith to understand a word.

“Ni siquiera está encendido!”

“Dios, eres peor que Angelo.” Miguel rolled his eyes, then smiled at the group. “You all relax for a minute, I’m going to check on something. Cedro, vamos, hermano.” He said, dragging Cedro along with him by the arm.

The team looked at each other, finally alone and slightly dumbfounded. Hunk looked the least shocked- he may have even looked a little amused, actually.

Keith looked to the tallest Paladin, eyebrow quirked. “You said they were friendly, but come on.” He said, his voice lowered in case their “saviours” could still hear them. “They barely even believed us! We could be anyone! We could be, like, spies or-”

“Cuba is no longer a major target, remember?” Hunk said. He wandered over to the edge of the boat, and looked out over the railing. “They’re still involved overseas, but after the D.A. pulled out, Cuba itself has been pretty much left alone.” He explained as the others joined him at the salt-sticky railing.

“So they’re not even careful about who comes in and out?” Pidge asked incredulously. “That seems a little reckless.”

Hunk shrugged. “I guess as long as it’s not an army they can handle it… it’s not like they have anything to hide, or any secret weapons.” He murmured.

Shiro smiled a little, but it was tight lipped. “Well, they have Lance… if the Blue Lion needed to, she’d come down and get him herself… that could make Cuba a target again, if she showed up on radar.”

The wind whipped at Keith’s hair. He scoffed. “Don’t tell Lance that when we see him.” He muttered under his breath. Shiro’s eyes flickered to him, though, and Keith prepared himself to explain.

“Dios mío, mírate a todos!”

The female voice made them turn, and Keith almost breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully Shiro would forget… probably not though.

She was tall, probably 5’9’’, with dark tan skin and brown eyes. Half of her head was shaved down to a few centimetres, while the other half was a full foot and a half of thick, wavy, almost black hair.

She grinned at them. “ Definitivamente soldados, no puedes engañarme. Welcome to Cuba, compañeros! What are you all here for?” She asked in almost perfectly accented english… it reminded Keith of Lance, when he was being a little less careful with his pronunciation.

She came up to them and clapped Keith on the shoulder, making him jump a little in surprise. He blinked. Maybe more like Lance than he originally thought, this woman could have easily been his older sister, if her skin were a bit lighter.

“The big guy here doesn’t need it, but the rest of you will need this-” The woman pulled a bottle out of the tool belt around her waist, frowned at it, then put it back. “Not the varnish, this;” She held out a different squeeze bottle- it just looked like generic sunscreen. What Keith would have done for that on many of the planets they visited… they had found out quickly that Alteans didn’t burn nearly as quickly in the sunlight.

Pidge gratefully took the bottle, immediately putting a generous amount on her face and exposed arms, before handing the bottle to Hunk to get her neck and upper back.

“My name’s Aleja, I’m the capitán.” The woman -Aleja- explained, sticking her hand out to Keith in greeting. He shook it, and he saw her eyeing the tough, black gauntlets, but apparently she had enough a filter not to ask. “I’m good with names, but I don’t know who’s who… I can guess you’re Hunk-” She smiled at the Yellow Paladin, then turned to Shiro. “And I don’t like to assume, but I’m guessing a name like ‘Takashi’ belongs to you.” She said.

Shiro shrugged, not looked offended- he didn’t tend to be about that sort of thing. “Right so far. This is Keith, and she’s Katie.” He finished for her, even though it was probably obvious from there.

Aleja nodded, placing her ragged hands on her somewhat narrow hips. “So… you’re here to find an old friend?” She asked. “Another comrade?”

Keith nodded before anyone else could drag this out any longer. “Yeah. His name is Lance, Lance McClain- he’s another soldier, if that helps at all.” He said quickly.

The sun seemed to grow hotter, uncomfortably warm as Aleja scrunched up her lip in thought. She hummed, eyebrows drawn together. “There are a lot of soldiers in Cuba, former or otherwise, so trying to narrow the group down to that won’t do you any good.” She sighed. “And I don’t know any ‘Lance’, so I can’t help you there, sorry.” She fiddled with the clasp on her tool belt, as if itching to be doing something physical. “Are you sure he’s in Varadero?” She checked.

Hunk nodded, “He lives there, he wouldn’t leave it for the world.” The entire group decided collectively to not react to the irony of the statement.

Aleja nodded slowly in response to this. “...well…” She started. “I would ask around the docks- there are a couple in Varadero, and the soldiers tend to take jobs there for the physical work, unless they’re badly handicapped…” She eyed Shiro’s arm, and Pidge stepped up.

“No, he’s got all his limbs, I think he’s just missing a piece of his brain.” She quipped to no one in particular. Keith pinched his lips together, but he didn’t say anything.

Lance wasn’t stupid. He was just homesick.

Despite what Keith (and most likely Hunk, given the way he was looking out over the sea, his jaw set) thought, Aleja laughed and patted Pidge’s shoulder- it looked incredibly pale in contrast to Aleja’s hand. “Well, that’s not gonna help me pick him out of a crowd, but thanks for the laugh.” She stepped backwards towards where the wheel probably was and smiled. “Well, that’s my advice; search the docks, then if you know his address, go there. Varadero isn’t huge, I’m sure you’ll find him.” She gave them a thumbs up. “I have to get back, but we’ll be arriving at the docks in about 14 minutes.”

Shiro frowned. “Are you sure you want to just bring us back?” He asked. Keith turned to him, wide eyed- ‘What the hell, Shiro?’

Aleja waved him off. “We were heading back to port for a while anyway- early fishing day, we’ve gotta bring the catch back to the market. So don’t worry about it. Riel needs to get back as well, I think he has a date later!” She yelled out over her shoulder, grinning.

“ ¡No hay cita! ¡ Necesito hablar con Angelo porque necesito devolver algo!” A voice from the other side of the boat called.

“Estaba hablando de Jadzia, pero está bien, si es Angelo-” Aleja continued, waving to the (incredibly lost) group, before disappearing around the other side of the ship.

The team looked at each other for a moment. “So…” Pidge murmured, breaking the ice. “I guess we wait?”

Shiro made an ‘I don’t know’ sound, and Hunk muttered something in agreement. Keith said nothing, finding his mind start to drift once again, and instead moved to the railing again, leaning against the rusty, greenish metal and looking down into the water- deep, a dark teal blue, cut through but the waves the fishing vessel created as it glided across the surface towards the mainland. He sighed, squinting against the harsh sunlight as he looked towards the horizon- nothing but ocean, as far as he could see.

He heard footsteps, and he looked down again as Shiro joined him at the railing.

“You okay, Keith?” He asked quietly.

Keith made no move to look at his older brother. “Yeah. I’m fine.” He sighed again, and Shiro took in a deep breath- probably enjoying the fresh air as much as he could before they were back on the CastleShip.

“So… what was that earlier?” Keith tensed, but didn’t respond. “About Lance.” Shiro offered, as if Keith didn’t know what he was referring to.

Keith chewed at his lip, then dropped his head in defeat. “It was nothing important.” He lied.

Shiro’s eyes bored into Keith’s temple; Keith could feel it. “It sounded important.” He pressed.

Keith’s fingers tapped against the rail, and he shook his head. “...Let’s get Lance back- then I’ll talk with you. I promise.” He added, already hearing the protest forming in Shiro’s head.

Shiro paused, then exhaled slowly. “...Alright. I guess you’re right; one thing at a time.”

Keith stared into the water, wishing he could somehow just know where Lance was.

One thing at a time.

‘Right.’ His mind seemed to laugh at him.

‘Easier said than done.’

Chapter Text

“Sorry, compañero, I don’t know a ‘Lance’, and I know everyone here.” The tall man they had approached after 40 minutes of asking around the docks shrugged apologetically. “Could you give me a description, maybe?” He suggested, shifting the coil of heavy rope he carried higher onto his shoulder.

Irritation roiled away under Keith’s skin- he was hot, antsy, and frustrated- he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about being home (Earth, that is), and even if he were the type to be elated about returning, they were pressed for time, and this was no vacation. They had to find Lance, get him back to Blue, and then it was back on the grind.

And honestly, the only thing Keith had on Earth was Lance- he was one of his only friends, his best friend, if nothing else.

Hunk’s voice brought Keith back to the present as the younger Paladin immediately began to describe their teammate. “He’s tall and sort of thin- light brown skin and hair, and he’s got dark blue eyes.” He supplied quickly, apparently as anxious to find Lance as Keith was.

The man’s face lit up in recognition. “Well, I don’t know about a ‘Lance’, but Angel, Ramon, and Enrique all have blue eyes.” He paused, eyeing them for a moment. “Are you soldiers?” He asked, his voice dropping a bit. “Because Angel’s got a lotta scars, and he says they’re from fishing incidents, but I’ll be damned if they weren’t battle wounds.” He muttered.

The team exchanged a glance, then Shiro stepped forward. “Does… Angel have burn scars on his back?” He asked. Keith stood, tense, his arms crossed over his chest, apprehensive. Hunk fidgeted and Pidge’s eyebrows were furrowed.

The man snapped his fingers. “He’s your man.” He replied with a small grin.

Pidge looked at the man from behind Hunk. “Where can we find him?” She asked, sounding eager. Keith’s arms slowly unfolded, his heart beginning to pick up its pace. ‘So close, so close…’

The man shrugged, frowning as he looked around the busy docks. “I’m not sure- a friend called in for him, I think he’s sick,” He hummed. “He never misses more than a day, though, so he’ll probably be here tomorrow.” He turned back to them. “If you really need to see him today, you might ask Decarlos- his friend, he works at the Duarte diner, just down the road.” He said helpfully.

Shiro smiled and shook his hand. “I think we can wait until he’s better, but thanks for your help, sir.” Keith shot Shiro a wide eyed glare. The man shook his head with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Have a nice day.” Shiro added. With that, he turned and started to make his way back down the pier, leaving the rest of the group to quickly thank the (slightly amused, Keith wondered what that look was about) man and hurry after him.

“Hey, whoa, Shiro! A little gung-ho there, aren’t we?” Pidge yelped, scrambling to catch up to the taller man. Keith followed Hunk silently, wondering what their next move would be, and curious about Shiro’s odd behaviour… he hoped that it wasn’t PTSD, but being around so many people who had been through a lot of similar things probably wasn’t doing wonders for his psyche.

Shiro paused, took a deep breath, nodded, then turned around. “...sorry, guys, I’m a little…” He made a vague motion with his hands. He sighed. “...I’m a little tired- I think we all are. How about we head back to the... hotel? We can get a few more hours of sleep before we start up our search?” He finished, seeming to calm down a bit.

Keith’s fingers clenched, but he kept his mouth shut. Shiro was right, they needed to rest, sure, but he didn’t want to wait, he wanted to move, he wanted to find Lance, to catch him and-

‘And then what?’ Keith thought with a flash of panic. His wrists itched. ‘Then what?’

Hunk unwittingly saved Keith from having to answer his own daunting question by interjecting. “I say our best action would be to go to Lance’s house- even if he’s not living there, he definitely would have gone there first thing.” He said. “His mom knows me- she’ll tell me where he is.” He added with a tone of confidence.

Shiro nodded. “Lance’s house it is, then; I say we go tomorrow,  after we’ve had an actual, decent sleep.” Keith noticed Shiro’s gaze lingering on him, and he realized he hadn’t spoken in a good while. He nodded to show he was listening, and Shiro went on. “So… does anyone know where it is?”

Hunk frowned. “I wish I did, but I’ve never actually… been there… we were on a Garrison holiday vacation when I met her, and we were staying at his brother’s place in Havana…” Hunk smiled at something Keith couldn’t see, then shook his head. “Anyways. I don’t know- we could ask around for the McClain-Àlvarez residence, I guess.”

‘Àlvarez?’ Keith cast his eyes to his boots. ‘Guess that makes more sense than just McClain… god, there’s so much I don’t know about him…’

“Actually, we don’t have to do any of that.” Pidge reached into the pocket of her cargo shorts and pulled out a slip of old, wrinkled paper. She smiled. “It’s Lance’s address- Coran gave it to me.” She explained.

Hunk took the paper and looked at it. “Coran, Coran you gorgeous man! I’m so glad! I don’t want to interact with any more strangers- the idea that someone will recognize us and call the Garrison is giving me heart palpitations.” He was joking, but it was a real concern… the Garrison finding out they were on Earth, that is- maybe not the heart palpitations.

Keith watched as some of the tension left Shiro’s shoulders. He figured that having a set plan made things a little easier for the sometimes scattered thoughts that came with the mild panic. Keith was almost twitching with the urge to just get the whole thing over with, or at least to find him, but he sort of understood Shiro’s thinking.

“-Keith? You listening, buddy?”

Keith looked up at Hunk, then nodded. Damn, he hadn’t even heard them keep talking… maybe he really did need more sleep.

“Shiro asked if that was alright with you.” Pidge repeated for him, hands deep in her pockets.

Keith’s eyes snapped to Shiro, and he met his gaze head on; worry. He wanted Keith to interact or be verbal or something he supposed- well maybe he didn’t want to at the moment-

‘Stop thinking like that, he’s just worried about you.’

“Yeah, sounds good to me.”

‘Seems like that’s all you’re good for- worrying people.’

Keith suppressed the desire to rub at his wrists, and silently told his brain to shut its fucking trap. He didn’t have time to spiral again- he had a job to do… and he was not going to be a wreck when they found Lance.

.

.

.

Calling the building a “hotel” might have been a bit of an overstatement.

Before WWIII, it had been a resort hotel, but following the bombings, it had been reduced to a partially reconstructed lodging place for those who couldn’t afford even cheap housing- so, naturally (because they had literally zero dollars, especially not in pesos), their new acquaintances Aleja and Miguel set them up at the rundown “management” (affectionately named ‘la bomba’ after several devolutions from its original nickname, ‘ la bombardeado’, according to an excited rant Lance had gone on about a year before he left).

Soon they were “settling in” for what Keith guessed was not going to be a very rewarding sleep. No one said (or even wanted to) anything, eyes tired and feeling worn as they rolled out the moth eaten bedrolls the “owner” (no one really owned the building , but he tended to the occupants).

With the hot air coming through the almost entirely open seaside wall, Keith almost felt like he was back in his old shack, in Arizona…except, the air in the desert was dry, not this humid, tropical heat. He lay uncomfortably on his bedroll and watched the sky lose its colour as the others drifted off into their fitful sleeps. The air cooled, and the stars began to wink at him, as if they knew something he didn’t. He felt a pull in his chest, and he rolled over to face the door. He wanted to go back, as soon as possible. The only thing he had here on Earth were sad memories and his missing friend.

“Are you thinking about tomorrow?” A soft voice spoke from behind the top of Keith’s head.

Keith exhaled quietly and shifted on his “bed” to better see Hunk’s silhouette. The hushed breathing of their two sleeping teammates was hanging, suspended in the thick air. He sighed. “Yeah.” ‘No.’ “Just  a little worried about how it’s gonna go.” At least that wasn’t a lie. Nonetheless, his heart rate picked up as he thought about his friend. “I just- what if he’s not okay? What if he’s- what if he’s like, chronically injured or we this ‘Angel’ guy is the wrong person and he’s actually-”

Hunk chuckled. “Relax, Keith- this is Lance we’re talking about. He takes good care of himself.” He assured Keith. “Besides- Blue wouldn’t have told us to get him if he weren’t okay. I’m sure he’s fine.” Hunk added.

Keith huffed. “Yeah, you’re right.” He said, muscles losing a bit of their tension. Hunk was right. Lance may be a little bit reckless at the worst of times, but for the most part he was pretty thoughtful, and… yeah, with his skin routine? There was no way he wasn’t taking overly good care of himself. No way…

Silence. Keith’s eyelids felt heavy. “...I’m gonna try and get some sleep.” His eyes flickered to his friend’s figure. “You should too- you’re probably gonna have to translate a lot tomorrow.” He murmured.

Hunk hummed in agreement. “Yeah...yeah, you’re right… alright. Night, Keith.” He said, voice quiet and hesitant, almost.

“Night, Hunk.” Keith responded, rolling back to face the wall. He started drifting off, thoughts shifting and fading. There were soft sounds of talking all around him, muffled by the walls, coming from downstairs, the beach…

He rolled over again, restless, some ten minutes later to look at the night sky, only to see Hunk sitting by the view, gazing out at the ocean, backlit by the moon. His shoulders were hunched in, head down, hands moving, wringing at his fingers without pause.

Looking like a perfect picture of doubt.

.

.

.

Keith didn’t mention the scene to Hunk when they finally awoke.

.

.

.

Keith wasn’t sure how it was possible, but he swore that it was even hotter than the day before. He had to take his jacket off and drape it over the crook of his elbow as they searched for a bus that would take them to the carefully scrawled address.

Figures; with their luck, the only “bus” they would find (that was also free) was a rusted pickup with an equipment trailer hitched to the back, the kind of thing for tractors and whatnot… expect it was loaded with people and could only take them to the edge of the town. So Keith found himself sitting beside a young girl who asked him something he couldn’t understand. He looked to Hunk for help.

Hunk grinned. “Just say ‘yes’.” He said.

Keith (not having the heart to tell her ‘no’ after she began playing with his hair) got off the trailer with a thick braid woven into his usual mess of hair. He glowered at Pidge and Hunk’s snickering as they began their walk down the sun baked, cracked road ( “Joke's on you, Hunk, it keeps the hair off of my neck.” He shot back at one point). Shiro just smiled.

Despite the humidity and the heat and the worry he felt, Keith was relieved that he felt relatively… light today, finding it easy to smile and joke with his teammates as they tried to ignore the sun beating down on them. The usual dark and deprecating thoughts had lifted a bit. He supposed it was because they were finally doing something productive.

‘We’ll get Lance, then get back to work- everything will be normal again.’ Keith told himself as he noticed a cop car slow to a stop beside their odd group. He ignored the overbearing discomfort of the thick black arm guards that his his wrists.

“ ¿Adónde se dirigen?” The cop asked, sticking his head out the window. He and Hunk had a short exchange, before all four of them managed to sit themselves into the car, Hunk in the front, Keith, Pidge, and Shiro somehow all sitting in the back. Keith wasn’t too thrilled, having spent many collective hours in the backseats of police cars, but he figured it would be a short drive, so he could deal.

Sure enough, around eight minutes later, the car pulled into a large driveway, gravel crunching under the tires. Keith was out quickly, followed by Pidge and Shiro and- at last- Hunk. After a thank you and a short handshake, the car turned around and disappeared down the main road.

Keith felt his anxieties rear their heads. How was this going to go? Were they still living here? What if-

“You guys ready? Angela is so nice, you’ll love her, I promise.” Hunk’s hand fell softly on Keith’s shoulder, grounding him. Keith nodded at Hunk’s subtle glance, and Hunk smiled. Without another word, they stepped up to the door (‘ Àlvarez’ Keith noted the mailbox read) and Shiro knocked, the thuds echoing in Keith’s head.

They waited.

Waited.

Then came the footsteps, and the door opened. “Lo siento, era- Hunk!? ¿Eres tú?!”

She was shorter than Keith would have expected, barely reaching his shoulders. She had dark brown hair and blue eyes so familiar that it made his heart hurt a little. She looked at their group, wide eyed. “ -y ustedes-” Those blue eyes were swirling with a strange combination of strong emotions- shock, mostly, and she clasped her hands together. “Dios mÍo… okay…” Her English had almost no accent… weird.

Silence. The group stood there, not knowing what to say, until Hunk broke the ice.

“... Hola, Señora McClain. ” He murmured.

Angela took another moment. Then she sighed- smiled, and took Hunk’s face in both hands. “... Hola, Hunk.” She bit her lip, then graced the rest of the group with a warm expression. “...I- come in, everyone… you’ll burn out there.” That was all she said before ushering them into the house.

The a/c was a very welcome relief. Pidge muttered some form of gratitude under her breath, checking her reddening arms, before Angela awkwardly hurried them into the kitchen. “...sit, please… I was just making some lunch.” Her voice wavered. “I’m afraid there won’t be a lot, but I-I can make more later on if you’re still hungry.” With that she fell silent, and a tenseness held the air as they sat- silent and looking nervously at each other- at the small table while Angela busied herself around the stove with stiff shoulders.

Despite the cool air, a drop of sweat traced it’s way down Keith’s neck. This was… not how he expected things to go, but it definitely wasn’t going well, as far as he could see. He and Shiro exchanged a glance, and Shiro offered him an almost imperceptible shrug. Keith took a deep breath, shuffled his feet, and was about to try and break the silence, when Angela leaned over his shoulder to set a small bowl of what looked like beans and rice on the table in front of him. Keith twitched in surprise, and Angela placed a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, mi alma. ” She murmured quietly, before she set three more bowls down in front of his teammates. When she wasn’t looking, he tossed Hunk a confused expression and a mouthed ‘what did she call me?”. Hunk only grinned, then turned to his food.

“Go on.” Angela said, sitting down beside Hunk. “I...I know we have… something to talk about, but… later. You must miss Earth food.” She continued.

That sort of jolted Keith. He blinked. ‘That’s right… we haven’t eaten any Earth food since we arrived.’ He picked up his fork and took a bite of food he never would have expected to taste so good to him, but-

“Oh my god.” Pidge beat everyone to the punch as they all tasted the first Earth food they’d had in years. Keith even saw Hunk wipe at his eyes, and a smile found its way to his face.

They really were home… kind of.

When they had all finished ( ‘too soon’ their faces said), Angela folded her hands on the table, and the mood shifted yet again.

“...I have a feeling I know why you’re here.” She lifted her eyes and smiled softly. “Keith, Pidge, Shiro…” She said, glancing at each of them respectfully. She frowned. “There are two of you missing.” She seemed to realize.

“Um… Allura and Coran aren’t with us at the the moment.” Shiro spoke up.

Angela nodded. “Well… it’s a pleasure to finally meet you… I’ve heard a lot about you…” She sighed. “...but I’m guessing you don’t bring happy news.” She laced her fingers together as the group cast their eyes to the table. “Lance said the war wouldn’t be over for years.” Her face hardened as she looked up again. “...you’re here to take him back, no?” Her voice had dropped.

Keith’s stomach sank, and he shrank under her stare. ‘Yeah, this isn’t gonna go smoothly.’

Shiro sighed. “That-that’s the plan, Mrs. McClain.” A pause. “We need Lance. We need him back.” He explained.

“We need to know where we can find him.” Pidge added quietly.

Keith watched Angela carefully- so did Hunk. He saw the Yellow Paladin’s brow furrow with concern, and Keith wondered what he was picking up on. Nothing good, he supposed.

A tense minute dragged by before Angela even moved. When she did, she inhaled deeply through her nose and closed her eyes. “...okay... okay.” She seemed to be centring herself. She gently tapped the table. Once. Twice. Keith swore he could feel his blood pressure rising. Another sigh. “...I will tell you how to get in contact with Lance under some conditions… first-” Her eyes opened and Keith flinched at the blaze in the otherwise cool blue irises. “You will not force him to go back. He has to decide for himself.”

Keith fidgeted, and finally spoke. “M-Mrs. McClain, we need him-”

Angela slapped a hand over her eyes. “Keith, mi alma , please; Lance needs to decide, this war has-” Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat. A heavy feeling settled over the table. “...second condition; Lance has… probably changed from the person you knew…” Keith noticed the apprehensive faces of his companions, the creeping look of fear in Hunk’s eyes. “...you have to accept him as he is now, for what he’s done, what he’s been through, and what he-” Angela’s breath hitched, and she kept her face covered with her hand. “... and what he may do.” Silence hung over them as Angela sniffled. Hunk reached out and took her hand in an attempt to comfort her. Angela took in a deep breath. “Third condition… please…” She dropped her hand and looked up at the Paladins, her cheeks red and already slicked with tears. “Por favor… ayuda mi hijo…”

Keith’s heart fell. They didn’t need a translation to understand what Angela had said. Shiro’s eyes widened, probably already flipping through every scenario of what could have possibly happened to Lance. Pidge’s eyebrows were drawn together in an expression that Keith noticed was usually reserved for complex coding, and Hunk sucked in a quiet breath.

Angela swallowed back more tears and nodded firmly, eyes still swimming, making her point clear.

“Help my son.”

Chapter Text

“-right there is Boötes, with Arcturus at the bottom-”

“Tell me one that know, Angel, we’re not all smart as shit-”

“You don’t know the fourth brightest star in the sk-”

“Angel-”

“Fine. Libra, down below it.”

Fructuosa leaned on her hand, cheek squishing her eye partially shut as she followed Lance’s steady finger. “Anything interesting about it?” She asked, voice quiet, yet clear as the sky was.

Lance hummed, tapping one finger against the lip of his bottle. “Algol, one of its stars is a variable-”

“So no, there isn’t.” Fructuosa drawled, scooching closer to the edge of the walkway to dangle her feet into the open air.

“What do you want me to tell you?” Lance muttered playfully- although, he did miss having someone who was truly interested in astronomy… that person was not Fructuosa.

Fructuosa grinned and tucked a strand of her long, wavy brown hair behind her ear. Amber eyes glinted as she turned to grin at him. “I dunno, maybe that it signifies sensuality or-”

“-far from it.” Lance chuckled, sipping his drink.

“-a great time ahead.” Fructuosa finished, stickering her tongue out at him. “C’mon, Angel; why else would you call me out here at one in the morning?” She teased, nudging his ribs with her elbow.

Lance looked at Fructuosa carefully; curvy, plump figure paired with a soft, glowing face and and even brighter heart. He was no idiot- she was incredibly attractive, but still. “You know I don’t only hang out with you for sex.” Lance finally said before the moment turned uncomfortably long. “You’re my friend.” Lance knew -for Fructuosa- that the statement would hit home in one way or another, so when Fructuosa’s eyes gleamed and the smiled on her face turned genuine, Lance was prepared. “-plus, you brought drinks.” He joked, turning back to look at the sky.

Fructuosa laughed, her voice sounding a little lighter, and she pushed Lance. “Jerk.” She shot back.

Lance chuckled. “But really. The sky was really clear tonight, and I wanted to share it with someone. I knew you’d be awake.” He said truthfully.

Fructuosa smiled at the stars. “Well, thanks. I appreciate it… and it’s been awhile since we’ve hung out.” Lance hummed again, and Fructuosa moved a little closer. “What’s going on, Angel?” She asked. It was a question that normally made Lance close up and tense, but when she asked -at least that night- it was different, somehow. “Did something happen?”

Lance spared her a glance. “Why do you ask?” He “answered”.

Fructuosa sighed and jerked her head towards the sky. “You seem more out there than here… or stuck in here.” He tapped his head. “You know you can talk to me.” She added as Lance placed his empty bottle by his bare feet.

He wrapped his arms around his knees. “...yesterday I had a bit of a… a scene, you could say.” He muttered, feeling awkward, but amazed to find how much easier it was to talk to Fructuosa. “I guess I had a breakdown, of sorts, starting Sunday and continuing until yesterday.” He said.

“What happened?” Her hand was on his arm, an anchor.

Lance laughed quietly. “I just… had a falling out with myself, I guess. I was drunk the entire time- my liver probably hates me now.” He admitted, averting his eyes as Fructuosa sucked in a small breath. “Luis and Decarlos finally busted into my apartment- I wasn’t answering calls or anything.” He said. “Scared the hell out of my mamá- once I was a bit more sober, she came and saw me… papá didn’t come, though…” Lance fiddled with his jeans. “He may be mad, or disappointed or-or somethin’... I dunno. I’ll talk to him soon.” He sighed. He closed his eyes, almost content that he’d spoken to someone who wouldn’t immediately jump down his throat with “solutions” and “tips”.

He opened his eyes again, hearing the clink of bottles. “What are you doin’?” He laughed, watching Fructuosa take the bottles and place them (out of his reach) next to her.

“Explains why you look like shit… I shouldn’t have brought these over.” She murmured, looking a little guilty.

Lance winced and felt a little nauseous. She shouldn’t have to feel like that. He grabbed her arm. “No, don’t say that. I didn’t tell you what happened.” He said. Fructuosa watched him, worry in her eyes, and he smiled. “Anyone would agree with me- it’s not your fault. I should have told you.” Lance pulled away from her, rubbing his neck. “Must have just… slipped my mind, I guess.” He lied.

Fructuosa sighed, then relaxed and leaned back on her hands. “Well, I’m sorry. That just… really just sucks.”

Lance placed his head on crossed arms, bent over his raised knees. “That sums it up pretty perfectly.” He agreed. There was a silence- not comfortable, but not heavy or awkward either.

“Ey, Angelo.”

Lance raised his head. “Hm?” He responded.

Fructuosa smiled at him, then nodded to the sky. “Can you show me another?”

A light feeling seemed to break apart some of the heaviness in his chest, and he returned the smile. He unfurled himself for a better look at the sky. He always surprised himself with how comfortable he felt with Fructuosa, but this was why he wasn’t complaining. “Sure thing, compañera.”

Lance woke up 3 hours later on the couch, still tired, but comfortable, his head resting on the cheap throw pillow Alexandro had given him as a Christmas gift. Fructuosa lay -half on top of him, half between him and the couch- breathing softly with her head pressed against his chest.

Lance took in a deep breath, not wanting to move, nut knowing he had to get up for work. He decided after a moment that it was okay to stay where he was for a few more minutes. He let out the breath slowly, raising a hand to Fructuosa’s long, silky hair and gently carding his fingers through it. After his confession to her, it had turned into a fairly mellow night, with him pointing out a few stars and constellations before the went inside to the couch… he guessed they just ended up falling asleep somewhere along the line. Lance chuckled. Sometimes it scared him how close he was with Fructuosa… he wasn’t nearly as close with her twiggy, almost waifish twin, Floramaria.

Lance sighed and gently pushed Fructuosa over, moving out from under her as he did so. She stirred, groaning a soft complaint as he replaced his chest with an actual pillow. He laughed softly. “D’you have work today?” He whispered. It was still dark out, save for the glow of the lights outside the door on the walkway. Fructuosa shook her head, now face down in the pillow. Lance snorted. “Alright. I’m going to work… stay as long as you want.” He paused, ten took the thin throw cover and draped it over her sweatpants and t-shirt clad body. “I’ll see you later.” He said, leaving the room quietly to get ready to go. He got only a muffled ‘mmm’ in replay. That was fine.

Once in the bathroom, Lance steeled himself, then looked in the (somewhat grimy) mirror- his lips pursed, wincing a bit, even, at the face that stared back.

Dark circles around his eyes screamed of endless nights of restless sleep. His hair was kind of greasy from days of being left unwashed, and his face just seemed… off. It was him, but not how he used to look. Colour, texture, clearness- all of that was tweaked just enough to render his face almost disturbingly unfamiliar. Hell, he’d even looked better than this when he-

Lance hummed warningly to himself, changing his thought process and picking at his hair, pulling it gently outward to check its length- almost to his shoulders. He definitely needed a cut, but an elastic would do for the day.

Lance checked his watch and hurried to get ready- shoving the half-empty ziplock of trazodone that Desiderio had given to him back into the medicine cabinet and rushing to brush his teeth (he couldn’t imagine how bad his morning breath was). After hastily pulling on an old gray tank top and a pair of cargo shorts, he was out the door, breathing in the cool, pre-dawn air.

Lance stretched as he walked, yawning. Honestly, it was too damn early to be up and out, but hey, at least his nights were free, since he started work so early… didn’t really make waking up at 5:15 much easier, but still.

Lance plucked at his tank top, sighing, He didn’t love wearing them- they short sleeved shirts showed his arms, and some of his back, displaying scars from battles he’d been lucky to walk away from. He remembered the first few days working at the docks- he wore t-shirts, and even those proved to be too hot for the heavily physical work. He got only a few stares the first time he took his shirt off to cool down, but after that, no one spared a second glance… that was when Lance realized just how many vets -scarred and sometimes even handicapped- worked on those piers.

He grinned as he followed one of the dark, empty streets, remembering the first time he met Riel. They had both been chosen to help Miguel (who Lance hadn’t met yet) on his fishing boat. He’d whistled, apparently (and oddly) impressed by the eye catching array of scarring.

“Miguel, if this guys didn’t have all his fingers, he’d give your brother a run for his money!” He’d joked, clapping Lance on the back. “Don’t worry, amigo, you’re in good hands.” He’d assured him, laughing as Miguel had glared at his tactless behaviour. Lance hadn’t minded. At that moment, he hadn’t even minded Aleja’s less than appealing sandwiches-

Lance’s stomach growled, and he swore under his breath. He’d forgotten to eat breakfast. ‘Idiot.’ He scolded himself silently. He sighed. He’d last. He’d done it before, he could do it again… he might just get irritated during the dat, and he’d have to get something cheap from one of the nice old ladies at the nearby market… they liked him, and always had something good for him when he forgot to eat.

The loud whirring hum of the solar panels made Lance jump. He quickly relaxed, shaking limbs settling to match his steady hands, as he looked up towards the massive, rotating panels. He sighed, chuckling at himself- he was usually good with the sudden sound of the panels; it had almost become a bit of a morning ritual- to stop and watch the impressive structures change Varadero’s intriguing skyline.

He supposed that his nerves had been a little trigger-happy lately. Maybe it was just stress. He shook it off and continued down the barren road toward the shore. At least his job itself wasn’t stressful- usually. He had that to look forward to.

The day continued normally, with the usual bustle of the docks calming his frayed nerves with its mundane and salt-stained air. His arms and legs ached by the time his lunch break rolled around, having been given the task of loading a small ship with crates of produce, to be transported to a larger boat out on the docks of one of the smaller islands.

The horn signalling 12:00 blared across the piers, and Lance heaved a sigh. He set one of the last crates down in the hold of the ship and hurried out into the open air, stretching his long arms above his head. Maybe he didn’t have food, but a short break would do him good.

He made his way to the shore end of the dock, eager to get to a café or something, just to get away from the heat and the smell of less-than-fresh sea life (they really needed to clean the piers), but he stopped, hearing a soft voice call out to him. He paused, stifling a groan, before turning around. Upon seeing who it was, any irritation he had vanished.

“Hey, Palmira.” He greeted, going forward to meet her.

The small, gray eyed girl smiled, then shoved something into his hands. She gently pushed him back the way he was going, before reaching back to tie up her straight black hair into a ponytail. “How can you stand this heat, Angel?” She sighed, following him to the shade of an outdoor café’s umbrella-ed table. She nodded at the brown paper wrapped parcel in Lance’s hands. “Fructuosa said you probably didn’t eat breakfast- go on, I’ve already eaten.” She said quietly, sitting down and making a face as her legs touched the hot plastic chair.

Lance sat down across from her, smiling. “Thanks… you saw Fructuosa?” He asked, unwrapping the sandwich- it looked homemade.

Palmira nodded. “I went to pick up Floramaria, and they were both there -Fructuosa is worried about you.” She added.

Lance barked out a laugh and held up his hand. “Let’s not get into it.” He said, taking a bite of his food. Well, it was definitely not made by Aleja- this was delicious.

Palmira shrugged. “Okay. She seemed rested though- did you finally get her to sleep?”

Lance mumbled something that sounded like ‘I dunno’. He swallowed. “Has she not been sleeping?” He received a cocked eyebrow in response. “Right. This is Fructuosa- yes, I guess I did. It was still late though.” He replied.

“Nevertheless. Hey, did you hear about Miguel’s hitchhikers?” She asked, leaning across the table to steal a pickle from Lance’s sandwich.

“No? Can you have boat hitchhikers?” He asked.

She shrugged again. “I guess. Aleja said that they said they were tourists, but all of them are convinced they’re soldiers. They found them stranded on Cayo Romero; said their boat had drifted.” She murmured.

“Sounds like a tourist mistake to me.” Lance said, quickly finishing his food before Palmira could steal any more of it.

“I’m just saying what Aleja said- she said they looked the type- actually,” Palmira raised her almond eyes up to Lance’s. “she said they reminded her of you, when you showed up.”

Lance’s heart skipped a beat. He shook his head. “You say that like it’s weird.” He covered his hesitation by balling up the wrapping paper.

Palmira leaned back in her chair. “You did seem to turn up out of nowhere.”

“Ah, don’t we all…” He deflected with a dramatic gaze at the sea. He winced as the sun stabbed mercilessly at his retinas. “Ow. Oh well. Where’d they end up going?” He asked, curiosity and anxiety birthing some sort of weird love child in his chest.

“Aleja said they were looking for someone who lived in the area, a friend, I guess, but she set them up at la bomba for a night… I don’t know if it was a favour or not, that place has some bad mojo.” She shivered. “ Anyway. Just thought I’d let you know- you looked bored.” She finished.

Lance checked his watch. His break ended in around 14 minutes. “Me? Bored? Never. The docks are the epitome of excitement.” He said dryly. He had plenty of time to chat. “How’re you, Palmira? Haven’t caught up in a while.” He asked, changing the subject to ignore the uneasy fluttering in his stomach.

He hoped it was just nerves.

The rest of the day moved on without incident. Now that he knew about it, thought, he was hearing bits and pieces about the whole “boat hitchhikers”- though, with how quickly things passed through the dock workers’ circles, Lance doubted he could trust any of it.

“-spoke fluent Spanish-”

“-apparently one of them was missing an entire limb!”

“-looking for someone- I don’t know, some yuma, I think, going by the name-”

Lance rolled his eyes as he worked the thick clasps shut over a portable platform bearing heavy machinery. If he were so inclined (which he really wasn’t), he would ask Miguel or Aleja directly. Good thing he wasn’t dying to know, since they were nowhere in sight- a quick scan of the piers where they usually docked confirmed that their boat was gone, so that was one question easily answered.

Lance stepped away from the platform as a vehicle sputtered to life and made its way to the road- he chuckled, seeing three grown men hanging off the piled machinery in a very unsafe manner. He was -of course- just a bit jealous, but there would be other chances.

Lance checked his watch -3:57, almost the end of his shift. He was eager to get back to his apartment, out of the way and as safe as he could get, aside from going to his parent’s house. Even if the “comet” had just been an old satellite, it had still kicked him (ungracefully) into another spell of anxiety, so taking some time to himself was a relief.

Instead of starting another task, Lance just wandered slowly across the dock, taking his time. It was a pretty slow day anyways, not much to be done, so it wouldn’t hurt to just wait by the road and be ready to go when that irritating foghorn-

Despite the meaning of the blast, the 4:00 pm signal still made him cringe. He heard a short laugh, and turned around to see Riel carrying one last coil of heavy rope into one of the storage sheds. He grinned when he saw Lance looking at him, and quickly shoved the rope into the shed.”Long night, Angelo? You look like shit.” He teased, kicking the shed door closed behind him.

Lance scoffed and slapped Riel’s shoulder as he fell into step beside him. “Ouch. Way to make a man’s ego crumble.” Lance retorted, smirking. A gust of wind swept across the docks and caused Lance’s sweat and seaspray soaked hair to whip into his face, making him yelp when a strand hit his eye.

“You don’t need my help to kill your pride… you need to cut your hair, though, it’s gonna blind you someday.” Riel laughed, shoving Lance with his shoulder.

Lance narrowly avoided running into someone as he grabbed an elastic from his wrist and tied his unruly hair back into a small ponytail. “Yeah, yeah, I know… I’m gonna ask Desi to do it for me, I’m a little short on money at the moment.” Lance sighed, letting his arms drop to his sides. “I’m applying for a part time job at the grocery store tomorrow; I need the extra cash.” He explained further.

Riel hummed. “They didn’t lower your hours, did they? Where’s the money going?”

The words echoed in his head in Alexandro’s voice, and irritation made Lance’s fingers clench. He was sick of that damn question- “My rent went up. I’m not blowing money or anything.” He snapped, then immediately felt guilty upon seeing Riel’s startled expression. Lance took a deep breath, then dragged his hands down his face, groaning. “Sorry, socio, I’m just… stressed.” He apologized.

Riel patted Lance’s back. “Don’t worry about it, Angelo; we all get stressed sometimes.”

Lance dropped his hands and exhaled sharply. “I just need to relax.”

“Angelo!”

Lance and Riel stopped and looked towards the voice. Fernán waved and smiled, then spoke again. “Did your mates find you? They were looking for you yesterday.” He asked.

Lance frowned, trying to figure out which friends would be looking for him… he’d missed work the day before (for obvious reasons), and Decarlos and Desiderio had know where he was- oh. Duh. Lance mentally facepalmed. ‘Of course they’d check here first.’ He thought, feeling dumb. He nodded. “Yeah, they did, thanks for checking, Fernán… and sorry, again, that I wasn’t here.” He apologized, grinning weakly.

Fernán waved him off with a sympathetic smile. “No problem, niño, just glad you’re feeling better. Have a good one- see you, Riel.”

“See you tomorrow, Fernán.” Riel tucked his hands into the deep pockets of his shorts as they finally left the docks behind. “Yeah, why weren’t you in, Angelo?” Riel asked as their feet hit the pavement.

Lance’s shoulder tensed a bit in shame- even if Riel didn’t know, it still made him cringe. “...just- bad food poisoning.” He lied as they entered the bustle of the main street. It didn’t sound believable whatsoever, but Riel wasn’t really the type to press.

As expected, Riel didn’t look convinced, but he did murmur an apology in response. It wasn’t until they had reached the diner area that he spoke again, his low snicker breaking into the smooth silence between them. “Ha, Angelo, it looks like you’re growing a mullet.” He laughed, as if he’d just realized it.

Lance’s heart skipped a beat, and he swallowed back the pain. He raised an eyebrow. “What in the world brought that thought up?” He asked, trying to distract himself in any way he could… admittedly, there were probably better ways he could have done it.

Riel pointed towards Decarlos’ family’s diner. “That dude there looks like he walked straight out of the 80s.” He grinned. Lance chuckled and followed Riel’s hand.

Lance froze.

Long, thick black hair. Pale tan skin that looked like it was about to burn. ‘God, it looks exactly like-’

Red jacket.

Fingerless gloves.

‘Keith?’

Lance stopped breathing. Was he seeing things? Had he imagined Riel pointing him out? Shit!

“Angelo?” Riel’s voice barely registered in Lance’s brain as he scanned the group that was leaving the diner.

Tall, burly, dark-

White hair, scar, prosthetic-

Small, wirey, blonde-

“-boat hitchhikers-”

“-apparently- missing an entire limb-”

Shit.

“-looking for someone-”

Shit, shit, shit, oh fuck-

“Fuck.” Lance hissed, more out of surprise than anger or fear as his brain worked at a mile a minute, piecing the puzzle together-

The comet-

He felt sick.

“Angelo, what’s-”

“Ay, my back hurts.” Lance complained, pretending to stretch as he quickly made his way to Riel’s other side so he was at least partially hidden. “Hey, whaddya say we hit the bar tonight? Talk about relaxing.” He offered, voice shaking a little bit.

If Riel heard any fear, he didn’t how it. He just grinned. “What happened to ‘oh, I’m so broke’?” He teased.

Lance waved him off, keeping his hands low to not draw attention to them. He kept his eyes in front of him as they walked. “I’ll- start saving tomorrow, after I ace this job interview… come on, I’ll meet you there at five.” He said, holding out his hand.

Riel shrugged, took Lance’s hand, and they shared a brief hug. “You got it, amigo. Should I invite Desi and Decarlos?”

Lance shook his head. “Decarlos is working and Desi is exhausted… we’ll all hang out soon.” ‘I don’t need them watching my every move.’ He backed away towards his street and waved. “See you at five, socio.” He cheered.

Riel waved. “See you then.” He agreed, before he disappeared into the crowded street.

Lance cast one more glance towards the diner, but the group -if it had even been there in the first place- was gone. He let out a trembling breath.

So much for relaxing.

.

.

.

Usually, this worked -numbing the memories, the flashbacks, if even for a little while.

His thoughts flashed between gold headbands and glasses and cups and a soft thigh under his hand- between highly sophisticated prosthetics and violet eyes and the taste of lips drenched in fruity drinks and mint on his tongue. His senses picked up the sensation of a joint and Riel’s hand pulling him away from the loud music and drinks and-

“You still with me, Angelo?”

Lance stumbled, the warm breeze and Riel’s slightly lazy voice bringing him back to the present. Riel had Lance’s arm over his shoulders, helping him down the street -whatever street that was, he’d forgotten… what had he forgotten? Something important- he shook his head.

“...yeah, sorry.” Lance muttered, his eyes drooping. He looked up, vision doubling. The stars were so bright…

“Amigo, don’t be sorry, I had fun… I’m a little worried, though, you drank a lot… did something happen earlier?” Lance was silent, but only because he couldn’t think of what to say. Riel sighed. “You don’t have to tell me, but I’ve got your back, hermano.” He mumbled.

Lance hummed. “ Gracias, Riel.. sorry, jus’... jus’ been a long week.” He slurred, then almost tripped over his own feet. A giggle quickly rose into a full-bellied laugh. “Jeez, walk much?” He tittered, leaning into Riel with a lopsided, dopey grin.

Riel snorted. “Let’s get you to bed… I’ll try an’ make sure you get up for your interview.” He said, ruffling Lance’s hair.

Lance smiled. “Thanks, socio… you’re the best…”

Riel scoffed. “I know.”

“‘Course you do…” Lance grumbled lightheartedly.

The walk to Lance’s apartment seemed to take forever, but at least Lance was too out of it to be alert -or, really over alert… of course, the walk took longer than normal due to this, and by the time they’d reached Lance’s door, Riel looked just about done.

“Ey, borracho, stand on your own, man, I gotta unlock your door.” Riel complained.

Lance groaned in protest, but slumped against the wall as Riel took his key from Lance’s pocket and set about unlocking the door. Finally it opened, and Riel held out his hand to help him, but Lance waved him off.

“I’ll be right in, I-I gotta make a quick call…” He explained, fumbling in his pocket for his phone.

Riel shrugged. “You’d better not call Lilia.” He warned, before he let himself into the apartment. Lance chuckled.

“No way…” He mumbled to himself as he squinted at his phone. He moaned, the mixture of alcohol and pot making the numbers drift, and he pressed the home button. “Call mamá.” He said as clearly as possible. Thankfully, it understood, and he held the phone to his ear as it dialed.

One.

Two.

“Hijo?”

Lance smiled. “Always on the second ring, mamá…” He giggled, happy and feeling more calm just from hearing her voice.

Silence. Then-

“Mijo, estás borracho nuevamente?” She asked, her voice quieting a bit. “Please, mijo, this is really getting worrisome, I’m scared that you-”

“Are they here, mamá?” Lance rasped, stifling a hiccup. There was another silence, and his heart sank. “I wasn’t hallucinating, was I? All of them? Are they really back for me?” All giddiness drained from his head. His breathing hitched as he lost control, and tears stung his already reddened eyes. He slid into a squatting position. “The war isn’ over, I know tha’... they’ve come t’ take me back… mamá, send them away, I can’t see them, I can’t do this-” He sobbed quietly, chest tightening, and covered his face with his hand.

“You do not have to, mi hijo, you don’t have to… it’s your choice… but they are here, mi corazon-” Lance sobbed again, but Angela continued. “and they want to see you, to talk to you, please…” His mother trailed off, then breathed deeply. “Talk to them, mijo.” She begged.

Lance sniffled, and he heard footsteps. He wiped hurriedly at his eyes, nearly poking himself due to his lack of coordination. “...I have t’go, mamá… te amo.” He whispered.

“... te amo, mijo… get some sleep.”

Lance hung up the phone and flopped down onto the floor of the walkway. He squeezed his eyes shut as the footsteps approached, then stopped in front of him.

“...Lance.”

Defeated, and quite possibly too drunk to give a damn anymore, Lance opened his eyes and stared at the blurry figure kneeling in front of him- brown skin, scarred face, blue eyes.

Lance’s lip quivered, and tears once again slid down his cheeks. He hid his face in his arms.

“They’re back, Lance.”

Lance sobbed into his sleeves, and he shook his head frantically. “Decarlos… yo no quiero esto, no quiero ir, por favor…” He slurred. He felt Decarlos take his hands in his, and he pulled Lance’s arms away from his face. Lance watched him.

Decarlos smiled sadly. “I know, Lance… let’s leave it ‘til morning, though… you need to sleep…” He murmured, pulling Lance to his feet. He helped him stagger inside -past Riel, who watched almost knowingly from the couch- to his bed.

Lance fell onto the mattress after pulling out of Decarlos’ grip, his head spinning. Decarlos squeezed his shoulder, then pulled a sheet over him. Lance’s eyes slid shut.

“Just sleep, hermano.” Decarlos said quietly, flicking off the light. Lance felt himself giving into the pull of unconsciousness, and he sighed restlessly. His brain and his heart fought, fear and sadness both vying for all his attention.

“We’ll get it sorted.”

Chapter Text

By the time 1:30 had rolled around, Angela had calmed down, made them enough good to be considered a “decent meal” (she made enough for eight people, but no one had a mind to complain), and had forced them to use the two bathrooms to shower. She said it was because they must have been uncomfortable, but Keith knew they smelled like sea water and sweat.

Keith hadn’t been sure where he’d be by this time in their mission- he’d hoped they would be getting Lance’s things ready to go- but he was sure he wasn’t going to be standing in a blue-stained tub, taking a shower in a stranger’s home.

Keith sighed and scrubbed at his hair, hands covered with suds that smelled of some flowery plant. He had to admit- as much as he liked the simple, almost sterile, monotonous style of the showers on the Castleship, there was something almost comforting about the tiny half-bathroom and the drug store shampoo… perhaps it reminded him of his home, before his dad, and the fire… well, it was also nice not to be sticky with salt and road dust.

He let the hot, low pressure stream of water wash the soap out of his hair and used a little shampoo to do a once over of his body. A bitter smile tugged at his lips.

He hadn’t really taken the time to notice how much weight he’d lost. It wasn’t like his ribs were sticking out or anything, but he was a little too… slight to be considered a perfect weight; at least not for his “line of work”. He’d had to redevelop his fighting style to accommodate the lower muscle mass, so it didn’t really concern him.

What did bother him were the scars.

Of course the ones on his wrists were the ones he was most worried about, in terms of others seeing them, but the ones of his thighs almost made his lip curl. Too small, too straight, too precise and too numerous to be passed off as accidents.

They were almost worse in some ways.

Keith stared at his feet. His brow furrowed. Every time he ended up thinking about it ( not his favourite pastime), he found himself trying to look past the wall in his brain that hid the real reason he had… well… fallen so bad.

He’d been in dark places before, after his dad died, after Shiro had disappeared… but with Lance, just after he up and left… Keith had convinced himself that the reason it was so bad this time… it was because he loved him, right? He loved him, and never got to tell him. He left before he could, that was it right? He hadn’t made him feel welcome, so he left, and at the time, it seemed that he’d be gone forever.

So that was it, right?

So why did it feel like there was some greater, more terrifying reason for his mental collapse looming behind that wall he’d built?

Someone knocked loudly on the door. “Keith? You okay in there?”

Keith twitched, and noticed the water was losing heat. After his heart had slowed back to its normal pace, he rolled his eyes. That, too, could have been an easily avoided concern, had he not gone and let himself fall so deep into this… pit.

‘Your fault- don’t blame them.’ His brain scolded.

“Keith?”

“Yeah, sorry, Pidge.” Keith sighed, recognizing the voice. “I’m good. I’ll be out in a minute.” He replied, making sure all the soap was out of his hair.

“Alright, well, I’m leaving some clothes on the counter, so don’t freak out or anything.” Pidge drawled. Keith heard the door open and scoffed.

“Oh no~ Pidge might find out that I’ve had a penis this entire time! That’s awful.” He said dryly, leaning his forehead against the tiles on the wall. There was light filtering through a small, slightly grimy window that was placed just above his head. He smiled a little at the still unfamiliar sight.

Pidge snorted, and Keith saw a vaguely human shape moving behind the steamed up, palm leaf print shower curtain. “Don’t make me pull back the curtain.” She joked. “There are from Angela- I’m giving her your clothes to be washed.”

Keith’s heart leapt into his throat. “Pidge- my arm gua-”

“I got you a sweater, Twitchy, jeez. You’re fine.” The figure paused, then opened the door again. “Don’t worry, Keith.” With that, Pidge left the room.

Don’t worry.

Keith huffed and turned off the water, which had long since run cool. ‘Easier said than done.’ He thought, stepping onto the bathmat and grabbed the towel he’d been given. ‘With all that Angela said earlier…’

He couldn’t help but wonder what she’d meant when she’d said all that… how Lance had changed, “what he’d done”...

Why he needed help.

Keith groaned quietly and quickly dried himself off. With any luck, Angela was being at least a little overdramatic, as (Keith supposed) mothers were, and Lance was in better shape than she was implying.

Speaking of Lance, Keith was pretty sure these were his clothes… at some point they were, at least. Angela seemed to notice his dark attire, thankfully, and had given him a dark navy t-shirt and what Keith assumed had been the darkest pair of jeans Lance had ever owned… they were still pretty light by Keith’s standards, but he wasn’t going to be complaining.

He got dressed- pulling on the thin gray hoodie and leaving the towel draped over the shower curtain rail as he finally left the downstairs bathroom to join the others in the large living room.

Shiro stood by the window, while Pidge and Hunk sat on the faded, floral print couch. Angela looked up from her seat in a large armchair as Keith settled for standing, arms crossed, in a corner of the room. She smiled at him. “Ah, there you are, Keith. I was just telling your friends-” she gestured for him to sit next to Hunk. Awkwardly, feeling like he had no business saying “no thanks”, he did so. “-my husband will be home soon. I just wanted to tell you that, well…” she tapped her fingers on her thigh. “My husband, Rolando- he was in the war… for quite a while.” Keith and Shiro exchanged a glance. Keith knew where this was going. “So, please, no sudden movements and try to avoid loud sounds, it can…” Angel watched them, blue eyes wide, as if pleading them to understand.

Shiro smiled at her. “Believe me- we understand.” He assured her.

Angela breathed out a sigh of relief. “I figured- I’d seen as much.” Keith frowned, but before he had time to think over that statement, Angela was speaking again. “Oh- I don’t mean to sound rude, but- well, Rolando… doesn’t like to talk about it.” She fiddled with her fingers. “-war, that is. I understand we’ll have to discuss it to some degree, but… if we could keep it- as vague as possible? No details… his experience in war was… graphic.” Her voice softened.

The group rushed to accept these terms, but Keith scowled at the ground after murmuring an agreement. No talking about war- no talking through everything that happened, the battles, the trauma… Keith remembered Lance’s face every time they failed- every time a life was lost, every time the casualty count ticked ever upward, the pain, the hurt- if he couldn’t process it…

Where would that leave Lance?

Keith pushed the thought aside. That was another thing to address when everything had settled and he had the time to think. Right now, they had a job to do.

“Mrs. McClain, you said there was a way to get in contact with Lance?” Keith asked, breaking quietly into her’s and Shiro’s conversation.

Shiro shot him a look and opened his mouth to chastise him, but Angela got there first. “There is. He works at the nearby docks, and he lives in town.” Angela folded her hands neatly in her lap. “I would say the best way to find him would be to ask his friend, Decarlos- he works at Casa de Lago, his family’s diner.” Angela nodded to herself, as if she’d made her mind up. “He can get a message through to Lance.”

“Wait, can we not just go directly to Lance?” Pidge asked. Her voice held nothing but confusion, but Hunk nudged her in the ribs with his elbow.

Keith watched Angela’s eyes flicker with a familiar blaze- cool blue, warm, but full of warning. He’d seen it in Lance’s eyes each time he was about to take a shot… just before he hit home.

“I’m not sure Lance would want you turning up on his doorstep out of the blue- it is better for everyone if he knows beforehand.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop momentarily, but Angela seemed to notice, and her eyes softened again, settling into calm pools. “Please- just trust me on this.” She murmured.

Keith was still tense from the unspoken emotions Angela was obviously harbouring when the front door closed in the other room, breaking the ice that had formed between them. The team looked up sharply, alert, but Angela offered them a soft smile.

“¿Tenemos invitados?” Came a man’s voice from the mudroom.

Angela stood, held a hand up to the team in a “wait a moment” sort of gesture, then disappeared into the other room. There was quick, quiet talking, too quick to pick out any sort of tone. Keith crossed his arms tightly around himself and shifted in his seat. He and Hunk sent each other a glance, and Keith saw the apprehension in his face. He sighed quietly and returned his gaze to his feet.

‘That’s right.’ He wasn’t the only one wanting this whole mess to be over with.

“So.”

Keith’s eyes snapped up, and he immediately felt the urge to stand in respect.

The man was tall, and Keith now saw where Lance got his height. He had a sharp, angular face framed with dark, dark brown hair and a moustache. He was certainly built- not like Shiro, but he was definitely intimidating. Keith made the mistake of meeting the man’s eyes.

It was the look of several people mixed into one chestnut brown stare- a soldier, a fighter, an angry, protective father, a survivor- Keith had seen similar glimpses of that person when Shiro was pulled back into flashbacks or memories.

Unlike Angela’s carefully controlled emotions, Rolando’s eyes did not change.

“You are the famous Paladins…” Rolando moved further into the room and placed his hands on the back of his chair, but he made no move to sit down. “You’re known throughout the house.” The humour might have been easier to pick up on, had the air in the room not been so heavy.

Hunk -surprisingly- made the first movie. He stood, and Keith watched him cross the room to stand before Rolando. “It’s been a while, Señor Álvarez.” He greeted him voice strong, but obviously measured.

Rolando looked to Hunk, and a small smile finally broke his tight-lipped expression. “It certainly has been, compañero.” Keith and Pidge shared a bewildered expression as the two shared a short hug. What was with this guy? Was it just the unfamiliar faces he was wary of?

Shiro stepped forward next, human hand cautiously extended. “Mr. Álvarez, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is-”

“Shirogane.” Rolando finished. He hesitated, then took the offered hand. “My son has always spoke highly of you.” He added. Keith noticed that his muscles had lost some of the rigidity.

Shiro blinked, and Keith looked on in mild amusement; Shiro wasn’t always… aware of others’ admiration of him. “Lance did?” The words seemed to come out before he could think them through, but it did end up drawing a quiet chuckle from Lance’s father.

“Lance is good at showing respect where it is due. He is… a smart boy.” He paused, then looked at the group as a whole again, his eyes a great deal less stormy. “...you are here for him.” It wasn’t a question, but Keith was tired of hearing it.

“Yes, sir.” Shiro answered, voice quiet, but firm.

Rolando gripped the back of the chair. His jaw clenched visibly, and he exhaled through his nose. “I will not beat around the bush; Lance will not know how to act if you show up suddenly. Let him come to you.” He glanced over to Angela, who’d been so quiet -standing in the living room doorway- that Keith had forgotten that she was there. “Angela says she suggested you go to Decarlos. I second that.” Rolando looked at Shiro. “Decarlos does not know about… everything, so keep it vague. I trust him to get Lance the news.” Those brown eyes landed on Keith and Pidge who both looked like they were desperate to jump to their feet. Keith tried to seem a little less antsy, but the absence of his arm guards and the unfamiliar clothes and the scrutiny was getting to him.

“It’s been a while since we’ve seen him- I guess we’re all a little anxious.” Shiro shot Keith and Pidge a reassuring look.

Rolando hummed. “I’m sure… well-” He looked at the clock on the wall, “-Casa de Lago closes in three hours, so you have time to rest a bit before you go out again. I heard you spent the night at La Bomba… ” Rolando’s nose scrunched up. “I apologise for that. You are welcome to stay here as long as you need. We have plenty of rooms.” He offered.

Angela smiled. “The perks of having four grown children, I suppose.” She laughed softly.

Shiro shook Rolando’s hand  once more. “Thank you- I’m sure we won’t be here for very long.”

Keith watched their reactions, curious.

There it was- that quick, loaded glance that said so much- none of which Keith could understand.

“We’ll see.” Rolando murmured, voice soften than Keith had expected.

Later, while being led from the living room to where they would be staying, Shiro caught Keith’s shoulder and held him back. “What’s on your mind, Keith?” He muttered, his eyes concerned.

Keith pointedly ignored the stare Hunk was giving them and leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “They’re not telling us something- something important. What is so wrong with Lance that we can’t just go and see him? Aren’t we his friends?” Keith searched Shiro’s face for an answer he knew he wouldn’t find there. “I’m worried- what happened to him?” He hissed.

Shiro pursed his lips, then sighed. “I noticed too, Keith- I’m sure we all have. I can’t think of anything, but there’s nothing we can do about it at the moment… we’ll just have to see. But, Keith?” Keith looked at Shiro, brows pinched. Shiro smiled reassuringly. “Try not to worry.” He squeezed his shoulder. “If you worry, you suffer twice.” Shiro gently brushed past him, and Keith lingered for a moment, staring at the old throw rug before following the group up the creaky stairs.

‘It’s impossible not to.’

By the time they were set to go, Keith’s jacket and arm guards had been sufficiently dried in the sun. Grateful for the familiar coverage, he slipped his jacket on over his (Lance’s) t-shirt after he’d laced up his boots.

“Ay, amorcito- it’s too hot for a jacket, you’ll overheat!” Angela scolded, sending Keith a frown. Hunk smirked, but no matter how many time Keith had asked, he wouldn’t tell him what Angela was calling him.

Keith rubbed at the back of his neck and started to form an excuse to keep his jacket on, but he was cut off by Angela tucking a small pack into his arms.

She patted his hand. “ Water. Make sure everyone drinks it- getting heat stroke won’t help you at all.” She turned to Shiro- Pidge and Hunk were already outside. “I’m sorry I can’t drive you… I need to stay here.” Her eyes flickered to the dining room table, where Keith had glimpsed Rolando sitting at the table, his head in his hands.

Shiro had his hand on the doorknob. He smiled. “We understand, Mrs. McClain. You’re doing so much for us already- thank you.”

Angela nodded, the shooed them out the door (“you’ll get there too late- go!”), quickly shutting the door to keep the thick, humid air outside.

The four of them stood there for a moment, already beginning to sweat. Keith tugged at the collar of his jacket… maybe he should have left it before- he did have his arm guards on anyways,

Hunk grinned at him. “Drink your water, amorcito~” He cooed, seemingly unaffected by the heat.

Keith threw the bag at him.

“Ow! Hey! It’s not my fault she’s playing favourites!”

Keith tied his jacket around hi waist, starting down the gravel driveway towards the road. “Come on; we’ll be late.” He teased, leaving his three teammates to follow after her him.

‘This better be worth it.’ Keith thought to himself as they stood -red-faced and just slightly miserable- outside a small diner with a sign announcing they they had finally reach La Casa de Lago.

The four mile walk had not been kind, so unkind, in fact, that when they had passed a stretch of clean, bustling beach, even Keith (who wasn’t one for swimming or public environments) thought the blue waters looked incredibly inviting… but they supposed the air conditioned had to do.

The jingle of the bell signalled their entrance, and all four collectively sighed in relief, grateful for the blast of cold air that met them. There weren’t many people there- they were given one of two passing glances, but that was it.

“Hola, compañeros! Bienvenidos!” Keith looked to the voice, and saw the server behind the counter smiling at them. Upon being met with three confused stares, he grinned. “¿Ingles?” Keith knew that one. He nodded. The man murmured something unintelligible, then knocked on the wall near the kitchen door. “Decarlos! Clientes! Ellos hablan Inglés.” He called out.

“Sí, momento por favor!” Came another, younger voice.

“Dale!”

Keith looked at Shiro. That was easy. Things were going so smoothly that Keith wondered briefly when their luck was going to take a turn for the worse.

The kitchen door swung open, and Keith stared.

Not what he was expecting.

He was about Keith’s height, but heavier-set, softer. He couldn’t have been older than 19 or 20, judging from the unscarred side of his face. The left side was disfigured; skin puckered and shiny (as if it had melted) around a clouded blue eye. The other eye was the colour of the ocean -dark blue- and his unmarred skin was just a few shades darker than Lance’s.

“Can I help you?” The accent was thick, but understandable; the smile warm, but almost guarded. Keith tossed the observation aside- it wasn’t important.

Keith -fed up with sitting around- led the way to the counter. He looked the boy in the eye, not wanting to fuck around with formalities anymore. “We’re looking for an old friend-” Keith stopped himself. ‘Not ‘Lance’” He reminded himself. ‘Not here.’ “Angelo? We don’t have any way to get ahold of him, so-”

Keith felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back. It was then he noticed Decarlos’ confused expression and backed off.

“-we’re just wondering if you could let him know we’re in the area, if he’s got time for a visit.” Hunk amended Keith’s abrupt approach with a smile.

Keith averted his eyes to the ground. He’d gotten ahead of himself again- he wasn’t helping anyone by doing that.

“Angelo Álvarez, you mean?” Decarlos didn’t seem angry with the sudden questions (which must have felt like an interrogation, with the way Keith had come at him), but his eyebrows were furrowed. When Hunk nodded, he tilted his head a little to the side. “...can I get your names?” His eyes were lingering on Shiro.

Pidge was the one who answered, her voice cool and even. “I’m Katie, this is Keith, Hunk, and Takumi.” Keith was impressed with the complete lack of hesitation. “It’s nothing urgent; we’re just old classmates, and we were in the area- wanted to see if he was free.” Keith paled a little. That was… less than a perfect story.

Decarlos didn’t seem too convinced either, but he didn’t look anything besides suspicious of them. “...Angelo is pretty busy right now.” Keith saw a muscle in his jaw working. “But I can let him know you’re in the area.” His expression was definitely tight. “I’m sorry- I don’t want to be rude, but is there anything else you need? I should get back to the kitchen.” He continued, his accent thickening a bit in his mumbling.

Shiro waved his hand. “That’s all; if you could just let him know we’re here.” Keith looked towards him, his eyes protesting, and Shiro stepped on his foot. “Sorry for keeping you.”

Decarlos seemed to relax a little, and he waved them off. “It’s- it’s okay, compañeros.” He made his way back towards the doors to the kitchen. “Enjoy your stay.” It sounded just a bit forced, but he was gone before Keith had a chance to get a proper look at his face.

Keith gasped, feeling a small hand grasp his wrist and pull him. Realising they were not the centre of attention, he stumbled after Pidge and the others as they left the building (and the confused, interested stares they were receiving from the patrons).

Being back out in the stifling heat shouldn’t have been a relief, but Decarlos’ piercing stare hadn’t done any favours for Keith’s already jumpy nerves. He glanced back at the door to the diner. He hadn’t looked like very much, but Keith had a feeling that Decarlos wasn’t taking any of their shit.

“So… what now?” Hunk asked to their silent group.

Keith raised an eyebrow at Pidge. “We hope Decarlos doesn’t recognize Hunk as the same Hunk who went missing at the Garrison.” He said tartly.

Hunk sputtered. “Wait, you think my real name is Hunk!?”

“It isn’t?!”

“Keith- no-”

Shiro rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “-well, I’d like to just keep looking for him, but…” He trailed off.

Pidge sighed, ignoring Keith’s scandalized expression. “...you think it’d be best to listen to his parents and let him come to us.” She finished for him. Keith -opting to leave the discussion of Hunk’s “real name” for later- watched as Shiro nodded, and he rubbed his arms.

It didn’t feel normal, to be told what to do and to listen to it, to not run around trying to find him, but…

“Keith?” Keith looked up, and Pidge kept a steady gaze on him. “What do you think we should do?” She asked.

Keith blinked. “Uh… I thought it was pretty much decided…” He muttered.

Hunk smiled. “We’re a team- we should decide together.” He said quietly.

Keith looked at them, then back at his boots.

...the doubt had been planted.

That maybe… maybe things weren’t so simple. Maybe the best thing…

“...maybe the best thing is to listen to his family.” He breathed, his arms dropping to his sides. He closed his eyes and shrugged. “Let him come to us.” He finished.

There was a silence, then Pidge spoke again.

“How do we- will he come?” She whispered.

Keith opened his eyes. “He’ll come.” They all looked at him and he continued, his voice steadier- stronger. “Lance -however he is- is still Lance. He wouldn’t leave us hanging.” He saw the flicker of certainty reignite in his friends’ eyes- it felt like his own.

“He won’t.”

.

.

.

“...so you really thought my parents named me ‘Hunk’?”

“Okay, well, how was I to know your real name, ‘Asshole’?”

“Settle down.”

Chapter Text

“I want to die… fuck!”

Slamming his forehead into the door frame when he already felt like hell had not been his best move, and it only reinforced Lance’s conviction behind his previous statement.

He groaned, crouching in the doorway of his bedroom, holding his pounding head and regretting every dumb choice he had obviously made the night before.

“You still drunk, hermano?” a (blessedly) quiet voice spoke up from the couch. Lance lifted his head to find Decarlos tucked into the corner of the couch, a book open in his lap and a muffin resting on the arm. The sight of food made him feel queasy, so Lance focused on Decarlos’ face instead. “Ey, Lance; you alright there, socio?”

Lance -still dazed from his unfortunate encounter with the hardwood trim and still half asleep- shook his head slowly and pulled himself to his feet. “No… I feel like violent death and the bird flu had angry sex on top of me.” He collapsed into his old armchair, his hands over his eyes, even though it wasn’t bright in the room. “Thanks for drawing the shades, Decarlos.”

“Mm, no problem…” Decarlos murmured, returning his one-eyed gaze to his book. “Take your time waking up- Fernán called. You’re gonna help Miguel today, so you don’t have to be at the docks until two.” Decarlos glanced at the clock on the opposite wall. “What time is your job interview?” he asked.

Lance squinted at the faded numbers, then groaned and slumped into the chair. “It was at nine thirty… I missed it. Damn.” He rubbed his hands across his face, cursing his poor judgement. Why had he gone and-

His heart skipped a beat.

Oh. Right.

They were-

“Ah, don’t worry about it, Lance- it was just a cashier job.” Lance tensed, and slowly turned his head to stare at Decarlos, who was quickly making his way down his page. “My mother has been thinking about hiring another chef… you can cook, right?”

Lance kept his wide eyes on Decarlos, who shifted where he sat as he felt the mood change. “...you’re calling me ‘Lance’...” he spoke as evenly as possible, but it was difficult to hide the small tremor in his words.

He watched as Decarlos’ focus on his book seemed to intensify. He deftly turned the page. “Think about it, Angelo- you might really-”

“Too late, Decarlos; way too late!”

Decarlos sighed and snapped his book shut, picking up his half-eaten muffin before turning to Lance. “Worth a shot.” He picked at the paper wrapping or a moment. “Too bad you don’t remember last night.” he huffed.

Lance’s eyes flickered around the room, trying to pull his memories together. “Last night- what hap- ah! You called me ‘Lance’ last night too!” Lance shot to his feet and pointed (somewhat dramatically) at Decarlos, even as his head throbbed in protest. “How much do you know!?”

Decarlos kept his gaze even and Lance’s heart pounded. If Decarlos knew, then what about Desiderio, or Fructuosa or… and how?

Decarlos sighed, pulling Lance out of his panicked thoughts. “Lance Angelo Álvarez- you are the talkiest, most bipolar drunk I know.” He paused. “At least with me you are… I’m honestly surprised that no one else knows.” he added, re-adjusting his position. He exhaled and placed his hand to his temple. “...everything, Lance. I think I know everything.” he finally answered, resting his elbows on his knees and propping his head up on his hands.

Lance’s head reeled, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t just the hangover. He sank back down into his chair, legs trembling a little. “...what kind of everything?” he asked, hoping against hope that all Decarlos knew were random drunken ramblings that had nothing to do with… the real everything. Hoping that “drunk Lance” knew to tell his friend a ( partially at the very least) fabricated story.

Lance rubbed at his nose absently. ‘Well, we already know that drunk Lance is a terrible decision maker.’ he thought to himself miserably as Decarlos straightened where he sat.

Decarlos chuckled softly. “Like ‘oh yeah, I’m actually the missing Lance McClain and I piloted a robotic space cat for two years, protecting the universe from power-hungry purple aliens.’” he breathed. “Gotta be honest- I kinda already knew that you were Lance, but it took me awhile to believe you. You have to admit, it sounds ridicu-Lance? You good?” Decarlos’ brow furrowed, and he started to stand up.

Lance shook his head and gestured for him to sit back down. He had his face tucked into his hands, his back bent over himself as if he could hide from the reality he was currently facing. There was a moment of terrible, awkward silence; then Lance inhaled audibly through his nose and lifted his head to look at Decarlos. “So- if you knew… why didn’t you tell me? Call me out?” he wondered, his voice hoarse.

Lance’s head was still spinning, turning and turning his world in circles. He felt sick.

He knew, Decarlos knew… someone knew… and he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that.

Decarlos watched Lance carefully. “...it didn’t ever sound like something you wanted to talk about… more like something you thought was better off left in the past.” he mumbled. “...something you were trying desperately to forget about.”

Lance’s blue eyes met Decarlos’. Both eyes -even the cloudy, scarred one- seemed to pierce into him. He deflated, then ran his hands through his tangled, too-long hair. “... Decarlos- the cleverest thing I could say at nineteen was a bad, space related pick up line.” he laughed quietly.

Decarlos shrugged, and decided it was time to return to his muffin. “It wasn’t that clever,” he argued, but he didn’t press further than that. “-but… they’re here… remember?” Lance avoided eye contact, and watched Decarlos’ hand instead. “...that’s why you went out and…” he gestured vaguely to Lance, then made a tight, confused noise. “-and did this to yourself; right?” he asked.

Lance hummed, and leaned back in his chair. “...yeah.” he breathed, staring up at the water-stained ceiling. “Yeah. That’s part of it… I was also just… stressed.” Lance glanced at Decarlos and withered under the dry expression on his scarred face. “...not buying it, huh?”

“Not at all.”

Lance huffed. “Alright. Yeah- I didn’t know what else to do.” He curled his legs up against his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around his knees. “...I still don’t know what to do.” he admitted, rasping a little as his voice got caught on a lump in his throat. He bit his lip, then let out a watery laugh. He stomach churned, his head pounded, his heart was fluttering like a scared dove, memories and bad decisions were rushing back to him and his nose itched and- “This sucks.” Lance spat, eyes narrowing at a spot on the floor.

More silence. One moment more. Then Decarlos opened his book again and sighed. “I know, hermano.” He glanced again at the clock, then nodded towards the kitchen. “Come on- I got you a bagel. You need to eat something… then try to get some more rest.” He smiled at Lance, eyes sad. “You can talk to Miguel later… he’s a good thinker. Maybe he can help you make your next move.”

Lance watched the front door, as if someone were about to break it down, then took a deep breath, trying to force the stubborn tears in his eyes to evaporate. He pushed himself to his feet, stood there for a moment, then nodded. “Alright…” he murmured, slowly making his way towards the attached kitchen.

“That’s the spirit.” Decarlos teased.

Lance snorted and looked at the small counter, where a bagel and a cup of lukewarm coffee sat.

‘Oh, great.’ Lance thought as his stomach protested even the sight of food. Saliva pooled in his mouth and he swore, clapping his hands over his mouth and stumbling towards the half-bathroom. He heard Decarlos mutter some sort of dry comment as Lance proceeded to bruise his knees on the cracked tiles by the toilet.

“So, I’m guessing food is a no-go right now.” Decarlos called out as the previous night’s bad choices made Lance’s throat burn. Lance coughed, half-laughing, picturing Decarlos casually turning the page of his book as he spoke.

Lance groaned, head throbbing. “Really feeling the love here, Decarlos!” He retched again, pitching forward and tearing up with pain.

“It happens way too often for me to feel bad for you- I’m actually starting to consider the possibility that you’re a masochist.” Decarlos quipped, but Lance heard him standing up. “Warn me now, Lance- are you that kind of kinky?”

Lance decided not to answer that statement- he was no masochist and Decarlos was just trying to get a smile out of him. He spit into the bowl and shivered. Well, in that moment, he didn’t feel particularly cheery. Hands clammy with cold sweat, he shut the lid of the toilet and flushed it, not wanting to remind himself of the stupid amount of liquor he’d ingested the night before. He leaned against the closed toilet, trying to take calming breaths, but knowing that he looked a whole new level of pathetic.

He heard the water running, and a damp washcloth was dropped onto his messy hair. “Come on, hermano; wash your face and stand up.” Decarlos said softly.

Lance squeezed his eyes shut and made himself sit up. He took the washcloth with a shaky hand and dragged it over his face, wiping at his mouth before he tossed it into the bathtub. Instead of getting up, however, he stayed on the cold floor, leaned sideways into the cabinet under the sink and tried to ignore the stinging in his eyes.

“Ey, hermano. Levántate.” Decarlos said again, his voice a bit more firm.

Lance chuckled bitterly and lost against the tears. One -then another- rolled down his cheeks, touching the corner of his mouth, the salty taste a welcome change to the sourness on his tongue. He sucked in a shuddering breath. “Why-” He swallowed, then continued. “Why do you bother with me, Decarlos?” he asked, a sudden wave of hopelessness crashing into him, nearly knocking him flat on his back. His younger friend was silent, and Lance kept his eyes on the tiles. Another tear. “Any of you- Riel, Desi, Fructuosa or Palmira- why? I’m a mess, I fuck up all the time, I fall apart, I-I’m fucking pathetic-” His breath hitched, and he shook his head rapidly. “I-I-I’m not worth- I haven’t done anything worthy of-”

“Levántate! Ahora!” Lance gasped as Decarlos grabbed Lance’s arm and hauled him to his feet with a surprising amount of strength. Lance bit his lip as Decarlos straightened him up, holding his shoulders in place. “Ser sólido, Lance.” he snapped, gently pushing up on Lance’s forehead with the palm of his hand until Lance stood at full height, his head lifted. Decarlos pointed to his own eyes and Lance (unsure of how to respond to how unusually severe Decarlos was being) met his gaze. Decarlos gave him a sharp nod. “Lance Angelo Álvarez- you have done far too much to be even considered pathetic.” Decarlos said, his voice low. “You’ve seen some shit, Lance. You’ve fought, and you survived.” He gave Lance a small shake, his jaw tightening. “That’s not the story of a pathetic man, you hear me?”

Lance’s lip curled and he tried (weakly) to pull away. “I abandoned them! I left them, I-”

“You did your time, Lance!” Decarlos’ eyes began to swim, and Lance clamped his mouth shut. Decarlos never cried. Decarlos laughed, sounding a little exasperated. “You’ve done more than your time, Lance.” Lance swallowed, and Decarlos chewed on his lip in the tense silence that followed his words. Finally, after an eternity of heavy air, Decarlos sighed and pulled Lance into a hug.

Lance’s back shook as he finally broke, and Decarlos leaned his chin on Lance’s shoulder. :You have issues, Lance- we all do. You, me, Desi- it doesn’t make us pathetic.” he breathed.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Decarlos…” Lance hiccuped, gripping the back of Decarlos’ shirt.

Decarlos laughed softly and patted Lance’s back. He pulled away. “Parate derecho.” he murmured, and Lance did, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes for a moment, then taking a deep breath and dropping his arms to his sides. Decarlos smiled. “Don’t be sorry, hermano. Just rinse your mouth, drink some water, and get some more rest.” Just move on. “They day’s only just started.” He reached out and took Lance’s arm, squeezing gently, then let go. “You can do it.” he assured him before he turned and left the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Lance stood still for one more moment, before he once again slumped, leaning on the counter and raking one hand through his hair. He took another moment, then looked up- tried to meet his own eyes, then cowed at the flash of pain he saw there.

Blotchy face, dark circles and limp hair in desperate need of a trim, he almost had no idea who that man staring back at him was.

Lance touched the mirror, shook his head in disbelief, then turned on the water. He cupped his hands under the stream to rinse his mouth and splash his face.

‘Sorry, Decarlos,’ Lance thought, eyes shut as he dried his face. He opened them to glare at the face in the mirror and scoffed. ‘It’ll take more than a pep talk to make that face something worth looking at.’

The minute Lance boarded was the minute that Lance decided it was not a good day to be working on a boat, and that it was highly likely that most of his time would be spent with his head over the side.

“I’m not letting you off easy, Angelo- you did this to yourself.” Miguel reminded Lance about an hour out to sea, handing him one rope of the dragnet. “The only reason I’m not gonna let you sort the fish is because I’d prefer you not throw up on my product.”

Despite the subtle tone of amusement in his voice, Lance could tell he wasn’t too happy with the state of his helper, for whatever reasons (most likely for the ones he said- Miguel wasn’t one to lie). Lance swallowed back his nausea and nodded. “...I’ll clean everything up afterwards, too.” he offered as Miguel cast the net down into the water. “The fish stuff, that is. I won’t throw up on deck.”

Miguel snorted and turned to Lance with a small smile. “Thanks, compañero.” he said, straightening out the net. “...what’s on your mind, Angelo? You’re usually a little more talkative than this.”

Lance huffed. “Did Decarlos talk to you?” he asked, tying off the rope to keep it tightly tethered to the boat.

Miguel hummed. “Only this morning. When I called- well, he said you weren’t in good shape, but I can tell it’s more than a hangover.” Lance was quiet as Miguel spoke. “You don’t need to tell me, but remember-”

“-talking about it helps… I know.” Lance sighed and grabbed his water bottle, taking a sip and closing his eyes against the blazing sun. “I can’t… I can’t really talk a lot about it, just…” he trailed off, and Miguel waited, leaning against the side of the boat, his face neutral. Lance shook his head. “If you… drifted apart from people you were once close to, and then one day they showed up to reconnect…” It was a gamble- Miguel would most like connect the dots between Lance’s “hypothetical” story and his encounter with his boat hitchhikers, and learn that Angelo was actually Lance, and possibly remember Lance McClain- missing cadet- but…

Lance snuck a glance at Miguel- his face had not changed. He licked his lips, then spoke again. “What would you do about it?” he asked quietly.

Miguel watched him for a moment, then exhaled slowly, appearing to think about it as he moved from the side of the boat to recheck that the net’s ropes were secure. Once they were tightened and Lance’s heart rate had hit a good 102 BPM, he responded.

“Who are they to you, Angelo?” Miguel asked, his voice taking on the same quality it got when the older man was talking his brother down from a panic attack. Lance wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but he was more concerned (and confused) with the question. “Are they friends? Comrades? Acquaintances?” Miguel continued. “Or are they people who you’ve been through a lot with… people who are much closer than friends?” he finished, his voice softening. Family is what it sounded like he meant, but Lance chose to push that thought away.

Lance’s hands tightened around his stainless steel water bottle. The ache in his chest and the pressure in his head seemed to force his words out, raspy and heavy, into the air between the two men before he had time to think them through. “If I could do anything to keep them safe, I would…” Lance felt that there were more words to follow, but he would keep those to himself. He dropped one hand to hold the rope, looking for something to do to distract himself from the pain in his throat.

Miguel sighed, and Lance turned his gaze to him once more. He was smiling- not so that his tanned skin creased around his gentle eyes, but in a way that let Lance know that he’d somehow said the right thing in response to a question with no good or bad answers. “Then you owe it to them to meet with them- to talk.” Miguel walked past Lance and tapped his shoulder with his fist. “Most importantly, amigo- you owe it to yourself.” he added, before continuing on to the wheel. “Make sure you keep an eye on those nets, Angelo- let’s make this a successful day!”

Lance stared at the rope that rested beneath his calloused fingers, pulled taut against the drag of the ocean currents. He looked out at the horizon- there were no clouds in sight, which meant the dreadfully hot, dry weather would most likely continue for longer than anyone wanted. “I owe it to them, huh?” he murmured quietly.

He’d run away- from them. From the Castleship, the war, from the thought of being useless- a waste of oxygen and resources…

He cast his eyes downward to the deck. He’d run from them with no explanation- no goodbyes, except for to Coran, of course… Dios, Lance missed him… he missed all of them, more than he cared to admit to himself.

Lance frowned at that thought. Perhaps he really did owe it to them, if only just to explain himself.

He huffed and took another sip of his water, trying to ignore the nausea climbing up his throat. He wasn’t so sure about a successful day- but maybe he could try for productive.

“Productive” started with a shower. Back in his apartment tiny bathroom, he worked up the motivation to finally wash and condition his hair, to use his neglected sweet-pea scented body wash (he’d just been using plain bar soap), and to brush his damp hair back into a short ponytail after a quick towel dry.

Lance glanced at his face while he was brushing his teeth, winced at his dark circles, then vowed to avoid mirror for the rest of the evening.

“Why am I primping?” he muttered to himself as he pulled out a pair of jeans and a decent, clean t-shirt. He eyed his blue button up, then scoffed and closed the drawer. “They’d still be pissed at me if I wore a fucking tux- no point in looking fancy.” he grumbled, pulling on the clothes as he checked the clock.

7:00pm. Not that he’d set a time- he hadn’t even called his mother to let her know he was coming- but he didn’t want to push it too late- he’d be giving himself an excuse to put it off another day.

Anxiety beat against the inside of his chest, and he tapped absentmindedly on his collarbone, listening to the quiet dup dup of his fingers against his skin. He stood in front of his door, mind racing. This was it- this was really happening?

He was going to see them, to talk to them- after two full years?

Lance chewed on his lip. Should he really…?

He gritted his teeth and shoved his feet into his nice sneakers, clutching his cab fare in his hand inside his light sweater’s pocket. They weren’t going away… not -at least- before they spoke with him.

Until they saw that he wouldn’t be going back with them… or whatever they wanted. He figured it was because they thought they needed him. There was no way the war was over; no way.

He locked his door behind him after making sure all the lights were off. He honestly didn’t know if he was going to be returning to his apartment that night- they had a lot to discuss, he supposed. So, Lance had his phone, the charger, and some money tucked into his pockets. He had toiletries at his parents house, of course.

Before he had the chance to second guess himself, he made sure his apartment key was in his pocket and headed down to the street, where he would eventually find a cab to take him to the absolute last place he wanted to be.

… maybe that was a bit over an overstatement, but it was close.

The cab ride was a blue. Lance stared out the window, fidgeting with his phone, flipping it over and over in his hands as his thoughts and anxieties ran circles around his brain.

‘What will they think?’ ‘You look like shit.’ ‘What have you been doing, while they’ve been saving the universe?’ ‘What if Hunk’s grown a beard?’ ‘What will Shiro think of you?’ ‘Oh god, what if Keith’s grown a beard?!’

Lance was attempting to rid the image of a bearded Keith ( not a good look for him) out of his head when the cab slowed to a gravely stop. “We’re here.” the cab driver said, prompting Lance to look out the window. Lance’s heart pounded in his chest. All the lights -most of them, anyway- were on, spilling a yellow glow onto the driveway. The shades were drawn, but Lance could see moving shapes beyond them- too many to be just he parents.

“You want me to drive you back, amigo?” the driver asked, her eyes sympathetic, sensing his hesitation.

Lance chuckled nervously. “I want you to- but no thanks, compañera… how much do I owe?”

The cash handed over and everything of his (all his three items) safely out of the car, the cab drove away, leaving Lance alone in the driveway.

He tucked his hands into his pockets.

This is insane.

He swallowed. Licked his lips.

He felt like this was his homecoming all over again.

Kicked pieces of gravel as he went, he forced his way to the door.

When did his home start looking so uninviting?

Lance took a deep breath, raised his hand-

This is it- last chance to run-

-and knocked.

Silence -silence Lance wouldn’t have expected, but apparently he’d heard the sounds of voices in the background- fell behind the door. His pulse skyrocketed as he heard footsteps.

You idiot! You should have run, hidden in Habana, something-

The door opened. Rolando stood, his face grim, before Lance. Angela stood at his side, her eyes flitting restlessly from him to the door to the dining room. “...Lancito, I- we didn’t expect you so soon-” she murmured hastily. Rolando gave her a quick, subtle look and she quieted.

Lance dropped his eyes to the ground as he heard more footsteps; people drawn out by the sound of his name.

“Lance-” Rolando placed a hand on his shoulder, gently pulling him into the house and holding him firm, like he might make a break for it… Lance wasn’t going to lie, either, the thought had crossed his mind the minute the door opened. “-you’re just in time for dinner.” he finished lamely.

Lance clenched his jaw, then made himself look up.

‘Now or never…’

Four pairs of eyes- brown, gray, amber, lavender- pinned on him. Lance’s stomach turned. Right… dinner might not be a possibility for him.

He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. The shock in their eyes wasn’t helping- it was like they’d never seen a human before in their lives.

Lance couldn’t bring himself to meet any of their eyes. He settled for watching his shoes again as he took in a deep breath. “...hey, guys.” Deafening, unbearable silence. He cleared his throat, heart rapping at his bones. “I, uh- ah!” he gasped and flinched, caught off guard as two solid bodies -one tall and dark, the other short, petite, and pale- slammed into him, arms wrapping around him, holding him steady as he stumbled.

“Lance!” The voices were breathless, a little shaky, even, and Lance found himself blinking in confusion.

Harsh words, glares, outright screaming- that’s what he’d expected… not the Green and Yellow Paladins crushing him half to death-with affection.

Lance shook his head, incredulous.

“What?”

Chapter Text

Keith had been trying to plan what he would say to Lance when they finally saw him again. The greetings ranged from “you look well” to “how have you been holding up?” to-

“What the fuck, Lance?!” Pidge got there before Keith’s brain could even catch up. He could barely register Shiro’s hand on his shoulder, of the way his breathing had quickened- he wasn’t sure where Hunk and Pidge had found the initiative to just run up and hug him.

Pidge pulled back, and a moment later, Hunk did as well, although he still kept his hands on Lance’s shoulders. Keith saw the tears in Pidge’s eyes, even as she laughed and punched Lance’s arm. “You just up and fuck off?! Did you like tearing us up like that?” she teased.

Keith turned his eyes to Lance, really taking him in this time, instead of just blanking out when he realized he was standing in front of him.

Oh. Well. Keith crossed “you look well” off of his list of things to say.

Lance very much did not look well. Maybe Keith had forgotten some minor details- or maybe Lance just wasn’t faring well without high quality Altean skin treatments and herbal teas… but maybe Keith was just looking for reasons not to see what he was seeing.

Lance stood stiffly under Hunk’s watery gaze and Pidge’s chatter and questions. His hair was much longer, but not in a stylistic way- more like a “I forgot to cut my hair and I can’t be bothered to do anything about it” sort of way. IT was still damp, pulled back into a small ponytail. His blue eyes were slightly bloodshot, flitting around the room, and his skin -which was darker than Keith remembered- was… almost blotchy, like he’d been sunburned or something. Red tinged the skin in patches across his face, down his neck… he looked sick, especially with the dark circles under his tired eyes.

“Anyways- we’re not the only ones who missed you, you jerk.” Pidge gently shoved Lance forward as Keith broke out of his reverie. He looked up, tried to meet Lance’s eyes, and failed. He crossed his arms and watched Lance’s face from the corner of his eye, hoping he didn’t look as panicked as he felt.

Lance licked his lips -wrung his hands. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he held out his arms a little, meeting Shiro’s eyes. “... I guess hugs are what’s happening?” he tired. A pause. Keith saw Shiro’s pained face and knew immediately that he was thinking similar things to Keith.

Lance laughed nervously. “Un-unless a nice handshake seems more appropri- whoa!” Lance gasped as Shiro pulled Lance forward, giving him a hug that seemed more like a vice grip. Lance chuckled. “...it’s good to see you, Shiro.” he murmured.

Shiro pulled back, a soft smile on his face. “It’s good to see you too, Lance.” The three of them stood, silent, at an impasse. Shiro nudged Keith. Keith’s heart pounded in his rib cage. The tension in the room was rising, too quick- he’d drown in it, he’d drown again-

Lance smiled, looking a little sad. “...hey, mullet.” Keith looked up finally, meeting his eyes -just as blue as he remembered. His voice was so gentle.

Keith swallowed. Now. Talk. Don’t make this worse; say something! Keith forced himself to uncross his arms and face his old teammate. He took a deep breath and-

“You’ve- grown.”

Keith paled.

What the fuck was that supposed to mean!? Who was he- Lance’s aunt?!

Lance blinked, then laughed. A much larger smile on his face, Lance wrapped his arms around Keith, causing him to suck in a breath. “I’ll take that as a compliment…” he drew back enough to grin at him. “...hi, Keith.”

You’ve changed.

Keith nodded slowly, then found himself reaching out, pulling him back in. “...hi, Lance.” Keith could feel the sting in his eyes and throat and knew that those were the only words he’d be able to manage for a while. Lance smelled fresh, like clean water and rain and so undeniably like Lance that it almost broke Keith again when they pulled apart once the moment became awkwardly long.

Lance cleared his throat, looking around anxiously, and the whole group suddenly remembered the elephant in the room. “We’ve uh...got a lot to talk about, huh?” Lance stammered out, pulling his arms to his sides.

Hunk was the first to respond, placing a hand on Lance’s shoulder and smiling, wiping at his eyes with his free hand. “We sure do, buddy.” The nickname did nothing to lift the heaviness that now thickened the air, but it was nice of him to try. “-but let’s have dinner first, okay? Or, we can at least talk during dinner.”

Rolando and Angela silently herded the group into the dining room while Pidge filled up the empty space with questions and overviews of what they’d been up to… well, the Paladin “saving the universe” stuff, that is. Keith could see Lance tensing up again, his leg bouncing under the table where he sat between his mother and father, who had flanked him like a wall as soon as the food was on the table.

He saw Shiro about to speak, probably to (kindly) shut Pidge up, but Pidge was smart enough to do that on her own. “I’ll be quiet- it’s probably boring to hear anyways.” Pidge chuckled, cutting off her recount of a particularly long, difficult diplomacy mission they’d undertaken a year before. “What have you been doing here on earth, Lance?” she asked, leaning her chin on her hand.

Silence. They all knew they were avoiding the major questions, and Lance smirked a little, pushing his food around on his plate. He’d actually gotten bigger, Keith now noticed. The muscles Lance had used as a pilot and a sniper were now obviously being used for very different, apparently laborious work, judging from the new mass and the collection of scars on his hands.

“I’ve… well, not-not much, actually.” Lance forked a piece of chicken, but didn’t eat. Instead, he glared at it, as if he had something to do with his situation. “I’ve pretty much just been working at the docks and… paying rent?” he muttered. He glanced around the table. Blank stares met him, and Keith felt a bit sympathetic for him. “...hanging out with friends? I dunno, it’s-it’s nice and… quiet. I like it.”

Keith would have believed that was it if everything Lance was doing- from his expression he wore to the tone of his voice- weren’t carefully guarded, It only made Keith more frustrated.

Angela touching Lance’s hand. “Amor, you’re not eating.” she reminded him quietly. Keith almost smiled at the tender look Lance offered his mother.

“Sorry, mamá- I’m just… not feeling very well.” he murmured to her, turning to the table and not meeting her eyes.

“Are you sick? I don’t wanna get sick- space probably destroyed our earthly immune systems!” Pidge joked, trying to interact with Lance as though nothing had happened, as though nothing had changed- as though the dynamic among the people at the table hadn’t shifted dramatically.

Lance rubbed the back of his neck. “A-ah, no, I’m not- I’m not contagious, don’t worry.” he assured her, not looking at all eased into conversation.

Hunk -sitting between Shiro and Keith and across from Lance- sighed. “That’s a relief- I wouldn’t have felt good about having you come here if you were-”

“Why did you leave?” Keith interjected, hating the way everyone was dancing around the real issue at hand. He heard a collective intake of breath from his teammates. Hunk grabbed his knee and Shiro hissed his name under his breath, but Keith kept his eyes on Lance.

Lance didn’t meet his gaze. He watched his plate, his eyes sad and angry and awkward and a whole other slew of negative emotions that Keith could discern -they sat there and turned his eyes stormy. “...getting right down to it, huh?” Lance murmured, realigning his fork on the table. “You haven’t changed a bit, Keith.”

Keith gritted his teeth, but seeing as no one was actively trying to stop him, he spoke again, his voice hardening. “Why. Did. You. Leave?” he ground out.

Keith saw no change in Lance’s expression -no curled lip, no sneer, no telling tilt to his brow- it was so carefully controlled that he thought maybe they’d only found a lookalike… because this person wasn’t Lance. Lance reacted, Lance moved, Lance spoke without thinking, and-

“I missed Earth.” Lance said simply, his tone flat. Angela placed a hand on her son’s shoulder, and Rolando seemed to have taken a great interest in his plate.

Keith felt his temper starting to get the better of him -something that hadn’t actually happened in a while- and he scoffed. “Oh, come on- you can’t expect us to believe that the intrepid, adventure-seeking Lance-”

Lance looked up slowly, his eyes blazing, and Keith’s words died in his throat- but just as quickly as it had flared, the fire died, leaving that coldness that Keith decided then and there that he detested. “Keith- I wasn’t needed. Not anymore. It was only a matter of time before I left.” He spoke as if that were the most obvious thing in the world.

Keith blinked, taken aback. Not needed? What the hell did- where had he gotten that idea?

Hunk chose that moment to speak. “Lance, why on earth would you think-”

“Blue chose Allura and Red chose Keith. That was a pretty clear indication.” Lance’s fingers tightened around his fork. “All I could do was fire a gun, and anyone can do that.”

“Lance.” Shiro finally spoke up, and every set of eyes (save for Lance’s) turned to him. Shiro learned forward towards Lance, his hands clasped and his brow twisted in concern. “No one ever thought of you as just a pilot, or just a fighter- you’re our teammate, you are so important to us, and-”

“If I was so important-” Lance interrupted, and Shiro fell silent. Keith watched as the blue eyed man bore a hole in the table with his eyes, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed like he was struggling with the words. Everyone watched. “-then why wait this long?” he finished, finally looking up and meeting Shiro face to face.

Keith felt his cheeks burn, and he ducked his head ever so slightly as Shiro hesitated, looking around the table at the other Paladins. “...when you… when you left, the situation didn’t change much- we didn’t have much downtime at all for two years. We were busy with attacks and defense-”

‘And my shit during the one period of quiet.’ Keith thought miserably, rubbing his covered wrists under the table.

“-it wasn’t until just a few weeks ago that enemy activity slowed down. We think that Blue waited until she deemed it safe for the switch between you and Allura.” Lance watched Shiro steadily, eerily silent and not at all reminiscent on the Lance from three years before. It made Keith even sadder.

“So you’re here now because you think you need me.” Lance didn’t look surprised, and neither did his parents… but the rest of the table jerked with shock.

Hunk whimpered. “Lance, you’ve got it wrong, we wanted to come find you, but-”

“Lance, stop that, you being kind of a jerk-” Pidge started to say, but Lance held up his hand, effectively shutting up the table.

He shook his head. “You don’t need me- I’m not a vital piece in this anymore. You need your best on the front lines.” Keith met Lance’s eyes for a moment as they both remembered their quiet conversation all those years ago. “That’s not me anymore- you said the enemy’s gone radio silent?” he asked, looking to Shiro. The older pilot nodded slowly in response, and Lance continued. “That’s probably because they’re planning something big. You’re gonna need reliable fighters.”

Pidge stood up. “Lance, that’s you-”

“That is not me! Not anymore!” Lance said, his voice like a knife as he stood as well, planting his hands on the table. Rolando got up abruptly and left the room, and Angela quickly followed. Lance didn’t seem to notice. “If Blue really needed me, she would come down and get me herself- why would she let you all do the dirty work?”

Keith had to admit, he had a point. Why didn’t she come down and get him herself? Although, Keith wouldn’t have felt good about that. Besides- he knew was he saw. He got to his feet, drawing attention that he didn’t really want, but he;d tolerate it. He challenged Lance’s intense stare. “Blue told me to find you. I know what she told me.” Lance dropped his eyes, and Keith felt some of the tension leave the air. He let his voice soften. “Whatever reason she had for having us come down must be good… but we need you, Lance.” ‘I need you… isn’t that pathetic?’ “The universe needs you.”

Lance was quiet for a moment, his fingers curling and uncurling, then he sighed heavily and collapsed back into his chair. The rest of the table followed suit, and Lance took a deep breath, interlacing his fingers and shaking his head again. “...no. It’s not a good idea.”

“The Blade of Marmora and the Castle of Lions is monitoring enemy activity- any news will get to us long before anything bad can happen.” Hunk assured Lance. “We have time.”

Lance laughed bitterly. “To what? Convince me? Uh-uh. You guys aren’t getting it.” He covered his face with his hands. “You guys don’t want me. I’m no good for that anymore- I’m just Angelo Àlvarez.” One hand dropped to his lap while the other scrubbed at his nose. “I work at the docks, I have my own apartment… for now, at least.” he huffed, then shrugged. “I-I have a life.”

“Are you happy, though?” Pidge asked, sounding skeptical.

Lance’s expression hardened a bit, and Keith saw that Pidge must have struck a nerve. “Yes. I am, thanks for asking.” he said dryly.

“Lance, please.” Hunk reached out and touched Lance’s wrist. He didn’t pull away, so Keith took that as a good sign. “We really want you back… we really need you, but more importantly we miss you, man.”

Lance shook his head again. “No. I’m not going back up there.”

“Wasn’t it your dream?” Shiro asked, his face stricken.

Lance closed his eyes tightly. “It- the answer is no, please understand-”

“I don’t understand-”

“Lance, Blue needs you to pilot her-”

Lance stood up. “I can’t- no puedo-  I’m going h-”

“Stop!”

The ring of voices ceased. The Paladin’s looked up to the doorway where Angela stood, her eyes stony. Lance sat back slowly as she entered, glaring at each of them. Keith looked away from her, shame hurting his chest. “This is too much for one night. Lance needs time to think things through- you all need time to process, and we have a dinner that needs to be eaten… please,” Angela touched Lance’s shoulder. “-let’s be civil. We can continue this tomorrow. I can’t have that kind of energy in my house. I don’t like it.” She sat beside Lance and picked up her fork. “Please. Let’s eat, then go to bed.”

Lance sighed. “Mamá, I’m feeling sick-”

“¿Y cuya culpa es que? Tuyo. Ahora comes.” Angela quipped. Lance winced, and Keith had no idea what she’d said, but Hunk was looking at Lance strangely and Lance had turned his attention back to his food.

Keith tried to enjoy his meal, but it all tasted like ash to him. It was silent, no one knowing what to say. Rolando hadn’t returned, and Lance looked like he was about to throw up. Keith forced himself to eat another bite. If they finished this up quickly, he could go to bed- his thighs itched and he needed to just black out for a while to recuperate from all this shit.

“I’m sorry.” Lance suddenly blurted out. Everyone looked up from their half finished plates, and Lance set down his fork. He hadn’t eaten much, but it was something. “I… should have come tomorrow, with a better way to word everything.” he apologized.

Keith tried to think of something to say, but he couldn’t put what he felt into words. That was nothing new for him, though. He cast his eyes to his lap, his food forgotten, and picked at the edge of his arm guards in silence.

Thankfully, Shiro somehow seemed to know what Keith (and likely the others as well) felt, and he sighed. “Lance, I have a feeling that we could have put this off for as long as we wanted, and nothing would come out sounding how we wanted it to.” Keith glanced up. Shiro had a soft, apologetic smile on his face, and Lance was carefully avoiding eye contact. “We shouldn’t have come on so suddenly either- we’ll give you time to think it over. We have some time, I think.” he finished.

Angela smiled, apparently happy that at least some things were getting cleared up. “You’re welcome to stay for as long as you’d like- unfortunately, it’s a busy house, so you might not get much downtime here; but it’s better than La Bomba.” Keith noticed that her smile wasn’t quite reaching her eyes. “You’ll probably meet Lance’s siblings- they’re coming next week, Lancito, I forgot to tell you.” she added, touching his forearm.

Lance had snapped his head around to look at his mother so fast that Keith heard his neck crack. He almost laughed, but the pure dread he saw in Lance’s eyes killed the amusement as quickly as it had come.

“What? Why?!” Lance yelped, frowning and crossing his arms.

Angela huffed. “Porque todos tienen que empezar a llevarse mejor.” she muttered, a pointed look on her face. Keith watching Hunk, but it seemed as though the words had gone a bit fast for him to understand.

Lance glowered at his plate and stabbed at the rice. “Es sólo Alexandro- no le gusto- ow!” Angela cut him off with a sharp slap to the hand.

“Stop that- he is your brother and that’s not true.” she scolded.

“...I’m totally lost.” Pidge spoke up, one eyebrow quirked in confusion.

Lance snorted. “First time for everything.” he mumbled.

Pidge gasped dramatically, and a bit of somewhat awkward banter ensued. The mood at the table lifted just enough that Angela’s shoulders relaxed, Hunk’s forehead unknitted, and the food started tasting a lot better in Keith’s mouth.

Even so, Keith wasn’t focused on the meal- he supposed no one was. Shiro seemed to be thinking hard as he watched the playful teasing, and Keith had his eyes on the face of his old teammate- the man he had (unfortunately) fallen in love with. Keith searched the blue eyes, catching traces of emotion, but mostly seeing a wall- a barrier between Lance and his company. Keith knew the look well- he had used it as his first line of defense for years, and -sometimes- still used it… that look of a person who wasn’t really empty, but someone who was hiding themselves somewhere deep inside. A person who was holding everything in so that people wouldn’t think to look further.

But also a person frighteningly close to a breaking point. An aerosol can- contents under pressure.

The blue eyes had lost their spark. It was hidden behind a cloud of some sort… Keith knew it wouldn’t clear quickly, but he still stared.

‘Where did you go?’ he asked Lance silently as the man across the table rolled his eyes at something Pidge said. ‘And how do we find you?’

Chapter Text

Lance knew he should have been drowning. There was water everywhere- all around him, flooding his eyes, filling his lungs. He swore he could feel the thin liquid pulsing through his veins. He definitely should have been drowning, but it all felt right for some reason.

He looked around slowly, feeling like someone was watching him. He was drifting. The surface didn’t look far off, but he had the sense that it was miles above his head. He noted that he was wearing his old outfit- the one he got stuck in space with. That stupid blue and white baseball T and slim blue jeans. His green denim jacket billowed out behind him in the current.

A hand tapped his shoulder, and he slowly spun around, curious as to who was floating down here with him. He smiled lightly.

“Hey, Keith,” he greeted him. No bubbles came from his mouth- he supposed that made sense- there was no air in his lungs, after all.

Keith’s blue eyes smiled more than his lips. He was younger- more like the Keith Lance knew from before, rather than the older, unnervingly quiet Keith Lance had met just hours ago. He too wore his old outfit, but the red was nowhere to be seen. Just blue. Just like everything else.

Keith reached out with that ever-to-subtle smile and touched his hand to Lance’s cheek. Lance watched- waited. Keith blinked slowly, almost like he was drifting off to sleep, then brought his other hand to Lance’s neck. “Come back, Lance,” he murmured, not sounding at all like Keith. “Come back to us.”

Lance frowned helplessly. “What do you mean ‘come back’? You guys are here, there’s no way for me to ‘come back’,” he argued quietly.

Keith gently shook him. “Come back to us- just come back to us, please-”

Lance squirmed, trying to twist out of Keith’s hands. “You’re not making any sense!” he cried out as Keith’s grip tightened.

Keith’s eyes glowed like backlit sapphires. “Come back, Lance!”

Lance gasped and jerked violently, slapping his beeping phone off the bed and flinching at the dull thunk it made on the floor. He took in his surroundings as he scrambled to turn off his alarm- dark blue walls disoriented him for a moment before he remembered he was in his room in his parents’ house.

He smacked his lips as he shoved his phone back in his pocket. His mouth tasted like stale booze and cigarette smoke from his early hour panic and insomnia session, and he determined that this was not one of his best mornings. He wasn’t hungover, at least- he’d only had a glass to help him relax enough to finally sleep.

Lance glared at his phone clock and did his best to ignore the missed texts- 6:31 am. Lance snorted. ‘Gross,’ he thought as he dragged himself out of bed. It wasn’t as early as he sometimes got up, but still. ‘At least mamá is letting me use the car.’

He used the bathroom, brushed his teeth and decided he was only going to tie his hair back -he didn’t feel like brushing it- before he finally headed downstairs at 6:36.

He wasn’t the only one awake, though.

Shiro sat at the table, facing the window, where the sun was just beginning to tinge the sky pink and orange. Shiro’s eyes were on Lance immediately, much to alert for him to have just woken up. “Couldn’t sleep either?” Shiro asked as Lance trudged over to the sink to wash the glass he’d used.

Lance shook his head. “This is when I get up for work. I slept.” ‘A little,’ he added silently.

Shiro hummed. “Did you… did you sleep well?” God, hearing him try to maintain a casual conversation was painful, considering their table talk the night before.

‘Terribly.’ “I slept fine,” he lied, putting the glass in the dish rack to dry. He turned on the coffee maker, knowing Angela had mostly likely set it up like he always did before she went to bed. “Sorry you didn’t.” He sat down at the other end of the table. “...sleep, that is,” he clarified, not knowing what else to say to break the excruciating silence.

Shiro resumed his observation of the sunrise, his eyes focused on the kitchen window over Lance’s shoulder. “So… what is it that you do on the docks?” he asked, apparently wanting to keep the conversation going.

Lance almost preferred the awkward silence. He shrugged, listening to the coffee maker gurgle. “Depends. Loading ships and boats, unloading, cleaning- whatever needs to be done.” Lance wished the coffee would finish sooner- he’d feel much more at ease with a cup between his hands. “Sometimes I help out on a friend’s fishing boat… that’s always…” he trailed off. Exciting? No way. Fun? Eeehhh, at times. “...hot,” he finished lamely.

That made Shiro laugh, and Lance remembered how happy it used to make him to hear that. He smiled- just a little.

Shiro turned his full attention to Lance. “No kidding- we walked around for a while trying to find this place, and I thought we might all get heatstroke.” He kept his voice low, considerate of the fact that people were still sleeping.

Lance’s brow furrowed. “Wait, how did you get this addre- Coran!” Lance leaned forward. “How’s Coran? How’s Allura? Why aren’t they here?” The stream of questions tumbled out before he could stop them.

Shiro smiled warmly. “They’re both well- they miss you a lot.” Shiro leaned back in his chair and let his eyes wander around the room. “Coran was pretty upset after you left,” he murmured.

Lance let his eyes drop to his hands. “...yeah, I figured. I miss him a lot… I miss- yeah.” He swallowed. “So… I guess they have to maintain the ship, now that I think about it.”

Shiro nodded. “Both of them really wanted to come down here, but Allura is the only one who can move the ship and Coran didn’t want to leave her alone. You know how he worries.”

Lance nodded in quiet agreement, then stood when he heard the coffee maker stop burbling. He got himself a mug, then paused. He turned to Shiro. “Coffee?” he asked, almost laughing at how normal it all was.

Shiro smiled. “Sure, why not. Thanks, Lance.”

They maintained a quiet, awkward breakfast for the next ten minutes- Lance ended up making toast for the two of them, and Lance tried his best to finish quickly. It wasn’t that he disliked Shiro- he just didn’t feel like he could sit there any longer with so much hanging over their heads.

Lance stood and stretched. “Alright, well… I have to head out,” he muttered, picking up his plate and his mug and turning to place them in the sink.

“Hey, Lance, do you- do you mind if I come with you?” Lance promptly lost his grip and miraculously did not break his plate when it dropped into the sink. Shiro quickly began to backtrack. “I know it’s imposing, and you definitely don’t have to-”

Lance waved his hand dismissively as he turned back to Shiro. “No, it’s not- it’s just-” Lance huffed and scolded himself for being so flustered. He was an adult, for god’s sake, and he was just making Shiro feel more uncomfortable by the second. He sighed. “I’m just surprised you want to… spend any time with me, honestly,” he admitted, shoulders slumping.

Shiro blinked, then stood as well, looking shocked. “What? Lance, why would-” he stopped, apparently rethinking his words, then continued. “... Lance, I’m so sorry it seemed that way,” he said, his voice soft. Lance shrugged, and Shiro stepped forwards to put his hand on his shoulder. “I just… I’m curious about what it’s like to work on those docks. From what I saw, it seems like an interesting group of people.”

Lance snorted, finding it in him (somehow) to joke. “So, what? Are you thinking about a ‘bring your kid to work day’?”

Shiro laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, when you put it that way-”

Lance chuckled and dragged his hands down his face, feeling a little less tense. “Just teasing- of course you can, if Fernán agrees… I can’t imagine it being too thrilling, though,” he warned him.

The older man shrugged. “I’m on earth with my team and we’re not under attack by aliens- I think I’m good with ‘not too thrilling’,” he joked.

Lance smiled bitterly, then sniffed. He groaned and itched at his face. “That’s what I thought too…” he murmured under his breath as he left the kitchen.

“Sorry?” Shiro prompted, following him.

Lance shook his head. “Just muttering- don’t worry.” He made sure his wallet, phone, and charger were all in his pocket, then grabbed the keys. He hesitated at the door, a thought crossing his mind as he strapped on his sandals, then turned back to Shiro, grinning. “Think you remember how to drive a car?” He jangled the keys.

Shiro looked up from the laces of his boots, blinking. “You sure?”

Lance shrugged, then tossed the keys to Shiro. He reacted quickly, snatching them out of the air. “Little different than a spaceship, but I think you’ll be okay.” He opened the door and gestured for Shiro to go first. “After you.”

Shiro shook his head, laughing quietly as he passed. “Are you gonna be late?”

Lance checked his watch. “7:09. I need to be there at 7:30- I’m fine,” he said, closing the door and leading Shiro to his mother’s old green Moskvitch. How it had managed to survive this long with only his father’s and brother’s repairs, Lance had no idea, but he could only hope Shiro knew how to drive a stick shift.

‘It’s 7:09. I work until 2:30.’ Lance’s jaw set as he settled into the passenger seat. ‘6 hours and-’ He checked his watch one last time. ‘20 minutes.’ He took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. ‘You can make it.’ Shiro started the car- it sputtered to life. Lance closed his eyes. ‘6 hours and 20 minutes- starting now.’

As Lance expected, there wasn’t much for Shiro to do besides follow him around- he figured that the only reason Fernán let Shiro “shadow” Lance was because he recognized the eyes of a soldier- a veil of calm that barely masked an ever present panic. Maybe he thought he owed it to him? Lance wasn’t sure.

Lance didn’t like to think about that, knowing that it was also probably one of the few reasons he got the job to begin with.

“So, now he’s stuck hauling crates with you?” Riel chuckled as the two of them watched the man try to have a conversation with another amputee- the language barrier seemed to be a major hurdle, but it at least gave Lance a moment to gather his thoughts.

He huffed and ran his fingers through his hair, untangling it as best as he could, before he retied his short ponytail. He leaned his elbows on his knees and rubbed his face. His heart had been racing, and he was jumpier than he normally was- probably because Shiro’s presence was attracting way more attention than he wanted. “Yeah… poor dude” he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow with the bandanna he kept in his pocket.

Riel sat down next to Lance on the planks and leaned against a half-decayed post. It was good to get a break- the weather was almost unbearably hot, even for those who were used to the heat. “...so. I’m guessing he’s one of your compañeros? Did you…” Riel trailed off, then picked up again after a tense moment. “Were you two stationed in the same place? Where?” he asked. Lance could hear the pent up curiosity in his voice. He almost wanted to snap at him, tell him to mind his damn business- but as much as Lance hated not having the ambiguity of his past anymore, he couldn’t blame his friend for prying.

He smiled grimly. “Come on, you know I can’t tell you that, amigo… I’m sorry.” Lance hoped that would suffice.

Riel returned the smile. “...I get it, Angel. Sorry.”

The two of them watched Shiro (Takumi- Lance had to remember that) and the vet struggle to communicate smoothly for a few more moments, before Riel nudged Lance with his elbow. Lance looked up to see Riel pulling a small flask out of the pocket of his cargo shorts.

Lance raised an eyebrow as Riel took a swig and discreetly offered it to him, “On the job, Riel? You punk,” he teased.

Riel snorted. “You want a sip or not? You seem pretty on edge,” he said, rolling his eyes.

Lance hesitated, then took the flask. “I get caught, I’m blaming you,” he joked, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip of whatever was inside- some sort of liquor. He didn’t particularly care.

“Angelo-”

Lance choked, fingers twitching as he quickly screwed the cap back on, He coughed around the burning, acrid taste in his mouth as he grinned sheepishly up at Shiro. He was well over the legal age, but he almost felt guilty getting caught by his old role model.

Riel shoved the flask back into his pocket and the two of them stood up, Lance hastily wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Riel saluted Shiro with a smirk, patted Lance on the back, then ambled down the dock to continue working.

Lance chuckled, shrugging. “Un poco de diversión- nothing to write home about,” he assured him.

Shiro watched him with a quirked brow, and for a moment, Lance was worried. Then, Shiro scoffed and shook his head with a small grin. “I keep forgetting you’re not a kid anymore,” he laughed.

Lance’s heart sank a little bit- the worst part of that was that he didn’t know why.

The two started off after Riel so Lance could find something to do to pass his next 3 hours of work. “I was already 20 or so when I left, Takumi,” he pointed out.

“I suppose so.”

Lance watched Shiro for a moment- he looked worn out. Maybe it was the drastic change from space to earth… but Lance had a feeling that it was the abundance of war vets on the docks, with their scars and wounded eyes. He’d had a lot of trouble with it at first.

He sighed, then smiled at Shiro. “Hey- you’ve been here a while… you should check out the market just down the street,” he suggested.

Shiro didn’t look very hesitant. “You sure? I don’t want to just leave you here-”

That actually made him laugh. “Shiro, buddy-” he clapped a hand on his shoulder. “-this is my job. I’m getting paid.” He dropped his hand. “You’re good- go enjoy yourself… you’ve still got the keys, right?” he asked.

Shiro patted his pocket, frowning. “Yeah, but… you said it was just down the street-”

“Oh, I’m not going back to the house with you,” Lance blurted out. Shiro looked taken aback, and Lance mentally kicked himself. “I’m so sorry, that came out- I’m just-” Lance groaned and shook his head. “Sorry. It’s a little hard for me, and I need time for… for myself. It’s not personal.”

Shiro exhaled and smiled. “I understand… can we at least see you tomorrow?” he asked.

Lance paused. “...I think so.” He didn’t want to lie and say he had work, but… “I’ll see what my schedule is,” he promised.

After exchanging quick goodbyes and making sure he knew where he was going, Shiro left, waving to Lance as he disappeared into the throng.

Lance’s shoulders slumped, and he dug his fingers into his tensed neck. He felt like an asshole, but he needed to be away from it for a while.

“Wow, you looked relieved that he’s gone,” came an amused voice from behind.

Lance whipped around to see Desiderio grinning at him. Lance relaxed. “Where the hell did you come from?” he breathed, giving him a quick hug.

Desi pointed towards the end of the dock, where Miguel’s boat bobbed in the water… Lance hadn’t even noticed its approach. “Helping out today- so? That your comrade?” he wondered as he fell into step beside him. Wow, Lance was really going to get tired of that question fast.

Lance eyed him, wondering how much Decarlos had told him. “...how much do you know?” he asked quietly.

Desi averted his eyes. “Not everything- Decarlos has never been so tight-lipped about anything. You don’t have to tell me,” he added. “-but you know I wouldn’t judge you,” he finished, slinging an arm over Lance’s shoulders.

Lance laughed and shoved him off so he could grab a trolley. “Buy me a drink and maybe you’ll get me to spill,” he joked. He was only half-kidding though- he might need to loosen up beforehand, but… he could probably stand telling Desiderio.

Desi laughed nervously and patted him on the back. “About that, amigo…” his voice faltered as Lance watched him, waiting. He smiled sadly. “...never mind. Just… take it easy- I gotta get back to the ship.” He gently punched Lance’s arm, then backed away. “I’ll talk to you later, Angel!”

Lance watched until he was gone, then smoothed his hand over his hair. He was ready to be done, and there hadn’t even been much work to do… or, well, he just hadn’t done much. He checked his watch- 2 hours and 40 minutes left, just about. At least he was going to his apartment, alone… quiet. Just what he… wanted.

‘You don’t need excitement,’ he insisted silently.

‘You don’t need a rush.’ He sniffed. His nose was itchy again- he wondered if maybe he was developing an allergy to fish… maybe deck polish?

‘All you need is quiet.’

‘All you need is to calm down.’

‘Dull it down.’

Lance went about his work, telling himself to just wait, just wait, just wait.

Later, later, later.

.

. .

.

“I almost don’t believe you.” Desi had his arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes were wide.

Lance blew a cloud of smoke out the open living room window. “And I really don’t blame you- but it’s true,” he drawled, ashing the joint into the alley below. He sighed. “Now you officially know everything about me… mostly.” Lance took one more hit, then put out the half-finished joint in the ashtray on the sill. He turned to face Desiderio and Decarlos. They sat on the couch, Decarlos with his head on Desi’s shoulder and Desi’s hand in his. “I’m an open book,” he added halfheartedly.

Desi nodded slowly, like he was still processing. “So… you’re Lance McClain… I remember that, now that I think about it,” he mused. “But, you use your father’s last name now?”

Lance shrugged as he shut the window. “Figured using the least Cuban surname when applying for a school in the D.A. would give me a better chance at getting’ in, so I used my mamá’s maiden name,” he explained, sinking into his chair.

“...so, I’m guessing those scars aren’t from ‘fishing accidents’, then?”

Decarlos jabbed Desi in the side. “Desiderio-”

Lance laughed dryly and waved his scarred hand. “This one is.”

Desi watched him. “Your cheek?”

“Shrapnel.”

“Your leg and arm?”

“One was a Galra soldier, the other was a training mishap.”

“And… on your back?”

Even Decarlos seemed intrigued, and he stopped glaring at Desi to glance in Lance’s direction.

Lance was quiet for a moment. It was difficult to collect his thoughts like this, but he supposed it was difficult to collect his thoughts on that incident no matter what state of mind he was in. He exhaled slowly. “...that was a bomb blast. It heated my armor and burned through my suit, so it-” he cut himself off, remembering he wasn’t the only burns victim in the room. He looked away from Decarlos’ blinded eye. “S-sorry. Too much detail,” he mumbled.

“Hey, Lance, it’s okay- if you don’t want to talk about it-” Decarlos started to say, but Lance waved him off.

“I don’t- I’m okay.”

Silence fell over the room as they all pondered that terrible lie for a moment before Desiderio broke it.

“So, can I still call you Angel? I’m more used to it, but if you prefer ‘Lance’-”

Lance smiled at them. “You two’re my friends- you can call me whatever you like. You both know Angelo- I hope that -for your sakes- you never have to meet Lance,” he rasped.

Desi and Decarlos looked a little distraught by that, but before anyone could say anything, Lance’s phone rang. Lance groaned and took out his phone, looking at the caller ID. The blood drained from his face and he laughed nervously. “Shit…” he cleared his throat and picked up the call. “Hola, mamá-”

“Lance Angelo Álvarez-McClain, you get your skinny behind back to this house right now! You have guests here to see you and you promised you’d talk to them-!”

Lance held the phone a foot from his ear, grimacing as Desi snickered. Decarlos grinned at him when Lance gave him a pleading look. “Mamá, I’m sorry, I have people over-”

“Lancito-!

“Hello, Señora McClain!” Decarlos called out. Lance mouthed a quick ‘thank you’. Decarlos rolled his eyes. “We’ll bring him right over, don’t you worry!”

“What?! Decarlos, I smell like-”

“-like what, Angel?” Desi crowed.

‘Weed.’ Lance flipped him off. “Like the docks! Mamá, I’ll- I’ll take a shower and-”

“You can take a shower here- you’re helping with dinner tonight, so get moving.” With that, she hung up, leaving Lance with a racing heart and two quietly giggling friends.

Lance glared at Decarlos and Desiderio. “...I hate you,” he grumbled.

Desi scoffed. “Uh huh. Get ready to go, cariño- I’m starving.”

Decarlos slapped Desi’s knee. “Don’t just invite yourself over!” he scolded him. Desi squawked and tackled Decarlos into the corner of the couch.

Lance’s mood lifted a bit. “No, actually- please be there,” he said quickly. He looked away. “It- it would be nice to have people there who I… really feel like I know.”

Silence. Two sets of owlish eyes watched him from the couch, before Desi untangled himself from his boyfriend. Decarlos stood first, followed by Desiderio. “After you then, hermano,” Decarlos murmured.

Desi clapped Lance on the shoulder. “We’re with you, Angel.”

Lance smiled up at them. “...thank you,” he whispered.

He knew them being there would help him, at least…

He just hoped it would go smoothly.

Chapter Text

Keith hadn’t thought his jacket was too small- that was just the style… but apparently Angela did.

“Mi alma… your clothes don’t fit you,” she’d said gently. Keith had forced himself to stay composed as she plucked at his sleeves which -he would admit- might have looked just a little short. “Pidge?” she called across the living room.

Pidge had been doing her damndest to catch up on several years worth of earth news in the free hours they suddenly had. Currently, she was nestled in the couch with her touchpad, which she had somehow connected to the internet. She had dragged Keith downstairs so she wouldn’t be sitting awkwardly alone in the living room while Hunk caught up on the sleep Keith noticed he’d been missing.

Pidge looked up from her screen. “Yes?”

Angela smiled, then placed her hand on Keith’s shoulder and moved him away from his corner by the window. “What if you and Keith went into town with me-you two can get some new clothes while I get some ingredients for dinner. You’ve obviously both outgrown the clothes you’re wearing now,” she laughed gently. “Not many retail stores in space, hm?” she joked.

‘You’d be surprised,’ Keith thought dryly. She did have a point, though- his jeans were far too short for his liking, and Pidge would probably be far more comfortable in better fitting clothing… human clothing- alien clothing could only do so much as far as proportions went.

Pidge seemed to contemplate this for a moment, then -to Keith’s surprise- she dropped her touchpad on the couch and stood up to stretch. “That actually sounds like a good idea- don’t expect him to get rid of that stupid jacket, though,” Pidge teased, poking Keith’s shoulder as she passed him.

Angela’s smile widened, and it was so warm that Keith realized maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea… the whole “going out in public thing” that is. “Wonderful! I already brought it up to Hunk last night, and he said he was happy to stay here… I think he wants to catch up with Rolando once he gets back from the shop, anyways.” Angela clapped her hands together. “I’ll get ready- you two get ready as well!” she cheered, disappearing around the corner. Keith heard her footsteps on the stairs moments later, and he glanced at Pidge.

“...do you think she’s planning something?” he murmured.

Pidge snorted. “Absolutely. She’s Lance’s mom, what did you expect?” She shrugged and made sure her touchpad was off before placing it on the side table- a little safer than the couch, Keith supposed. “But I think she means well, whatever she’s trying to do.”

Keith suspected Pidge was as lost as he was in this whole “help my son” thing Angela had brought up that first day. He hadn’t been able to get his mind off it, and he’d been mulling over possibilities ever since, each one worse than the previous one.

He sighed and rubbed at his arm guards. “... did you hear her on the phone the first night we were here?” he asked softly.

Pidge was quiet, but her brow was furrowed. “...I did,” she answered carefully.

Keith watched her, crossing his arms again. “What did you think?”

Pidge scoffed. “Of the call or of… everything?” Keith stayed silent, wondering what she thought about any of it, and she sighed, apparently understanding. “...I think he looks like shit,” she breathed, placing her hands on her neck and leaving them there. She wasn’t looking at Keith, keeping her face carefully turned away. “But I don’t know why. I don’t speak any Spanish, so I couldn’t get much from the call, but-”

“All set you two?”

Keith swore he jumped a foot out of his skin. Pidge had her hand over her heart, and he laughed nervously, looking up at Angela, who stood in the doorway, blinking. “All set!” he wheezed.

Pidge shoved him as they left the house, trailing after Angela. “Smooth cover,” she hissed teasingly.

Keith rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

They took the spare car- apparently Rolando took the bus from the end of the road instead of spending money on gas every morning… at least, that’s what Angela said. Keith was only half listening.

He was honestly a little lost, looking out the window at the scenery as it passed. He’d been to dozens of alien planets, each with unbelievable things to see and sights that could take your breath away… but there was something about the world outside the car window that made it difficult to tear his eyes away, now that he wasn’t worried about heatstroke.

There were bombed out buildings that had become like La Bomba- patchwork apartments with cloth dividers and little communities. The others were entangled in the wildlife. Vines and trees had taken over the crumbling walls, pulling it back into the forests. Some of the old buildings had been restored, with orange roofs and white walls. He knew if he opened the window, he’d hear a hundred different bird calls and be able to smell the salt carried inland by the wind.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it, mi alma ?” Keith looked up from where he sat in the passenger's seat. Angela had her eyes on the bumpy road ahead of them, but she was smiling calmly. “I moved here a long time ago, but it never ceases to make me happy,” she murmured.

“When did you move?” Pidge piped up from the backseat, where she had begrudgingly sat after Angela had steered Keith into the front.

Angela hummed as they stopped at a stop sign. “Well… I came down to do a photography project when I was… 19? Yes. That’s when I met Rolando.” She laughed. “We kept in touch for a while before I moved here permanently- I didn’t think I’d start a family like this, though,” she admitted, taking a sharp turn onto another main road. It was starting to become more populated- people were on the sidewalks, chatting and looking into the windows of the little shops scattered around.

“He mentioned he had a big family…” Keith murmured, mostly to himself.

Angela heard him though. “Lance? He certainly does. You’ll meet them soon enough.” There was something in her voice that only reinforced his and Pidge’s suspicions that she was planning something, but nothing malicious, of course. “Marco and Luis are the oldest, then Alexandro, then Veronica. Lance is my baby,” she chuckled. She slowed the car down and pulled up to the sidewalk, then finally looked at Keith. “I think that’s a little hard on him sometimes, but they all love him very much.”

Keith couldn’t help but feel like that was a disclaimer of some sort- maybe a reminder. However, he didn’t get a chance to ask. Angela looked back at Pidge. “I gave you two enough for a couple pairs of pants and a shirt or two- you won’t be needing a jacket here, Keith, but if you want one, I’m sure you can find one.”

Keith looked out the window. This seemed to be a much busier street- people everywhere, a stray dog or cat here or there- it was bright and busy and holy shit, maybe Keith wasn’t going to be able to handle this-

He felt a hand on his shoulder and glanced behind him. Pidge smiled. “We’ll find a better one- one that’s not so beat up. Come on.” She nodded to the street, then opened the car door. “Thanks so much, Angela. You’re a lifesaver,” she said cheerfully, getting out and opening Keith’s door for him. She pulled him out. “Should we meet you back here?”

Angela smiled up at them. “There’s a little cafe just down the street there- the one with the yellow sign board. Wait for me there. I’ll be back in about an hour and forty minutes.”

And they were on their own.

Pidge looked at Keith and Keith frowned down at her. He was already sweating, now that they were left at the mercy of the heat. “Well? Think you can do it?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips.

Keith crossed his arms and rubbed at his arm guards- they weren’t helping with the heat. “I don’t think I have the choice, do I?”

Pidge took his arm and began to drag him down the street, ignoring the strange looks they were getting from the locals. “That’s the spirit! Let’s go!”

It took them a little while to find the right store- there were plenty around, but Keith didn’t feel like wearing tie dye or khakis. Neither did Pidge, thank God, so it was a relief to both of them when they found a second hand store that sold more familiar items.

Keith was awkwardly holding up a pair of black jeans up to see if they were the right fit when Pidge came up behind him. He didn’t jump when she touched his arm- he knew it had to be her. The only other person in the store was the cashier, who was reading a magazine behind the counter. He looked back at Pidge. “Yeah?”

Pidge jerked her thumb towards the changing room. “Find what you need? Let’s try stuff on,” she invited him, backing towards the room in the back of the store as she spoke.

Keith had a feeling she had an ulterior motive (maybe she and Angela were pretty similar), but they’d all changed in front of each other so many times that it didn’t matter. He took the two pairs of dark jeans and the two shirts with him and followed Pidge to the changing room. He just hoped the cashier didn’t think anything was going on between them.

Pidge locked the door behind them as Keith started to peel off his black t-shirt, which he would be keeping. It wasn’t like it fit badly. Still facing the corner, he started to take off his pants, and Pidge spoke quietly.

“Can I ask a question?” Her voice was quiet and hesitant, which told Keith exactly what she was wondering about.

He struggled out of his pants so he could quickly pull on the dark blue pair he’d picked out. “You just did,” he stalled, hissing as the fabric caught on the very things he didn’t want to talk about.

Pidge sighed, and he heard her shifting, trying on one of the new shirts. “...are they healing okay? Hunk mentioned that you had… you know. Gone back to it,” she murmured.

Keith looked in the mirror to see if the pants fit okay. They did; better than his old ones, anyways. Nothing was being pinched. “... I would say ‘slip up’ is a better way to put it.” he huffed, taking off his shirt. He picked up the black long sleeve he’d found and curled his fingers into it, clutching it to his abdomen. It was soft.

Pidge looked over her shoulder, catching his eye in the mirror. “So it was just the one time?” Keith stayed silent, waiting for Pidge’s eyes to leave him. When they did, he moved the shirt away from his stomach and pulled it over his head. “I figured. Sorry, that sounded really bad- I didn’t mean it like that-” Pidge hurried to say, and Keith scoffed, a tiny grin on his face.

“I know, Pidge.” He turned to face her, and she did the same. She was wearing a pair of cargo shorts that were so similar to her old ones that Keith wondered if they were the same brand, as well as a faded green t-shirt that said “life is good” on it. He almost laughed. “Well, they fit,” he muttered, picking at the shirt.

Pidge snorted. “You look so emo. I love it. You just need eyeliner.” She giggled as he glared playfully at him, and the two of them turned back around to try on the other things they’d picked out. “... you know you can talk to me, right?” she asked, looking at him in the mirror again. Keith averted his eyes, then sighed and knelt down. He put his hands through his hair and took a deep breath. “Keith? You okay?”

Keith laughed quietly. “...there are more important things to worry about,” he muttered. “We need to focus on getting Lance to come back to the ship.”

He knew it was more than that, but he wanted to pretend it was as simple as convincing him.

Pidge sat down next to him, wearing those same cargo shorts and a sports bra. She curled her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees. “So, what? You just suffer until Lance is taken care of? Then what? You suffer until we get to the ship? You suffer until the Galra are defeated?” She met his eyes, and Keith’s shoulders slumped. “Just because there are other things going on doesn’t mean you have to feel like crap through it all.”

Keith groaned and pulled the long sleeve off. There were only a few, and they were shallow, done with an unopened razor-head he’d found in the back of the upstairs bathroom medicine cabinet, but they were there on his ribs, and they were fresh, nonetheless. He felt Pidge nudge his shoulder, and he sighed again. “You don’t have to tell Shiro and Hunk about this, do you?” he asked quietly.

Pidge raised her brow at him. “You know I do, Keith. They won’t act different, you know that.”

They would, but he guessed they weren’t actively doing it. He stayed silent for a moment, then closed his eyes. “... no one’s going to tell Lance, right?”

He heard Pidge stand up next to him. “Dude, even if I felt the need to, I wouldn’t know how to bring it up. That’s up to you.”

Keith exhaled slowly, then stood up as well. He had to try on that second pair of jeans. “...thanks.”

Pidge pulled on her second shirt- a gray, blank tank top. “...can I ask another question?”

“Just did.”

“I am going to hit you.”

Keith smiled lightly and went about changing. “...go ahead, then.”

Pidge stopped moving, and Keith’s heart rate picked up. No small question, then.

“...why did it… why did it hurt you so much when he left?”

Keith froze, his shirt still off and his pants unzipped, staring blankly into the mirror. The density of the air seemed to change, becoming thicker and harder to breath in. He laughed a quiet, shaky laugh. “...you wouldn’t believe the obvious, would you?”

Pidge’s eyes were sad. “No. Not after two years.”

Keith hummed and looked down. He picked up the dark red t-shirt and pulled it on, covering his wounds and his skinny frame. It wasn’t just because Lance had left, and it wasn’t just because of how Keith felt about him, he knew it was more than that, and he hated thinking about the reason, and tried to steer his mind other places when he did think about it. “...I don’t really want to answer that… not yet,” he whispered.

Pidge was quiet, then nodded. “Okay. I can respect that.”

She left him alone after that. They got back into their clothes, picked up their finds, and brought them to the counter, trying not to think anything of the suspicious look the girl was giving the two of them as they left the store with a cloth bag of their clothes and a dark red bomber jacket Keith had seen on their way out. They found the cafe with no issues and tried to ease back into casual conversation as they waited for Angela to return.

About twenty minutes after they’d sat down, the familiar car pulled up alongside the road. They were just finishing their coffee, so they stood up and gathered their things. They crossed the sidewalk, then faltered as the passenger seat door opened up-

Keith stared.

Long and lanky, light brown skin and thick hair- for a brief moment, he thought he was Lance. But Lance had gotten leaner, and this man was obviously just a bit older, with black hair instead of brown, and brown eyes instead of blue.

He smiled at them, though it seemed a little wary. “Hola, amigos- it’s good to finally meet you.” The man held out a hand- it was smooth and soft, like Lance’s used to be. Pidge took it first, shaking it, before the man turned it to Keith. His eyes were intense, and Keith felt that old, competitive side of him begin to peek out from the back of his mind. His grip was firm, and Keith couldn’t help but return the force. “You must be Keith and Pidge. Nice to meet you.” He smiled again. “My name is Alexandro- I’m Lance’s older brother.” His eyes glittered. “Thanks for putting up with him for so long. I know how much of a pain he can be.”

It took Keith approximately one minute to make a decision.

Lance’s brother or no, family resemblance or not-

He didn’t like this guy very much.

Chapter Text

Extra note- The full italics sentences in this chapter indicate characters speaking in Spanish!

EDIT (7/12/21)- I've added small things to this chapter that blend a bit more easily into the coming chapter :) 

It was becoming clear to Lance that showers were a fairly important piece of his life.

The moment Hunk opened the door, Lance was already muttering something about smelling like fish and needing to take a shower, but it didn’t stop him from getting a quick hug from the Yellow Paladin upon his arrival.

“I’ve smelled worse- oh.” Hunk paused and looked up, only then noticing the other two men in the mudroom. “Hi. Um…”

Lance, Decarlos and Desiderio exchanged a glance, and his mind raced to find a good way to start the conversation, but he was saved from having to do that when Pidge barrelled around the corner with Keith being dragged along.

“The damn tension in that room was killing me, thank god you… guys are here?” Pidge muttered, her eyebrow quirked.

Keith’s eyes flickered between Desi, Decarlos and Lance, then down at the ground. He was wearing different clothes, and he’d finally taken his jacket off. Good. Lance was surprised he hadn’t fainted from the heat yet.

Lance cleared his throat, but he didn’t take his eyes off Keith. Why was he wearing those weird arm things? Some fashion statement? Emo. “Um… Hunk, Keith, Pidge— this is Desiderio and Decarlos. Uh…” Lance exhaled sharply and turned to Decarlos for help, laughing nervously. “Decarlos?” he squeaked, drawing three pairs of shocked eyes that he didn’t want on him.

Desi snorted, not needing to know English to get the point. Decarlos seemed to be physically holding himself back from an eyeroll, but he patted Lance’s shoulder. “ I’ll handle introductions,” he muttered softly.

Lance breathed a thank you, licked his lips, and pointed in the direction of the stairs. “Uh… shower. I need- I smell like the docks?” It felt like the entire world was staring at him. He swallowed. “I’ll be down in a bit.”

He inched around Pidge and Keith, trying to ignore the fact that Pidge was staring right into his eyes, and made it into the main hallway before remembering he hadn’t taken his shoes off. Oh well.

His foot had hit the first step when he froze, hearing a familiar voice from the living room. Two, actually- one was Shiro and the other was a self-righteous prick.

Lance’s shoulders slumped, realizing that this must have been some plan his mamá had come up with, thinking it would help glue the fractures in their family back together.

It wouldn’t.

Lance bolted up the stairs and into the bathroom across from his room. He locked the door behind him and let his head fall against the old wood work. He listened to it thunk a couple times before he snapped himself out of it and turned the shower on.

Lance tore his clothes off and left them in a pile by the door. He needed to change anyway. He got in, grabbed the shampoo and began to scrub at his head.

Shit. This wasn’t good. He thought he could get out of it, thought Decarlos would get him out of it- maybe they didn’t know how bad he was, or how strong it was? Whatever the case, he was here, and it was bad enough he had to make it through dinner and try to act normal, but with Alexandro there…

Lance hated to admit it- but Alex had eyes like a fucking hawk. And he knew just how to use the information he found against him.

Lance groaned and barely stopped himself from slamming his fist into the tile wall. “Fuck,” he hissed. He scoffed. “They’re gonna be suspicious if you take too long…” he grumbled to himself, speeding up his washing. “Just get through this- just get through this, and you can just go to sleep.” He got out, wrapped a towel around his waist, then steadied himself on the bathroom sink. He glared at the mirror, then swiped his hand through the condensation. A distorted, foggy version of himself stared back, and he shook his head. He opened the cabinet, shuffled around looking for eye drops, found them and quickly put them in his reddened eyes. “Just… just keep your mouth shut.”

After getting a change of clothes (he kept a few pairs of pants and shirts in his old room), he came back downstairs. He felt a little better, but it was still going to be a struggle, he knew. He braced himself and took a deep breath before he rounded the corner into the living room.

“Lancito- it’s been a while, hermano menor!”

Lance blinked. “Marco?!” He laughed, a real smile spreading across his face. “You came a long way, didn’t you?” he crowed, holding out his arms as his eldest brother got up from the couch to greet him. He gave him a hug, and Lance felt himself relax a bit. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad.

Marco pulled back. He looked much more like his father than any of them- just a couple inches taller than Lance, with darker skin and much darker hair. He was the only one of the four brothers with a beard, and probably the only one who could pull it off. His eyes were blue like Angela’s. “How are you?”

Lance opened his mouth for the usual ‘I’m great’, and almost choked on the words. He cleared his throat. “I’m good.” He grinned. “Hungry, though. I hope I didn’t take too much time in the shower…” He glanced at the people in the living room- everyone was there, save for Alex, his mother, and his father. “I don’t wanna keep anyone waiting.”

Marco shook his head and clapped him on the shoulder. “Nah. You were really quick, actually. C’mon- Alex is helping mamá and papá with dinner.” He returned to the couch, where he was sitting comfortably next to Decarlos. “So, while they aren’t here to make you feel awkward… regale me,” he teased with a wave of his hand. “I’m sure you all have plenty of funny stories to tell me.”

Lance sat down awkwardly in Angela’s usual armchair and crossed his arms. He looked around. Keith was still wearing those weird arm things, he noticed, and that Pidge was also wearing a different outfit. He snorted. “Did mamá make you get new clothes?” he asked, earning a scoff from Marco.

Keith -who had been watching Lance carefully- looked away, and Pidge laughed. “Yeah- she gave us some money, then abandoned us at the thrift store.”

Hunk laughed- he and Shiro were standing by the window. “That sounds like Angela. I’m just glad I got a chance to get some good sleep- I stayed up too late last night,” he murmured.

Lance smiled at him. “Catching up on earth news?”

Hunk rubbed the back of his neck. “Kinda hard not to… I didn’t see any reason to keep myself uninformed.”

Lance nodded. He avoided Shiro’s eyes for the time being, and turned back to his brother, Decarlos, and Desi. “So… I assume all introductions are out of the way, yeah?”

Decarlos nodded. “It was good to officially meet everyone.” He was holding back a smirk. “By their real names.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Real names? Did you meet them before?”

He shrugged. “They came looking for you at the café.”

“...ah,” he murmured. He slowly uncrossed his arms, realizing that he must have looked completely closed off. He saw Hunk’s cheeks turn pink, and remembered that Hunk knew more Spanish than he liked to admit. “What?”

“I wasn’t the one who came up with the fake names. Or the story,” he added, looking pointedly at Pidge.

Pidge frowned. “Hey! At least I’m not the one who thought Hunk was your real name!”

“Ah- Well how was I supposed to know when it’s the only thing we call him!?” Keith burst out, pouting a little.

Lance felt his heart flutter in his chest, and he laughed nervously, looking back at Marco. “Um… I dunno about funny stories, but this is definitely how things went… up there.” The words felt strange in his mouth, and he felt the mood shift dramatically.

Up there.

Right… the whole reason they were there… was to take him back.

He started to stand up, just as Angela appeared in the doorway. “Everyone to the table! We’ve folded out the extra seating space!” she cheered. Lance wondered if she was actually oblivious to the awkward atmosphere in the room or if she somehow knew she had to break the ice that had formed.

Either way, he welcomed the distraction. He shuffled off to the kitchen, then paused in the doorway when he saw Alex. He could practically see his older brother zeroing in on anything worth criticizing. Lance rolled his eyes and sat down at the table, as far away from Alex as possible. “Hi, Alex,” he muttered.

Alex smiled at him. “...hi, Lancito .”

Lance held himself back from taking in a deep, exaggerated breath, but just because his mom was leading the rest of the group into the kitchen.

He heard a small scuffle behind him, and looked over his shoulder, only to see Pidge elbow Keith in the ribs and take the seat next to Shiro. Hunk took the other side, and Shiro looked very tired as he raised his eyebrow at the Green and Yellow Paladins respectively.

Keith huffed and pulled out the chair between Lance and Pidge. He sat down and crossed his arms, looking remarkable Keith-like for how un- Keith-like he’d been acting lately. Lance almost laughed, but he bit it back. He might take it badly, but honestly, he was just glad to see him acting more normal. He swallowed, then nudged Keith’s arm. “What’s with the new gear?” he asked, looking at what he now recognized as arm guards.

Oop. Wrong move.

It was like watching the shutters slam shut on a window. Keith closed off even more, but he seemed to be trying to hide it. He shrugged. “Just… a change in wardrobe, I guess,” he mumbled.

Lance nodded. ‘Okay. Guess I’m not good at social cues right now.’ “...cool. That’s cool.” He scratched his head to hide the fact that he was grimacing at his choice of words. ‘Shut up shut up shut up- what happened to keeping your mouth shut?!’

He did so as long as possible. Through Angela putting the food on the table, through everyone serving themselves, and through most of the meal. He ate slowly, his eyes glancing around the table.

It seemed to be going well- maybe Angela hadn’t meant anything by this dinner- maybe she just wanted everyone to meet each other… not sure why he had to be there for that, but… oh well.

Decarlos gently kicked his foot, and Lance looked up at him. “You doing alright there, hermano?”

Lance smiled gratefully. “...yeah, for now. I just want things to go smoothly for once.”

“So- I heard Marco talking about wanting to hear funny stories earlier,” Alex piped up, a grin on his face. “I hope he didn’t get them yet, ‘cause I wanna hear them too.”

Lance tensed up, and his fork scraped his plate loudly. Ten sets of eyes looked over at him, and his cheeks burned. “Sorry,” he apologized quietly, looking away. Decarlos grabbed his forearm under the table, anchoring him.

“Steady, Angelo.”

Desiderio put his arm around Decarlos, then tapped Lance’s shoulder. Lance looked up, and his friend smiled reassuringly at him, before he leaned back in his seat, his arm still around Decarlos’ shoulders.

Marco shook his head. “No, I didn’t yet- Come on, I’m sure there are some.”

The Paladin’s all looked at each other. Lance couldn’t tell what they were thinking, but the confusion was clear. The table had a strange air hanging over it, and they hadn’t felt that before, but Lance had. He knew that with one wrong word, the situation would sour.

He had to keep focusing on the hand Decarlos had on his arm to keep himself from glaring at Alexandro in warning.

The table was silent for a few too many moments, and Lance shuffled his feet.

“The first time we were in the Blue Lion, Lance farted and nearly killed us all.”

Lance whipped around to face Pidge, wide eyed, as his family burst out into laughter- even Rolando (who never liked to talk about what happened while Lance was away) smiled. “ That’s what you tell them?!” he asked incredulously.

Pidge shrugged. “It’s… it’s the first thing that came to mind.”

“Or the time we went to rescue a genius from a Galra prison and he rescued the chief guard’s pet Laika instead, thinking it was Slav,” Hunk added on, gaining a few confused chuckles from Marco and Angela.

Shiro smiled and cut in. “Hey, he’s not the only one who’s done stuff like that…”

“Yeah, who-” Pidge started to say, but Keith interrupted.

“Dumb stuff aside-” he started, and the whole table quieted, apparently shocked that he spoke. Actually, Lance wasn’t sure Keith had said a word the entire time. “-Lance pulled some stunts that saved our asses more than once.” Keith turned back to his food, most of which was untouched. “He had the best aim out of all of us.”

There was another short silence, during which Lance was watching Keith, dumbfounded.

Where had that come from? He could probably count the number of times Keith had directly complimented him on one hand.

“Keith is absolutely right,” Shiro nodded. “He was the one who saved us when we first arrived at the castle, when we were being attacked by Sendak, remember?”

“Yeah, and he was the one who saved Slav in the end- we couldn’t have done it without him. That was one hell of a shot.”

Pidge scoffed. “He didn’t call himself ‘sharpshooter’ for nothing. He has the best aim out of all of us.”

“Bet not anymore.” Alex turned to Lance, resting his elbow on the table. Lance met his gaze head on. “I haven’t seen you even touch a gun since you got home!”

Lance swallowed his food. Maybe he could salvage this before it turned bad. This was just turning out to be a repeat of the night Luis and Veronica came for dinner. “...there’s no need. I work at the docks, what in the world would I need a gun for?”

“Are your hands steady enough?” Alexandro pressed, tilting his head like he was asking an innocent enough question.

Lance couldn’t help but glance at Hunk, who looked confused, before he responded. “Perfectly. And no, I don’t need to hear why you think otherwise,” he said firmly, trying his best to keep his voice light. But it was too late. Angela was glaring at Alex, Alex was glaring at Lance, and Rolando looked eager to disappear.

Marco’s eyes flickered back and forth between his two younger brothers. “Ey, you two- we have company, don’t do this now.”

“I just asked a question, Marco, it’s not that deep,” Alex protested, returning to his food.

“Alexandro, we talked about this-” Angela murmured softly.

“It was just a question! It’s him who got so defensive-”

“It’s because you’re trying to start shit again. I’m not going to argue with you.” Lance shot back, keeping his voice even.

Marco shook his head at him, and Lance bit his cheek. Everyone seemed to become very interested in their plates, and Lance couldn’t take it anymore. He placed his fork down. “I have to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” He stood up and tried not to run for the stairs.

“There is a downstairs bathroom, you know!” He heard Alex call after him, but he ignored him as he climbed the stairs.  “Don’t dirty up the counter!”

Lance’s heart dropped and turned to ice, but he shoved any of those thoughts aside for later. He stormed into his room and closed the door quietly behind him. “Fucking… asshole!” he growled as he yanked open his window. He lifted the screen and climbed out onto the roof. He dug through his pockets and pulled out his lighter and his cigarettes, which he hadn’t forgotten this time. He sat down against the dormer and lit a cigarette, taking a long drag and groaning in exasperation on the exhale. He felt the dizzying rush to his head and let it distract him for a moment, taking a few calming breaths as the nicotine helped relax his tensed muscles.

He let the cigarette hang from his lips as he raked his hands back through his hair. He knew in the back of his mind that he shouldn’t take too long, but he also didn’t want to go back down. He didn’t want Marco to see him this bent out of shape, and definitely didn’t want his old team to see him like this, especially not after the nice things they’d said about him.

“He called himself ‘sharpshooter’ for a reason.”

Lance took another drag and blew it out, holding up his hand.

“Are your hands steady enough?”

His fingers stayed still as he watched them, and he laughed mirthlessly. “I just don’t want to, Alexandro.”

Lance heard the window slide open and he gasped, flinching where he sat and slamming the hand holding the cigarette down on the shingles behind his leg. He almost stubbed it out, but figured it was too late- the smell would cling to him anyways. Fuck. He hadn’t thought of that.

“Thought you’d be up here.”

Lance sighed and turned his head. Hunk was already climbing out the window, like they’d done years and years ago. He smiled bitterly. “You know me well,” he mused, tucking his knees up to his chest.

Hunk crawled across the shingles- how he was still afraid of heights after being a pilot for so many years, Lance would never understand. He watched Lance for a second, then sat beside him. “...do I?”

Lance scoffed. “Ouch, Hunk.” No. He didn’t know anything about him anymore. He sniffled. Don’t think about it. He ached to finish the cigarette that was quickly burning away, but he felt awkward about it.

Hunk laced his fingers in his lap. “... you don’t have to hide it, I obviously know it’s there.”

Lance smiled sadly at him, then lifted it to his lips one last time. “I know. I just knew you wouldn’t wanna see it.”

Hunk shrugged. “You’re an adult... I can’t stop you.”

Lance hummed and put the butt out on the shingles. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t do it often… just when I’m-”

“Stressed?” Hunk guessed. Lance licked his lips, but didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. “I haven’t really had the chance to talk to you.”

“How’d you get outta dinner?” Lance asked, tucking the butt into his pocket.

Hunk tilted his head. “You leaving apparently reminded me that I also had to go to the bathroom. Lance?” he asked. Lance pursed his lips and looked at Hunk. “Are you okay?”

Lance blinked, then laughed. He gently punched Hunk’s shoulder and grinned at him. “Sorry- right now? No. I don’t like having Alex around. He just likes to stir things up. And I’m tired. It just wasn’t a good day to have this sprung on me, that’s all.” He looked out onto the ocean. The stars were hidden behind a cloud cover, but at least it didn’t feel like rain. “Overall? I’m actually great. I have a little rent problem, but nothing an extra part time won’t fix. I like my job, I have friends, and…” he sniffled, and scratched his nose. “...it’s quiet. It’s not everywhere at once, I’m not constantly being pulled in 15 directions at once. It’s nice.”

Hunk nodded slowly. “...alright. I can see how that would be… nice.” He was quiet again, but at least it wasn’t the stifling silence of the dinner table. “I still wanna get a chance to talk to you for real, though. Without a ton of people around.”

Lance tapped his fingers against his knee. “I mean… I could take you out to dinner. If Keith wanted to come too, that’d be nice.” He chuckled. “Not that I don’t miss Shiro and Pidge too- I was just… I dunno, call me sentimental, but maybe just have it be us three again. We… we had fun, right?” He looked up at Hunk, like he could answer that for him.

This seemed to make Hunk smile for real. “That’s a good idea- when- when could we do that?”

Lance was already regretting it. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for it yet, but… too late now. Oops. “Uh… well, I work tomorrow afternoon, but the day after that I work the morning shift, so I could meet you guys after that? If that works?”

Hunk nodded, and Lance was glad to see that the worry seemed to have disappeared. “That’ll work- I’m sure I can convince Keith. I’ll do my best,” he laughed.

Lance smiled again, then sighed. He hesitated, then leaned against Hunk’s shoulder. “I really did miss you guys. It’s good to see you, I just wish it were a better time.”

When would be a better time?

He ignored that thought.

Hunk shrugged and squeezed Lance’s shoulders in a tight side hug. “We’ll have fun. Don’t worry.” He glanced at the window, then looked back at Lance. “We should probably get back to dinner, though, before your mom comes looking for us.”

Lance snorted. “You’re right. I didn’t finish my food either.”

They headed back inside, and Lance took a moment to use the spray deodorant from his dresser, at least to somewhat mask the smoke smell. With the butt thrown in the trash and a deep breath, they headed back downstairs.

Lance shook his head as he followed Hunk down the stairs. He would humour them. And he would tell them that he just couldn’t go back up there, and then everything would go back to normal.

He had to. He couldn’t do it all over again.

He sighed. He could at least try to like it.

Chapter Text

After the anxiety-stirring affair that was dinner with Lance’s family, Keith burrowed into a corner of the sitting room for what he hoped would be the remainder of the visit. He didn’t feel like throwing in his two-cents into any more discussions, considering the fall-out between the family the last time he said anything.

He stayed silent, but he kept his eye on Lance. He sat in his chair, looking much more present than he had when he’d arrived. He was obviously still out of it- Keith could tell by the way he spoke, slowly and stuttering- but at least he was sobering up.

He clenched his fingers into his arm guards. He didn’t know what to do- didn’t know how to act around him, not even when he was totally aware, but he was lost. Why had he shown up to dinner like this? Why had he done it in the first place? It didn’t seem like- well, maybe the pot smoking did seem a bit like something Lance would do, but not right before a dinner… and besides, he could smell the cigarette smoke on him.

That really didn’t seem like Lance.

“Keith?”

Keith unclenched his fingers, realizing his knuckles had gone white. He glanced up at Shiro. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Shiro placed a hand on his shoulder. “You doing okay?” he whispered. Keith nodded curtly, and Shiro gently gripped his shoulder. “Can you come into the kitchen with me for a second? I wanna get your opinion on something.”

Keith frowned, but nodded again and followed Shiro out of the living room, where Marco seemed to be telling some story of Lance as a kid. He felt a pair of eyes on them as they left, but he didn’t look behind him to confirm who it was.

Shiro closed the door to the kitchen and took a deep breath, one hand against his lips. He exhaled, then looked at Keith, his shoulders slumping. “...what do you think?” he murmured.

Keith scoffed. “He’s high.”

Shiro pursed his lips and looked at the closed door. “...yeah, that I can see.” He sighed and sat down in a chair. “That alone doesn’t worry me too much, but… god, Keith, something’s really off, and I can’t tell exactly what.”

Keith slowly uncrossed his arms and walked over to kneel next to the chair. He shrugged. “I’m… yeah. I’m not sure what to do. Whether to just… come out and ask him what the hell is up with him, or…” he trailed off. “...I don’t know.”

Shiro was silent for a moment, then closed his eyes. “...I’m not going to bring up the topic of space tonight,” he said quietly. Keith looked up at him, and he went on. “At least… not about- not about bringing him back with us. He’s obviously not in a good head space to discuss it.” He looked back at Keith. “That’s… what I wanted your opinion on- I was thinking… as long as it’s quiet, and things are okay with the ship, we could just… give him some time to get used to us again?”

Keith tensed. “‘Get used to us’, huh?”

Shiro groaned. “I don’t like how it sounds either, but-”

“I get it,” Keith interrupted. He picked at his fingernails, not wanting to look up. “I see it too. He’s not comfortable around us anymore… he hasn’t tried to pick a fight with me once.”

Shiro chuckled. “Is that an issue?” When Keith didn’t respond, Shiro leaned forward on his elbows. “Keith? Is everything alright-”

“No, it’s not alright!” Keith hissed, tearing a little too hard on a cuticle. It ripped and he watched the blood bead up on his nail bed. “He leaves, I don’t see him for years, and I finally get the chance to see if things will go back to normal, and everything’s been turned upside down, and we can’t even figure out what’s wrong,” he huffed.

“Keith-”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that. I know this isn’t about me-”

“No, Keith, it’s not- I’m just worried about you,” Shiro murmured.

Keith snorted. “Worry about Lance, not me.”

Shiro was quiet. “...Pidge… Pidge told me about… what you talked about earlier today.”

Keith closed his eyes. “Yeah. She said she would,” he grumbled, squeezing on his finger to numb his cuticle.

“Keith, we just want you to get better, you know she was doing what she thought was right, and-”

“I know that, I know that- but it’s not that serious. Really, we have other things to worry about than-”

“Than your mental health?! Keith, we know there are other things, but we care about you-”

“Ah- sorry.”

Keith’s head shot up, his cheeks burning. Lance stood in the doorway, eyes going back and forth between Keith and Shiro.

Lance licked his lips nervously, then pointed at the sink. “I uh… didn’t mean to interrupt anything, I just… need to get some water?” He looked at his shoes. “You know what? Nevermind, I can wait, you guys just-”

Shiro stood up abruptly, smiling. “It’s fine, Lance, nothing serious. I wanted to talk to your father anyways. And it would be good for you and Keith to catch up,” he said quickly. Keith gave him an incredulous look, and Shiro raised his brow in a sort of “face shrug”. “Take-take your time,” he mumbled, slipping past Lance and out of the kitchen.

Keith resisted the urge to slam his hand into his face as he stood up. “Uh… don’t let me stop you.”

Lance grinned awkwardly and swallowed. “Right… so…” he shuffled over to the sink and grabbed a glass from the dish rack. “How’ve you… how’ve you been?” he asked, filling his glass with water and turning to look at Keith. He leaned against the counter in what Keith guessed was supposed to be a casual pose.

Keith looked away. “I’ve- it’s different here.” Stupid. That wasn’t an answer to the question.

Lance laughed quietly. “That’s for sure…”

Silence. Keith wanted to melt into the floor. What the hell were they supposed to talk about?!

“Hey, uh, Keith- I wanted to ask you something.”

Keith looked up sharply, his heart beat racing. Had Lance heard their conversation? “Shoot.”

Lance sipped at his water. “I was talking to Hunk, and we were… well, we were thinking of going out to dinner? The… the three of us?” Keith blinked, somewhat relieved, but just as confused. Lance quickly waved his hand. “If- if you don’t want to that’s fine, I just- it’s probably a better way to catch up than-”

“No, uh- sure, sure,” Keith blurted out in a panic. What?! “I mean- yeah, why not?”

Lance smiled a little, then nodded. “Um… cool. Cool, I’ll let you know when I can do that, it’ll be fun.” Silence again. Lance swirled the water in his glass and Keith was acutely aware of the stinging in his finger. “Keith, I’m sorry about tonight- the dinner, I mean.” He sighed. “Alex and I don’t really get along, and I’m sorry you guys had to witness it… and sorry I ran off, it must have been awkward.”

Keith rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, it- it wasn’t that awkward.” It was that awkward. “It’s okay… I don’t know how siblings like that work, so… it’s fine.”

Lance hummed and finished his water, and Keith shuffled his feet. Now what? Should he bring up the fact that he and Shiro knew he was high? “Lance, I…” he started to speak before he could even think it through, and his face paled.

Lance looked up. “Mm hm?”

Keith opened and closed his mouth, trying to figure out something else to say. Backtrack, backtrack quick- “I… I don’t know what Alex said to you, but it didn’t sound reasonable. So… so don’t feel like you did something wrong, okay?”

Lance seemed to relax a little. “Thanks, Keith. I appreciate it.”

Keith smiled. “No problem.” He stepped backward and gestured to the door. “I’m gonna go back and, uh… socialize?”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Alright. I’ll be right in, I’m just gonna take a minute in here.”

Keith nodded, and before either of them could continue with this painful conversation, he slipped out of the kitchen. He froze, seeing Alexandro walking towards him. “Oh. Hello.”

Alex grinned. “Lance in there?” His voice was quiet, softer than Keith had heard all night.

“Uh… yeah. He is,” he answered carefully. “Getting some water.”

Alex brushed past him. “Cool. Thanks.” He patted Keith’s shoulder. “Good to meet you. I’m heading out soon, but I’ll probably see you around again.” With that, he disappeared into the kitchen, closing the door behind him.

Keith watched the wooden door. Should he stay and listen, in case he needed to intervene? He sighed and shook his head. Who was he kidding? First of all, he didn’t have that in him anymore, and second… it wasn’t his business. He knew Lance could handle himself well.

He paused. Could he?

He huffed. It was too early to make decisions like that. He was probably just stressed at their sudden intrusion in his life, which seemed to be fairly… peaceful.

He continued across the hall to the living room. Well, he was having dinner with him and Hunk soon… he’d just watch.

‘Give him more time… maybe he’ll get used to us, and he’ll just be the same Lance we knew.’

Chapter Text

“Don’t even think about it. Don’t think about it.”

He’d been telling himself that all day, all night— until his mouth felt numb and it was all he could do to keep his phone on the other side of his apartment and lay in his bed in the dark as he struggled to fall asleep.

Alex didn’t have to say anything. He didn’t have to. Why did he always say something to set it all off… all over again? What was his fucking goal?

On top of everything else too.

“Don’t think about it…” he rasped, staring at the shuttered window of his bedroom, focusing on the strips of light that slid across the floor with the passing of the moon.

He groaned and covered his face. What the hell was he supposed to do?

He was working tomorrow.

Then he promised a night out with Hunk and Keith

He’d be exhausted at work— he wasn’t sure if he could do that either...

But at least Miguel would be there.

.

.

.

“I don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into, Miguel.”

Miguel grunted from behind Lance, who was standing at the edge of the boat, staring down at the waves as they sped over the water. The wind had picked up. “A dinner, sounds like,” he answered, taking off his gloves and tossing them by the coolers as he joined Lance.

Lance shot him a look, then shook his head. “...with two of my… my old compañeros. I don’t know what I’m supposed to talk about or—or what I’m supposed to say…”

Miguel pursed his lips in thought, watching him, then turned away to look out at the horizon. The sun was past its peak, beating down on them. Miguel had forced him to reapply sunscreen earlier, though, so it was just the heat that was starting to get to him. “Ask them what they’ve been up to. They’ll ask you the same thing, and you tell them.”

Right. Simple as that. Lance snorted. “They already know what I’ve been up to,” he said, picking at the chipping paint. Miguel gently smacked his hand. “Sorry. I just— ugh.” He raked his fidgety fingers through his hair. “...how am I supposed to answer them fully when I don’t even like to think about it?”

“Are you having a hard time with it?” Miguel asked.

Lance didn’t want to answer, but out of anyone, he knew Miguel wouldn’t judge him. He nodded. “I haven’t… you know, done anything, but I’ve been so stressed that it’s, uh…” he cleared his throat. “...it’s rearing its head again.” A lie. It was constant. He just tried not to acknowledge it. He knew the consequences if he did.

Miguel was silent for a moment. Lance felt the mood shift, and he decided it would be easier to keep his eyes trained on the approaching docks. “Angelo, can I ask you something that you might not want to hear?” he said, finally breaking the silence.

There it was. His shoulders tensed and his nose itched and he felt a panic start to fill his lungs with a cold dread. Could he ask? He didn’t want to hear it. He was starting to get used to it by now.

“It’s okay if you don’t want me to, socio.”

He could hear pain in Miguel’s voice, but he couldn’t bring himself to answer. He felt his eyes stinging, and though he tried to convince himself it was the sea spray, he ducked his head into his folded arms, hiding his face. He felt Miguel’s hand on his back, and he heaved a shaky sigh. There was too much going on. Too much. He didn’t know how he was supposed to deal with it all at once.

It was minutes before Lance even answered him.

“...not yet, Miguel,” he rasped, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, but not yet.”

“...okay.”

Miguel’s unasked question was ringing in his ears on his walk to his apartment, through his shower, while he was on the phone with Fructuosa, and continuing until the ringing of the doorbell replaced it.

He yanked open the door, breathless and disheveled, barely holding himself together.

Fructuosa sniffed the air. “...smells like cigarettes in here.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and stepped aside to let her in. “...I’m stressed,” he muttered as she passed him, entering the kitchen and turning to look at him, her hand on her hip.

“Clearly. What’s going on?”

Lance wrung his hands, then sighed and gestured to the living room, closing the door and making sure it was locked before following her. “I’m— I’m going to dinner tonight with some… old friends?” he said, tucking his hands into his pockets so he couldn’t see them shaking. “I don’t… I don’t know if I can do it.”

Fructuosa watched him, then sat down on the couch. She patted the space beside her and Lance collapsed onto the cushions, letting her pull him into a hug. She squeezed him, then pulled back so she could place her hands on his cheeks. “Why are you scared?”

He looked down, but she lifted his chin. He exhaled. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I haven’t talked to them in years and it’s just—” he broke off, curling his fingers into his jeans. “What if they ask me how I’ve been doing?” he asked. “I haven’t been— been having an easy time of it since they showed up and it’s bringing up everything that happened to me and I…”

He’d already asked Miguel— he couldn’t ask Decarlos or Desiderio, he’d put them through so much shit already with this, and Fructuosa didn’t know everything… somehow it made it easier. At least she knew what he was talking about.

Fructuosa tilted her brow in sympathy. “You already know what I’m going to say, Angelo.”

He bit his lip. Yeah. He kinda did.

“Be honest with them, amor.” She rubbed her thumbs across his cheeks. “If they’re your friends, they’ll understand,” she added.

He shook his head. “...it’s hard to talk about it, though.”

“They don’t know anything about it?”

He chuckled bitterly. “I haven’t seen them in two years. I don’t really— I don’t really know how they feel about me, or about that sort of thing… I don’t want to tell them about it, either, it’s in the past now—”

“Angel, you know that’s not how it works. You know I know that too,” she said, taking his hands in hers. She smiled sadly at him. “It’s hard to deal with, but having friends to help you helps.”

Lance sniffed and looked away. “Does it, though?”

“I mean, it helped me.”

“Are you still dealing with… with it?”

Fructuosa laughed quietly. “What, cravings? Yeah.” She pulled him closer again. “Angel, I did the same thing you did for so long— avoiding the subject, even in my own head, trying to just beat it down— it gets better, amor.”

Fructuosa rubbed his back, and he sighed into her shoulder. “...I don’t think I can tell them, though. They wouldn’t expect anything like that from me, and if I can help it, I don’t want them to know anything,” he admitted.

“Is it for them, or because you’re ashamed of it?”

He slammed his eyes shut. “...a bit of both, I think.”

Fructuosa hummed, then leaned back against the arm of the couch, taking Lance with her. “Come here.” She smoothed her hand over his head. “I’ve told you once, I’ll tell you as many times as you need— you don’t need to feel ashamed of it. But you don’t have to tell them, at least not until you’re ready.” Lance opened his eyes again as she pressed her forehead to his. “But honesty can really help. But if you’re not ready to tell them tonight, or soon, it’s okay. Small talk, amor. Goes a long way.” She giggled. “You can talk about me~ there’s a lot to say.”

Lance couldn’t help it. He scoffed, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “They would love you.”

“Of course. Everyone does.” Her smile softened and she placed her palm on my cheek again. “...thank you for calling me. It’s hard to reach out when you need help with shit like this. I’ll always be here for you, compañero. And you can do this. You’re a good guy, Angelo.”

Lance smiled, but he knew Fructuosa could see the bitterness and disbelief there when he saw her brow twist once again. He exhaled slowly and sat back on his knees, disentangling himself from her and putting his face in his hands. He took a deep breath, then chuckled. “Fructuosa, I don’t even know what to wear.” He’d spent so much time avoiding thinking as much as he could that he had blanked on the basics.

Fructuosa sat up, her eyes twinkling. “Keep the jeans, ditch the black tee. Blue’s your colour, for sure.”

He scoffed at the irony, but he dropped his hands into his lap and sighed. “You know best.”

Fructuosa winked, then placed another kiss on his forehead. “I believe in you, compañero.”

Lance’s phone buzzed in his back pocket. He startled, then scrambled to pull out the device. He scanned the screen. He groaned at the text there, and Fructuosa—craning her neck forward to see his mother's text message—placed her hand on his knee.

=They’re on their way. Meet them there, cariño=

He nodded to himself, but still looked at Fructuosa for assurance. She smiled. He sighed.

“You’re gonna have to do enough believing in me for the both of us, Fructuosa.”

Chapter Text

The air was cool, a relief from the blazing heat they’d had to deal with all day. They’d spent most of it indoors, talking with Angela, helping out with some of the chores (it was the least they could do for them), and avoiding the humid weather outside.

Keith plucked at the hem of his new black t-shirt, then tugged at his bomber jacket. He glanced at Hunk, who was looking up and down the sidewalks, shuffling his feet.

Lance was late.

Keith nudged Hunk in the arm. “Hey, it’s only a few minutes past 7. This is Lance we’re talking about,” he reminded him. Hunk scoffed and offered Keith a small smile, but the silence that hung between them was thick with doubt.

This wasn’t the Lance they knew… Keith wasn’t sure what he expected of him.

“You’re looking the wrong way, you two!”

Keith started, and the two of them whipped around.

Lance was looking a lot better than he had two days before. His hair (though still long) was tied back neatly, he was wearing jeans for the first time since they’d gotten back to earth, and he seemed a bit brighter than before… or maybe that was just the glow of the neon sign in the restaurant’s window.

He smiled as he approached. “Sorry I’m late. Had to work on the boat today and we don’t always get back exactly on schedule,” he said, tucking his hands into his pockets. “So… you two hungry?” he asked, nodding to the door.

The sounds from the restaurant, which Keith had been trying so hard to force into the background, suddenly flooded into his ears. He felt his shoulders tense, and fought the urge to cross his arms protectively over his chest. His throat seemed to close up.

Thankfully, Hunk spoke for the both of them. “You know I’m always down for Recuerdos. Man, it’s been for ever since I’ve been here!”

Lance brushed past them and opened the door, raising an eyebrow at Hunk. “I have a feeling you requested Recuerdos for more than just the food,” he said.

Hunk shrugged. “I’m sentimental— sue me.”

Lance snorted and gently punched his arm. “Go inside already, I can’t stand here forever.”

Hunk slipped inside, and Keith followed, pulling a smile to his face as he passed by Lance. He returned it, and didn’t ask any questions concerning Keith’s apparent lack of words.

He was still trying to think of what to say. What did they talk about? Space? Did they ask about Lance? What he’d been up to?

“How ‘bout the one in the corner? Seems a bit quieter,” Lance said, cutting into Keith’s thoughts.

“Sounds good to me,” Hunk replied, and Keith made a quiet sound of agreement. They followed Lance to the booth.

He seemed better than the last time they’d seen him, but still not well. Did he ask about that? How deep were they going tonight? Was he overthinking this?

Keith could feel his nerves fraying as he sat down next to Hunk, who’d made sure Keith wouldn’t be trapped on the inside. He shot him a grateful look, and Hunk smiled at him.

Lance sat down opposite them and leaned back against the booth, taking a deep breath. “Ugh, I think I’ve been on my feet all day,” he groaned, rubbing one hand across his face. He huffed and shook his head. “Whaddya think of the new look?”

Keith almost thought Lance was asking about his change in appearance, then realized he was talking to Hunk, who was looking around the restaurant.

“It’s… very different,” he laughed. He touched the dark wood table top. “Seemed lighter when I was here last.”

Lance chuckled. “They’ve caved into the nightclub scene more. But hey, it’s still a nice place.” He clapped his hands together. “And their food is still as good as it ever was. What are you ordering?” he asked, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.

Keith couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of Lance’s dark circles. For someone who had been so obsessed with his looks, it was strange seeing how little he seemed to be taking care of himself. Lance seemed to notice him watching and he licked his lips nervously. He sniffed. He did that a lot too, Keith noticed. Was it allergies?

“Do I have something on my face?” Lance chuckled.

Keith’s cheeks went hot and he shook his head, looking away. “No, you— sorry, it’s— nevermind,” he grumbled, not sure of what to say.

Lance smiled and tilted his head. “I get it. I don’t look the way I used to.” Calling him right out, huh? “I guess I just stopped caring so much. It’s uh… freeing.” It didn’t sound like he believed what he was saying, but Keith didn’t point that out.

Before anyone else could respond, a waiter came by with the menus. Lance thanked them and Keith picked one up, thankful for the distraction, before he paled. He couldn’t read any of this, it was all in Spanish. Shit. Did he just order something and hope for the best? He wasn’t even that hungry, maybe he should just skip—

“I think you’d like the rabo encendido,” Lance piped up, grinning over his menu at Keith. Seemed like he’d read him like a book. “Ooh, let’s get tostones for the table,” he said, looking over at Hunk, who readily agreed.

Despite his appearance, everything felt so normal that it almost felt… off.

It felt like Lance was putting on an act. Keith knew enough about that to spot it. He could see it in the way Lance’s leg hadn’t stopped bouncing since they’d sat down, in the way his right index finger tapped at his menu, in the way he kept glancing around.

Keith nodded at Lance’s suggestion and put his menu down. No use in calling Lance out on it. It wouldn’t make things better, just more awkward. Hopefully the tension in his shoulders would go away soon, and he could maybe even enjoy this. Lance was clearly making an effort here, and he wanted to appreciate it.

He rubbed at his arm guards under the table.

Could he make it through the dinner without making it awkward?

They ordered. Hunk and Lance made small talk while the waiter brought over 3 cups and a pitcher of beer for the table. Keith almost felt as though it were illegal, then remembered that while they’d been kids when they went to space, they were well past the legal age, so he didn’t refuse when Lance offered a glass to him. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had his fair share of illegal alcohol consumption in his teen years. He wasn’t so different from the others at the Garrison.

“So… how’s it feel to smoke weed again?”

Keith spluttered at Hunk’s question and looked, wide eyed, in his direction. Was that really a topic he should spring on Lance right now?!

To his surprise, Lance only laughed. “You could tell?” he asked, sipping at his drink.

Hunk scoffed. “Lance, c’mon. I’m pretty sure everyone knew.” He nudged his glass. “That and I hugged you before you showered. You reeked.”

Lance snorted. “To be fair, I didn’t know we were having dinner that night. I wouldn’t have smoked had I known.” He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Especially with Alex there. I’m glad Decarlos and Desiderio came with me.”

“They seemed nice,” Keith murmured over the rim of his glass, feeling like he should probably be contributing more to the conversation.

Lance’s face softened. “They are. They’ve been great.” He sniffed again and waved his hand. “Decarlos helped get me the job on the docks. I’m really grateful to him.”

The conversation continued easily from there. The food came and went, and the night went on… and on. Keith found himself blinking hard and he swore they’d only just finished that pitcher, so why was the new one half-way gone already?

“Uh oh,” Hunk murmured, and Keith glanced at him. His smile was slightly concerned. “You doing alright there, buddy?” he asked quietly.

“Oh my god, don’t tell me Keith is a lightweight— Keith, Keith—” Lance cleared his throat and leaned across the table. His cheeks were pink, and Keith suddenly had an idea as to where the beer had gone. “...are you a lightweight?” he teased.

Keith was not a lightweight, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t feel much more relaxed than he had when they first arrived. He shoved his hand into Lance’s forehead and gently pushed him back. “I’m not a lightweight,” he muttered.

Lance grabbed Keith’s wrist (Keith didn’t miss the way he glanced at the arm guard) and grinned. “You sure? You look a little red there.”

Keith blushed (which did not help his case) and scowled. “Shut up. It doesn’t take much to make me flush. Blame my genetics. And stop laughing, don’t be a dick.”

Lance laughed and leaned back in the booth, holding his drink loosely in one hand. “There he is! I missed you, man, where’ve you been?!” he crowed, apparently gleeful at Keith’s flustered appearance. He smiled at Hunk and lifted his glass. “Hell of a drink,” he chuckled, taking a sip.

Hunk didn’t seem so convinced. Come to think of it, he’d become a bit quiet. He’d only had two drinks, and was now nursing a glass of water. “...hell of a drug,” Keith heard him murmur.

Lance’s shoulders tensed, but Keith watched as he caught himself and relaxed them. He laughed, but there was a dark tinge to it that he didn’t like the sound of. “Oh, there are much worse drugs out there, Hunk, no doubt.”

Hunk hummed and took another sip of his water. “I guess,” he said softly. Was he getting tired? How long had they been there?

Lance raised an eyebrow. “You good, hermano?” he asked, sounding worried.

Hunk waved a hand dismissively, but in Keith’s opinion, he didn’t look good. He just looked worried. Was his anxiety acting up? Maybe they should be thinking about leaving soon. Keith took a sip and watched Hunk search for words. “Y-yeah, I’m just… I guess it’s just been a hell of a week, and I’m kinda tired.”

Lance groaned and nodded. “Tell me about it. I have to work the day after tomorrow, but I’m looking forward to having the weekend off,” he said. Keith watched as he finished off his glass and set it down on the table. “But hey, I don’t have to work tomorrow!” he finished cheerily.

Keith sipped his own drink and hummed. “Sounds like you don’t like your job very much,” he said. You should come back with us, he added silently, but he knew it probably wasn’t a good time to bring that up again. “Why don’t you find something else?”

Lance blinked. “...nah, I love working on the docks. It’s perfect for me.” He shrugged. “I get some good exercise in, the pay is… well, it’s alright, and no one asks questions.” He sniffed. “Everyone there has scars, so they don’t press me about mine.”

Keith finished his drink. “What else have you been doing since you came back?” He figured that was a safe question.

Instead Lance seemed tripped up on it. He laughed in what sounded like it was supposed to be a casual way, but it came out sounding nervous. “Oh, you know… this and that. Mostly just been working… I hang out with Desi and Decarlos a lot now, I have a few other friends… we do… we do stuff.”

Keith raised an eyebrow and glanced at Hunk, who looked just as lost.

That… wasn’t really an answer.

It seemed like Lance was skirting around a subject, the way his face had paled and he looked like he was grappling for words.

Lance clapped his hands, a half hearted smile on his lips. “Um… anyone want something else to drink? It’s my day off tomorrow, so I’m feelin’ something stronger.”

Keith heard Hunk shift in his seat before asking for water. Keith tilted his head and considered it. “...why not?” he said, ignoring Hunk’s shocked glance.

Lance’s face seemed to brighten and he stood up. “Awesome. I’ll get you something good, Keith, I’m sure you’ll like it. Be right back.” With that, he disappeared into the crowd that had formed around the bar.

Keith looked up at Hunk, and Hunk stared right back at Keith. Keith frowned. “What?” he asked.

Hunk shook his head and shrugged. “I—I don’t know, something just isn’t sitting right with me…” he murmured, pushing his empty glass around the table top. “Don’t you think he’s acting a bit… weird?”

Keith scoffed. He felt lightheaded, so he leaned back against the cushioned seat. “It’s Lance… of course he’s weird.” He fell silent, then sighed. Hunk was right, though. Ever since they’d returned and been reunited with Lance, he felt off. Guarded, for sure, but… it almost seemed like he was sick… and Keith wasn’t sure why. 

Help my son. Angela’s plea was making more and more sense, every time they saw Lance.

“...I don’t know, Hunk, I don’t know… but uh…” he licked his lips nervously. “I don’t know… it’s nice to see him smile though, right?”

Hunk laughed and Keith punched him in the arm. Hunk gently shoved him back. “You’re drunk.”

“Excuse me. I’m just happy to see him happy.” Wow, maybe he was a little drunk. That came out a little too easily.

Hunk shook his head, still chuckling. At least he wasn’t looking as down as he had been. “Don’t get too gone tonight, Shiro will kill me. And Lance. I’d like to live another day, personally.” Keith grumbled and sank lower into the seat. “Are you doing okay, Keith?”

That sounded like one of his check-in questions, rather than a question of his current state. He pursed his lips, then shrugged. “...if you’re asking about… about that—” Keith picked at his cuticles, suddenly feeling very put on the spot. “...I haven’t done it since… since Pidge talked to you.”

Hunk blinked. “Pidge didn’t say anything.”

Keith’s blood ran cold and he swore. “Forget it.” Had she only told Shiro? Fuck.

“No, Keith, hold up—”

“I said ‘forget it’, I’m fine, Hunk—”

“Ey, no fighting, boys.” Keith looked up. Lance was back, a grin on his face and somehow managing to carry three glasses. “What’s going on?”

Keith clicked his tongue. “Nothing,” he muttered. Hunk was staring at him. He willed him to stop it. He didn’t need Lance asking questions.

Lance shrugged and sat back down, sliding the water over to Hunk and one of the glasses over to Keith. “...okay. I’ll take your word for it.” He didn’t sound like he believed him, but it looked like he had the sense not to press the subject. “So. How about you guys? Did anything fun happen… up there?”

Keith heard Hunk start talking, but he couldn’t really hear him. He wanted to leave. His blood ran cold, and he felt his anxiety start to grip him harder. He took his drink in his hands and hoped it would help.

He could make it a little longer… just a little longer.

Chapter Text

“Ha ha… Shiro’s gonna fuckin’ assassinate me…” Lance blinked hard and reached over the table to poke Keith’s forehead. Keith pouted and slapped his hand away, causing Lance to chuckle.

“Fuck… fuck off…” Keith mumbled. Lance noticed his distant gaze start to wander, and wondered if maybe he should have stopped Keith from trying to match him drink for drink. Now that he thought about it, Shiro might actually kill him once he saw what had become of Keith. “What're you staring at, Lancey-Lance,” Keith bit out, interrupting Lance’s slower than normal thought process.

He snorted and leaned back in his seat. “You’re so gone,” he said, grinning widely. The lights of the restaurant were casting neon red shadows on Keith’s face, and lighting up his glassy eyes. He hadn’t forgotten how beautiful Keith was, but this was definitely a healthy reminder.

Keith frowned and pounded the table lightly. “Am not,” he protested.

Lance stuck out his tongue. “Are too.”

“Aaaand that’s my cue to take you two home,” Hunk said, standing up and taking Keith’s arm. “You both need sleep.”

Lance mumbled an incoherent protest as he and Keith were herded out of the restaurant and out into the street. He sighed and took a deep breath of the cool night air, smelling the salt on the breeze that was coming in from the ocean. He loved this feeling. Just out of lucidity, thoughts generally too muddled to cause him too much anxiety, too preoccupied with staying upright to worry about the past—

Speaking of staying upright. Lance gasped quietly as Keith, having struggled his way out of Hunk’s grip, staggered into his arms, wrapping himself around Lance and leaning his chin on his shoulder. Lance laughed, a little taken aback. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen Keith act so touchy feely,’ he thought, returning the hug and hoping he had enough balance for the both of them. He heard Hunk chuckling behind them, and he wondered briefly how odd this must have looked to anyone who knew Keith’s normal disposition… Though to be fair, he seemed a little different than he used to be.

“I missed you so much…” Keith whispered, pulling Lance back to where they stood.

Lance knew that if his cheeks weren’t already flush with alcohol, they would have gone red. He kinda liked this Keith. He smiled softly and squeezed his old companion. “I missed you too, Keith,” he admitted. Felt weird to be saying all this, but he was sure the booze helped.

Keith giggled and Lance hated the way it made his heart flutter. “I kinda… kinda can’t believe it… I mean, you’re right here and I can touch you and—” He hiccuped and Lance scoffed.

He looked over at Hunk with a grin and shook his head. “My dude is canned,” he murmured, earning himself a nod of agreement.

“—and you’re real and… and you’re alive…” Whoa, wait… did Keith think he was dead? His heart began to sink and anxiety began to bubble up in his chest. Well… he wasn’t too off base… “...makes me real happy, Lance…” Keith sighed, coaxing Lance out of his thoughts.

Lance chuckled as he struggled to hold Keith up. He was sliding down, his forehead now pressed against his collarbone. “...you’re a cute drunk,” he said without thinking. It was true though.

Keith blew a raspberry and shook his head. “...it’s mean how cute you are…” he mumbled, his head rolling back to look up at Lance. Lance’s heart skipped another beat and he shook his head.

He lightly tapped Keith’s reddened nose. “Careful there, cowboy, I might just fall for you,” he joked.

Keith’s grin was loose and relaxed, more off guard than Lance had ever seen it, and it was honestly kind of beautiful. He felt himself relax a bit, and Keith hummed. “That’s alright with me…” Lance snorted at the Texan accent Keith was clearly putting on, failing to notice that he’d started to lose his balance until they were already tipping backward. He gasped, preparing for the ground, only to be caught by a pair of large, warm arms.

“...I’m tempted to let you fall and leave you here,” Hunk admitted, though Lance could hear the note of teasing in his voice. “Acting all lovey dovey. Sickening.”

Lance pouted and tilted his head back to look up at his best friend. Something in his chest swelled and warmed up, and tears gathered in his eyes. He sniffed and smiled. “Hunk, dios, I missed you so much… I’m just not Lance without you…” he slurred, taking one hand from Keith’s waist to wipe under his eyes. “...don’t leave me,” he pleaded.

Hunk raised his eyebrows, then shook his head and smiled. “...I missed you too, buddy… but how ‘bout you tell me when you’re sober, yeah? Let’s get you home.”

Lance hummed as Hunk managed to pull both of them back up onto their feet. “Did I wash my sheets?” he wondered aloud.

Hunk shrugged and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. Keith continued to cling to Lance’s waist. “Doesn’t matter. I can’t leave you alone when you’re this drunk—”

“I’m really not that drunk—”

“—and I promised Shiro that I’d keep Keith safe and get him back to the house… I need to do at least one of those, since someone can’t hold their alcohol.” Hunk looked pointedly at Keith, who grinned—his face still squished against Lance’s chest—and hiccuped. Hunk sighed. “So you’re coming back with us, Lance, sor—whoa!”

Lance sucked in a breath, panic blooming like a huge, nasty flower in his chest. He stumbled away from Hunk. Keith yelped and bit the dust as he lost his support and Lance nearly joined him, just barely catching himself with a well-placed step. “No nonono-no, I’m sorry, I can’t go to the house like this, my mom doesn’t like to see me like this, she doesn’t like it when I’m this drunk, so— ” His breath failed him, coming in short, rapid bursts. He groaned and clutched his chest, sinking first to his knees, then sitting down on the sidewalk. He could feel passersby staring at him. ‘Calma, calma, calma,’ he chanted silently, trying to steady his quickly spiralling breaths.

“Whoa, slow down, buddy, I caught about three words of that,” Hunk murmured, pulling a disgruntled Keith off the ground and wrapping an arm around his waist. He knelt the both of them down next to Lance, and he placed a hand on his shoulder. “Why can’t you go home?” Hunk asked quietly, his voice tinged with concern.

Lance shook his head, feeling the blood drain from his face. Was he really about to have a panic attack in the middle of the street? In front of his old crewmates? God, even Keith looked concerned, if not a little confused. ‘Shit,’ he thought. He couldn’t know… he didn’t want to worry anyone else, didn’t want anyone else on his fucking back. He had to come up with something, something— “ I…I don’t want to see Alex, ” he spit out.

Hunk took a deep breath, apparently giving in to the fact that Lance wasn’t going to start speaking English anytime soon. He squeezed Lance’s shoulder. “ Oh, Lance, I know you two don’t always get along, but—”

“He’s a fucking asshole! He doesn’t… he doesn’t like me…” Lance mumbled, his eyes flitting up and down the street. People were staring, they were staring… would they recognise them? Oh god, they were going to recognise them and report them, oh fuck…

“The fuck is he sayin’?” Keith grumbled. Lance swallowed and looked over at them. He didn’t like the look Hunk was giving him, he knew that look—the one where his brow crunched up and he was deep in thought, that look where he was putting the pieces together…

But there was nothing to put together! He just… couldn’t go home like this… ‘Please, Hunk, just let me go to my apartment…’

Thankfully, Hunk didn’t press the matter. He took Lance’s arm gently and draped it over his shoulder before pulling all three of them to their feet. “I’m sorry, buddy… we’re going to your house,” he apologised.

Lance’s heart sank. No getting out of it, huh? He was in no shape to be running away, he wouldn’t get very far. He sighed heavily and leaned into Hunk’s side. “...okay, Hunk…” he breathed, averting his eyes. He caused this. He got drunker than he meant. He’d started to panic. There was no way Hunk would leave him alone now. “...I’m sorry…” he rasped. This was meant to be a good night, a fun time, to make up for his avoiding them all… and he’d ruined it.

Hunk somehow managed to keep all three of them upright as he ruffled Lance’s hair. That… that felt nice. Like old times. Before all this shit happened, before he’d done all the shit he’d done… “It’s fine, buddy. Don’t worry.” Hunk smiled at him, then moved them all closer to the sidewalk. “Let’s just find a taxi and worry later,” he murmured under his breath.

Lance wondered if he was meant to hear that. He watched Hunk for a moment. What was going through his head?

He shook his head. He didn’t need the ability to read minds to know he wouldn’t like what he was thinking.

Chapter Text

Author Update

…hey guys.

No, I haven’t forgotten about this fanfic- I’ve been agonizing over it for years now (I really want to continue and finish it, so not necessarily an “agonizing” as in “god, I hate this fic but I promised I’d finish it” and much more a “I really want to finish this fic, but I can’t bring myself to do it).

I wish I had a chapter update along with this update, but I don’t. I’m going to make myself sit down sometime this week and try again on the next chapter. But I have seen all the comments, hoping I would come back to finish this, and it really, truly warms my heart. You guys have absolutely played a huge part in my written arts portion of my double major. I’m grateful to you guys for sticking through the less than stellar writing, for your comments and kudos, for your pointers and critiques—it all means so, so much to me.

If I could, I would respond to each individual comment. Unfortunately, my mind is completely scattered at the moment.

I also wish I could say that I’m fine and dandy, but I’m not. In the span of three years, I had to go into PHP, got diagnosed, struggled with alcohol myself (WOW, who’s surprised?!), and to top everything-fucking-off, I lost my dad in March of this year. He was an incredibly important figure in my life, and the American Medical system failed him and our family miserably. He fought against septicemia from December last year, got better for a short while, then relapsed. So I had to take another break from college to spend his last days with him, and to help with hospice care.

I hope none of you understand, to be honest. To be 23, turning 24, and to lose one of the most important, loved people in your life is something inexplicable. I’m sad, I’m manic, and I’m trying my best to stay healthy for my mother.

I just wanted to be as candid as possible in this update. You guys have stuck with my incredibly sporadic posting for literal YEARS now, and it makes my heart hurt how much you clearly care. I could not ask for a better base of readers. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

All that being said. I’m alive. I’m moving forward. It’s all I can do. And I truly want to finish this fic, very much for you guys, but also for me. There are so many pieces and scenes rattling around in my head about this. I’d love to one day turn this into an original piece somehow. Anyways. Rambling.

Thank you all, so, so much. You mean so much to me. Thanks for sticking by my side.

I’ll be back soon.

Hasta Luego ( No hasta siempre here, I promise)

-”Akalya”

Chapter Text

Keith did not feel right. Everything felt like it was going by slowly, and he had little control over his limbs. He groaned and realised his eyes had been closed. When had he closed his eyes? Were they still at the restaurant? He opened his eyes slowly and looked around. He frowned.

He was… on Hunk’s back? Oh, no, they were back at the house. He looked around blearily, pulling his arm out of Hunk’s grip so that he could rub his eyes. Lance was sitting at the table in the kitchen, speaking with Hunk. Their voices were hushed. Keith took a deep breath and cleared his throat. Lance looked up. He didn’t look great. Something about the lack of expression, that same thing that had set off alarm bells earlier in their trip… where was he. “...Lance?”

Hunk murmured something about Keith being awake, and Lance smiled, but it wasn’t fully there. He gave Keith a little wave. “Welcome back to the land of the living,” he said. ‘Stop smiling like that. It’s weird’. “Hunk… Keith needs to go to bed.”

“Will you be here to talk to me when I get back though?” Hunk said. Keith could feel Hunk’s heart pounding against his arm, which was pressed against his throat. “I don’t want you leaving and trying to get back home like this.”

Lance chuckled. “I’m really not as bad as you think, buddy.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Keith opened his mouth, not entirely sure what he was about to say, but the door to the hallway opened before he could speak. He didn’t take his eyes off Lance, and only watched as he looked over. His eyes hardened and his cheeks turned darker.

“Hunk, you go on to bed. I’ll take it from here.”

He recognised that voice. It was similar to Lance’s. He looked at the door. Alex stood there, his arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe. His expression was hard to pin down—angry? Sad? Exasperated? Oh my god, why was his head spinning so much? He didn’t remember drinking enough for this to happen.

“Alex, it’s okay, I can—” Hunk started to say, but Alex just shook his head. He nodded at Keith. “Your friend here needs to sleep, clearly. And Lance is perfectly fine to talk to me.”

Keith closed his eyes again. His eyelids were so heavy. He did need to sleep, even though he’d clearly spent the whole trip to the house unconscious. What were they going to talk about? They were all adults… but Alex and Hunk both seemed so damn serious…

“Alex—”

“Please,” Alex said. Keith’s eyes opened for a brief moment, but they weren’t open long enough to take anything in. Was that the first time he’d heard Lance’s brother say ‘please’? “...Please. It’s better for everyone here if I talk to Lance privately.”

There was a silence in the room, so deep that for a moment, Keith wondered if the alcohol had made him lose his hearing. Then, he felt Hunk sigh. “Alright. Sleep well, Lance. That was… a nice dinner.”

They were moving again. Keith’s stomach churned and he groaned softly. He heard the hallway door close with a creak behind them, and heard Hunk’s heavy footfalls on the steps a few moments later. “How you hanging in there, Keith?” he asked when they reached the second floor.

“...sick,” Keith muttered. He swallowed. ‘Don’t throw up on Hunk. Don’t do it’.

“Oh, Geez, okay—”

After the frantic trip to the bathroom, where Keith somehow and for some reason found himself clutching a toilet bowl, his mouth tasting foul and his eyes apparently unable to focus, Hunk finally got Keith down on his bed. The bedframe creaked as he tried to readjust himself—he felt uncomfortable wherever he was. It felt like his skin didn’t fit right. He fumbled in the dim room for Hunk’s hand and ended up grabbing his wrist.

“...you okay, buddy?”

“...are you?” Keith mumbled, face half hidden in the pillow. He might have to move if he didn’t want to suffocate in his sleep. “...the fuck is…” his mind reeled and scrambled for words. “...fuck’s wrong with him.”

“... Keith, it’s really late—”

“There’s—what’s the time got to…” Keith swallowed and struggled to sit up. He failed and, groaning, fell back into the bed. He stared up at the dizzying glow in the dark stars on the ceiling—whose room had this been?” “...he needs… the med bay or—that’s not him.” He could vaguely see the outline of Hunk’s profile in the darkness. His eyes struggled to stay open. “...that’s not Lance, Hunk.”

Hunk took a deep breath, then let it out. “...we’ll figure this out, Keith.”

BANG

Hunk flinched, and even Keith’s heart jumped in pace a few ticks. That sounded like a door. Keith exhaled out through the nose and dragged a hand down his face. “...what happened.”

“...I don’t know.”

Were they talking about the door. Lance. This whole shitshow, “this is a…mess.”

Hunk was silent. The house was silent, save for the creaking of the stairs—steady steps. Hunk sighed and patted Keith’s leg. “...c’mon,” he said. He stood, grabbed Keith’s arm and started guiding him. “On your side, dude. Let’s go.” Keith sniffed, but did as Hunk said. “Keith?”

“Nothing,” Keith muttered. He wiped at his face. Nothing there. They stayed in his eyes. “Nothing… thanks, Hunk…”

“...night, buddy.”

Nothing… nothing… nothing on his cheeks. Where had his tears gone.

.

.

.

.

.

.

“GOD fucking DAMMIT—”  Lance rubbed the bridge of his nose, already feeling a headache forming. He heard the door open behind him again, and he groaned. “ What-!?”

“Don't you slam this door, do you want to wake up mamá?! Haven't you hurt her enough!?”

Lance whipped around, staggering a little. “Ay, what are you doing now!? You think YELLING AT ME won't wake her up!?” Lance flipped him off. “Let me leave and I won't be in your hair-”

Alex stalked towards him and grabbed his collar, hauling him forward. Lance snarled a few curses at him and Alex shoved a hand over his mouth. “...you will always be in my hair , Lance - don't you ever forget what I've done for you , prick!” Lance panicked and twisted Alex's hands away, gasping and stumbling back, keeping an eye on Alex's face and a hand on his heart, which beat rapidly but steadily in his chest. Alex, to be fair, seemed a little taken aback by his own words. “You—I—”

“ Sorry. I don’t know how many times I gotta say it. I didn’t ask to—to… ” Lance muttered, fingers curling into the fabric over his heart. He tried to take deep breaths. Fructuosa—he needed Fructuosa, someone, anyone— “I’m leaving.”

“Lance—”

“ Bye, Alexandro,” he spat, turning and making his way towards the end of the road.

“... don’t do anything stupid—”

“Do you ever know when to let things go!? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Alexandro, I’m fucking going home , dickhead, I’m not—!” He choked up, pursed his lips together, and waved his hand angrily back at him. “I’m going home…” He took out his phone, hoping and praying that Alex was done with him. He was done, done with this night, with this event, with being around him, with the fucking interrogation from Hunk— “Fuck…” he breathed, stopping a ways down the road. Not quite out of sight from the house, he turned around to look. His mother’s bedroom light was on. Someone stood in the doorway, backlit by the mudroom light. He sucked his teeth and turned around.

“Lancito!”

He paused, eyes flickering back and forth between the doorway and the dark road ahead of him, then shook his head. Not now. He’d talk to her later. He couldn’t do it now. He moved on into the dark. His mamá called out to him several times, each time his heart hurt all over again, racing, pounding, he found himself praying it wouldn’t stop this time—

His fingers carefully searched out a contact—someone who understood, someone who could talk him down, talk him away from these thoughts. He couldn’t spend many more nights drunk off his ass, even if he didn’t have a problem, which he didn’t, his problem was that he was stressed—

“Angelo? What’s wrong, why so late—?”

“Fructuosa—” Lance gasped, tapping on his collarbone, trying to manually slow his heart rate. “Are you-are you busy? Can we—”

“Where are you, amor, where are you? What do you need, do you need to go to—”

“Walking… towards town. From my mamá’s, please, can I come to you?”

“Of course, Angelo, please. I’m always here for you, amor.”

Fructuosa promised she would be ready at the door for him. He struggled to put his phone back in his pocket, dropped it on the gravel, swore, then stopped in his tracks. He pushed his hands back through his hair, looking up at the sky. He swayed with the wind, breathing heavily but trying his best to even it out. The stars winked double-time at him. He groaned and shook his head. “It’s not what it seems…” he muttered, letting his hands drop to his sides. “...it’s not adventure up there… it’s war… it’s not fun up there, it’s chaos…” The tears finally made an appearance. He sobbed, that horrible cold feeling bubbling up in his chest and forming a painful lump in his throat. He shouted, nothing in particular, and kicked a rock, sending it flying off into the dark. He panted, looked back up in rage. “...the stars don’t twinkle in space.”

How much longer could he keep any sort of composure?

To them… nothing was what it seemed. To mamá, to his teammates, to his coworkers, Fructuosa, Floramaria, Palmira, every person he ever spent a barely remembered night with, Maya, Lillia— he was not what he seemed.

“...they don’t twinkle.”

Chapter Text

  Awkward silence around the table. Had he had the energy, Keith would have shrunk under Shiro’s gaze, but right now he was sure that any sort of physical movement would set his head pounding all over again. Shiro had his arms crossed, looking between Hunk and Keith, and the only sound was the coffee pot making horrible sputtering noises that turned Keith’s already queasy stomach.

“...listen—” Hunk started, and Shiro held up a hand.

“I’m not angry at you,” he said calmly. He gestured to Keith. “Nice dinner, Keith?”

“I’m not a kid,” Keith grumbled, looking away. The light from the window was beating mercilessly against his eyes, and he squinted. “I can make my own decisions.”

“Shiro,” a soft voice from the doorway spoke up. The three of them turned around. Angela stood in the doorway, Pidge just behind her. Angela offered a sympathetic smile to Keith, then sighed. “This is not Keith’s fault… Lance isn’t the best influence—”

“Oh no, we’re not blaming Lance for Keith’s decisions,” Shiro shook his head, looking pointedly at Keith. Despite the intensity of the stare, he had to agree. It’s not like Lance had forced drinks in his hand or anything. “Like Keith said—he’s an adult and he made these decisions for himself.” He didn’t miss the way Shiro’s eyes flickered down to Keith’s arms. He crossed them and Shiro made a placating gesture with his hands. “Just… worried about the impulsivity, Keith, that’s all. Just worried.”

“There are bigger things to worry about,” Keith said. Hunk made a quiet shushing noise, and Keith shrugged. “What? I’m not wrong.”

“About…?” Pidge said quietly, sitting down next to Keith. She grimaced at him. “Wow, you look like shit.”

“Good morning to you too, Pidge. About Lance,” he muttered, rubbing his temples.

“Keith, not now—”

“He isn’t wrong,” Angela said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. The table went silent and watched her as she grabbed the milk from the fridge. She looked exhausted—dark circles under her bloodshot eyes, a drawn look to her face and her slow movements as she poured milk into her coffee, the way she stared down into it but didn’t make any move to drink it. “Like I said when you first arrived. My son needs help.”

“Clearly,” Pidge scoffed, looking down at her hands. Keith watched her play with the grain on the wooden table before glancing at her face. God, had none of them gotten a good night’s sleep? “He and his brother were yelling right below my window last night.” Pidge explained, upon seeing the curious expressions around her. “Sounded… like there’s more to the story that we don’t know.” She looked up at Angela. “...were they always like that? They’re like… the same age, shouldn’t they get along better?”

Angela was quiet, but Keith knew they all saw the sheen in her eyes. She cleared her throat and took a sip of her coffee. “I’m sorry they woke you up,” she said.

“Oh, I wasn’t asleep.”

“Pidge… rarely sleeps,” Shiro added, sounding a bit exasperated.

Angela allowed herself a small smile, then shook her head. “...something happened between them about a year ago. It’s going to take time for them to reconcile, I’m afraid.”

Hunk leaned forward. “What happened?”

Silence. A rooster broke the quiet with a loud, shrill scream out in the yard, and Angela looked out the kitchen window. The chickens were running for the cover of the shed. Hunk waited, they all waited. Angela swallowed. “...that’s something that Lance will have to tell you.”

Keith couldn’t help it. He groaned and placed his head in his hands. The headache certainly didn’t help. Hunk put a hand on his shoulder, maybe to keep him from saying something he would regret, but he shook his head and looked up at Angela. “How are we supposed to help him if we don’t know what happened?”

He saw Shiro’s shoulders go tense out of the corner of his eye, and Hunk and Pidge shuffled their feet awkwardly. Angela met his gaze head on—he recognized that look. That was the same one Lance had given him so many times, so many years ago. No need to wonder about where he’d gotten that from, then,

“...I know what happened and I still can’t help him,” she said quietly, her voice breaking a little at the end. Keith blinked, and Pidge kicked his shin. He winced and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms and looking away. Angela took a deep breath and tapped her fingers on her coffee mug. “I don’t… I don’t know how, I can’t get through to him, he always tries to assure me that he’s fine, he won’t hear anything else. I thought… maybe…” She blinked hard. “...maybe you all could get through to him… he spent such a time with you, you all shared his experiences… maybe it’s what he needs to actually listen.”

Angela didn’t allow them to respond right away. They sat looking at each other in silence, broken only when Angela set the coffee pot and four mugs on the table. “I have to go wake Rolando. I’m so sorry about what… about what ever happened last night.” She looked at Hunk and smiled. “Thank you for trying to talk to him, Hunk. You were always a smart boy.” She ruffled his hair as she passed, leaving them to listen to her footsteps on the stairs.

Keith looked at Hunk, followed by Shiro and Pidge. Hunk was picking at his thumbnail, avoiding looking up, but he already knew the questions that were coming, clearly. He shook his head. “...I tried to ask him about it. I-I don’t know, guys… he was pretty adamant that he didn’t have a… a problem, but…” He shrugged. “I mean, just looking at him, it’s—”

“Pretty obvious, huh?” Pidge muttered, blowing on her coffee. “He looks like hell.”

“He was drinking at the docks too, when I went with him,” Shiro said, clutching the mug and staring down into the black liquid like it would divine some sort of solution for them. Keith was worried he’d strain his eyes with how hard he was looking. “He either doesn’t want to admit it or he’s truly in denial.”

Keith placed his head back in his hands, tired of the light and noise already. He felt sick. The smell of coffee made his stomach turn, but he forced himself to take a tongue-burning sip. “...does he think he’s fooling anyone?” he asked.

He could practically hear the looks the others were giving one another. He chuckled dryly. Hypocrisy. At its finest. Here he was, constantly trying to assure the team that he was okay, but he knew he wasn’t. The ache he thought might be soothed by seeing Lance again was still ever-present in his chest. He tried to think back to the night before— how it was to see him smile, sweet and immediately soured by that thing that was wrong, the shifting of his eyes, clearly itching to run, to leave, to hide, the wall behind his eyes…

Hypocrisy. Hadn’t he had those same walls up for so long? Didn’t he have them up now?

He remembered how the ache subsided ever so slightly when he held him close—

His head shot up, cheeks going hot. The team looked at him quizzically, and he turned to Hunk, open mouthed, searching his eyes. “Did I—?”

Hunk frowned, then snorted. “Oh, did you remember last night—?” Keith clapped a hand over his mouth, face blazing. Hunk laughed, despite the heavy atmosphere the kitchen table held.

“Shut up, shut up—” Keith muttered, glancing desperately back at Pidge, who seemed to have caught onto the fact that ‘ something embarrassing had happened to Keith’. He did not need that right now.

Hunk laughed and moved Keith’s hands away. “Alright, cowboy, relax.” He paused, still holding Keith’s wrists. He felt his heart rate pick up, then gave Hunk an almost imperceptible shake of his head. He let go. Keith drew back, looked across the table, then shook his head at Shiro, who had raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t,” he said, crossing his arms.

Pidge cleared her throat. “Anyways.” They looked at one another. Pidge scratched her nails back through her hair. “...I didn’t think through what to say. I don’t—talking to people about this sort of thing isn’t my forte, yanno?” She shrugged. “I mean, what, an intervention? How well would that go?”

Keith rolled his eyes, and his headache flared again. He stood up slowly. “I’m not thinking about this right now… I just need some quiet.” He pushed his chair in, wincing as it dragged against the hardwood floor. He groaned, seeing the looks on their faces. “I’m not gonna do anything, I just… I need to think about it quietly. Let me know later if you’ve come up with any brilliant ideas on how to convince Lance he’s got a problem.” He tottered out of the room, shielding his eyes from the light from the window.

Despite the pounding in his head, something drew him out to the back porch—it wasn’t much, just a wooden deck with a short set of steps down to the sparsely green backyard. He sat down on the steps, watching the chickens for a moment. Whatever predator the rooster had spotted seemed to have moved on, and they ambled around the yard in their flock. The rooster paused to look at him, head cocking up and sideways. ‘Now you yell at me for being an intruder…’ Keith predicted, but all the rooster did was ruffle his feathers and strut away to the other side of his flock. He scoffed and hid his face from the light. The sun felt nice on his neck—it wasn’t quite the peak of the day yet, not too hot. Maybe the warmth would revitalize him, somehow.

“They’re funny, huh? The chickens.” Keith gasped and his head shot up. He groaned, headache flaring at the movement and light. He hadn’t even heard her open the door. “Oh, I’m sorry, amorcito. I just wanted to bring you this.” He felt Angela take his hand softly and wrap his fingers around a glass. He looked up tentatively as Angela sat down slowly beside him. “ Ouch. That was easier just ten years ago,” she chuckled. She gestured at the lightly pink drink she’d handed him. “ Agua fresca, amor. Get a bit of sugar in you.” She nodded her head a bit. “...and a bit of salt. I tried not to make it too salty though.”

Keith murmured a ‘thanks’ and took a small sip. It didn’t immediately make him want to throw up, so he supposed that was a good sign. He sighed and dropped his head again, closing his eyes. “Angela?”

“Yes, amorcito?” That word again. He realized he recognized the amor, but what had brought that on, he had no idea. He decided it wasn’t important now to ask.

“...how do you think we can help Lance?” His voice was so much quieter than he meant. He took in a deep breath. “I want to help him, Angela, it… scared me when I saw him again and he looked so…” he waved his hand as if gesturing to someone. “... sick.”

Angela exhaled out through her nose and tapped her hands on the porch step. “I think the issue is deeper than what’s on the surface,” she said. She nodded to him. “Keep drinking that. You need to finish it. But… yes.” She smoothed out her pants, even though they were wrinkle-free. “It is a symptom, not the condition. I have seen first hand what the war has done to my baby, especially once he really realized he was out of there.”

Keith clutched the glass in his hands. “The trauma, you mean?”

“Mm.” Angela said. She frowned and tipped the glass towards Keith’s mouth. He couldn’t help but snort and he relented, taking another sip. She smiled, but it faded quickly. “Rolando can’t talk him through it… he fought in the war down here, and he still suffers from those memories.”

“...and you think we can because we all fought the same battles,” Keith said.

“Maybe. I don’t know, amor. I hope so. He really did miss you all—he talked about you all the time.” She smiled at him, and Keith realized that was the singular you. His cheeks felt hot all over again and he looked away. She laughed. “He really looked up to you, Keith.”

He scoffed. “I’m not much to look up to.”

“He would ramble on and on about your flying, your fighting… there was a fair amount to say about your hair, I will admit.”

Keith actually found it in him to laugh at that. “Of course there was…” He touched his hair, twisting it between his fingers. Lance’s was just as long now, if not longer…

“Tell me about him from your perspective,” Angela said. He looked at her. She reached into her pocket, made a clicking noise, and tossed a handful of pellets onto the ground. The chickens purred and ran over, tumbling over one another to get to the snack.

“He… he was a good pilot too, and he really was an amazing shot—”

“No, no, Keith.” Angela grinned at him. “Tell me about Keith. I’ve heard so much about you from my baby, I want to hear it from you— the man himself.”

Keith paled and stalled by finishing off his drink. He set the glass down between his feet and trained his eyes on the chickens. The rooster eyed him, but made no noise, simply watched. “I—There’s really not much to say… I don’t know… I’m…” He shrugged. His ears burned. He wasn’t used to talking about himself. “I’m just… Keith.”

‘I’m just Angelo Àlvarez…’

Maybe they were more alike than Keith cared to admit.

“Where did you grow up, Keith?’

He played with the rim of the glass. “...Southern D.A. Foster system, mostly. Dad was a firefighter… so you can imagine what happened,” he muttered.

“I’m so sorry, amorcito… that must have been hard,” Angela said softly, placing a hand on his back. He was surprised he didn’t feel the urge to pull away.

He shrugged. “I was really young, I don’t know.”

“...and your mother?”

He glanced at her, wondering how she would react. Her eyes were warm enough, just like Lance’s used to be. He took a deep breath. “...Galra.” He tried to gauge her reaction, but she didn’t seem to have much of one.

She smiled and pinched his cheek. He blinked. “Explains the eyes,” she teased. She passed her hands over his hair, and something ached in his chest. She didn’t seem to notice the pain that had caused, and her hand settled on his shoulder.

“...and the blood on your shirt?” Keith went stiff. His breathing hitched, and Angela did notice that. “ Amorcito, I’m only asking because I want you to make sure it’s clean,” she said quietly, rubbing circles into his shoulder blade. “Calma, amorcito. I’m-I’m sorry, maybe that was too much, I just—” Keith managed to take a breath. She wasn’t his teammate. She meant no harm. “...I’m a mother, Keith. I worry. I’ve seen it all.”

He looked sharply at her. ‘Not…?’ She smiled, something very sad behind it, and she clearly understood the question in his eyes, but she gave him no definitive answer. He licked his lips and shrugged. “I… it’s all clean… the team knows.”

“Do you talk with them about it when things start getting rough?”

Keith was silent, and curled his arms around his legs. He shrugged. “See what I mean? Nothing much to admire.”

“Oh, amorcito, there’s a lot to be admired in you. You made it so far with so much on your shoulders. That’s why they’re so tense,” she joked. She patted his back. “...you don’t have to tell me about it. I just wanted to make sure you’re staying as safe as possible.”

“...why are you…?” He really wanted to ask outright— ‘why do you care so much?’ ‘Why do you want to know about me?’ ‘Why are you calling me amorcito?’

“You helped keep my Lancito alive. I care. And you care about him.” She hummed. “And you look miserable right now, so I should stop talking—”

“Do you think he would still—” He stopped dead in his tracks, then cleared his throat. “...do you think he would still admire me if he knew I tried to…” His fingers traced the arm guard, running along the line of that ugly fucking scar. Why was he telling her this?! He should shut his fucking mouth.

“Oh, amor,” She breathed. Keith’s breath caught in his throat as he was pulled into her embrace. So warm. Her hand ruffled his hair. “...I think… no one who matters would think any less of you, amorcito.” Tears pricked at his eyes. Damn hangover. Making him sensitive. “My Lancito would admire you for making it this far. He has far too much love in his heart.” She let out a watery laugh. “He’s just… he’s drowning a little right now. He’s still there, Keith.” He felt her plant a short kiss on the top of his head. “He’s still there. He’s a bit turned around, that's all. We all get a bit turned around sometimes. That’s okay.” She inhaled deeply and pulled back, just to hold Keith’s shoulders firmly. She smiled. “We take each others’ hands and find the right way up. Just takes a little love. That's all."

Keith pressed his hand against his eyes, taking a deep breath. He exhaled shakily. “...I hope so, Angela.”

She touched his cheek. “You need more sleep, amorcito. Go back upstairs and get some more rest.”

He looked up. “But what about—”

“I have a tentative idea. But don’t you worry about it, okay, amor?” She pinched his cheek again. “Just rest up. Go on.”

He did as she said. No one was in the bedroom when he went up—maybe Angela had told the team to let him be for a while. He sat down on the bed. He touched the arm guards, then slid them off one by one. He looked at the scars. The familiar sensation of shame bubbled up in his chest, and he huffed, looking up at the ceiling, at the little glow in the dark stars. Some were peeling off in spots, but still clung stubbornly to the white painted ceiling, refusing to fall after so many years. He took one deep breath, then another.

“How do we save you, Lance?” he breathed out, falling back onto the bed, still looking up at those tenacious little stars. His fingers ran along the raised flesh of his arms until he crossed them over his chest, tucking his hands into his armpits. He closed his eyes. “How do we turn you right-side up?”

Chapter Text

“I can stay as long as you need, amor.”

Lance sighed and turned on his back to look over at Fructuosa. She smiled at him. “My days are free,” she added, winking at him. She started to comb her fingers through his hair. “...thought you might want a reminder. You haven’t spoken in a while.”

Lance swallowed and looked up at the ceiling. The water stains, the spiderweb in the corner that he left there to take care of any errant flies—definitely didn’t fit the definition of a home, but he felt aimless at any given point, so why bother worrying? Especially since he had to start considering finding a cheaper place, if he still didn’t manage to find another job. “...should I pick up more hours at the docks?” he rasped. His throat was wrecked from crying the night before, from the shouting, the rage that returned and Fructuosa had to stop him from putting his fist through the drywall. He grimaced remembering that. He tilted his head back to look her in the eye. “...sorry again.”

“Psh,” she rubbed her fingers between his brows, forcing them to relax. “You know I’ve seen worse.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“I can handle myself and you, alma. Don’t feel bad. You panicked.” She gently patted his cheeks. “You wanna sit up so I can at least brush this damn hair?” Lance chuckled and forced himself up into a sitting position on the couch. Fructuosa must have had this in mind, because she had the brush at the ready. She started working out the tangles. “...do you wanna talk about it at all?”

Lance hummed and played with the pull tab of an empty can, then aimed and flicked it at the clock in the corner, the one that was 10 minutes behind and he’d never bothered to fix it. It hit the rim of the clock and fell to the floor with the others, to be forgotten about until he finally picked his ass up and swept the damn place. “...I don’t know how much I can tell you,” he said. Miguel told him talking would help… but how on earth could he explain what drove the cravings, what drove the numbing, without completely giving himself away? Could he trust Fructuosa with something like this?

“You know how well I keep secrets, cariño. I wouldn’t have a job if I weren’t good at that.”

Lance pursed his lips. That was true. “It’s different though,” he sighed. The brush caught on a particularly nasty snarl and he winced. “ Ow— I mean… I don’t know if you’ll believe me.”

“Try me. If you want. I’ve seen a lot.”

Lance snorted. “Uh huh. Ever seen an alien?”

Fructuosa poked his cheek. “Define ‘alien’—Angelo, are you harboring a non-citizen? Because that’s not illegal, love, I’d just be worried about space.”

“You and me both,” Lance muttered under his breath. If she’d heard him, she didn’t show it. The brush caught another tangle. “No, I mean—what I mean is—” He hissed, but the tangle came free. “...my job… before the docks, I mean—”

“Before or after you materialized from nothing in Varadero?” she joked. “ Dios mío, how’d you get it to be such a mess?” She got to work on what certainly felt like the worst tangle he’d ever had. His scalp stung. “What was your job?”

“...sniper…?” he said, not sounding too sure of himself. Was that accurate? Was that too vague? “I just… they want me to come back.”

Fructuosa had paused in her brushing. She ran her fingers down through the hair she’d detangled and squeezed his shoulders. “...and you don’t want to.” She guessed.

Lance scoffed and held up his hands. They weren’t shaking now, but he knew it would start again— it always did, he was positive it was the stress, or the anxiety. “...I couldn’t hold a gun straight to save my life,” he mused, letting his hands drop to the couch. He flicked the empty can towards the other end of the couch, but it rolled off and hit the floor. “...When I left, when I came home…” Fructuosa resumed her brushing. “...I thought that the quiet and the peace was what I needed, but I was so used to just being ready to leap up and go that I…” He sniffled. He swore he could taste something biting and bitter in the back of his throat. He shook his head. “... I needed that rush.”

“I get it. You know I do.” The brush went through smoothly this time. “...there’s still something you’re not telling me.” She gave his hair a once over and set the brush on the coffee table. She giggled and slowly wrapped her arms around his chest, pulling him back with her as she lay down against the throw pillows. “You don’t have to, but I swear to you, I’ll keep whatever you have to say a secret, Sniper Boy.’

He cringed at the nickname and shook his head. “Ugh. Don’t call me that, I’m not… proud of all the shit I did.” ‘All the pain I caused, the death I partook in…’ “...you know my family, yeah?”

“...a lot of people know about the Álvarez family, Angel.” She seemed more somber now, and Lance peeked up at her. Her eyes flitted back and forth between his. “...but not many people know which Álvarez family though, do they?”

Lance swallowed nervously. He looked away. “...not many.”

“I remember the day it happened.” His eyes snapped back to her, wide. She shrugged. “The only kid from Varadero to go to the Garrison in the D.A.— the Álvarez  kid who went missing from the school.” She sighed. “...the only one who could tell me that a star in a constellation was a ‘constant variable’ or something like that.”

His blood went cold. He chewed on his lip, but didn’t take his eyes off Fructuosa. She smiled down at him. She knew. How many people knew? Had he spilled to her when he was drunk, like he had with Decarlos? Was telling her which Álvarez family he belonged to a mistake? “...did I tell you…?” he whispered, his hands clenching over his heart.

Fructuosa rubbed her fingers into his temples. “No, cariño. You haven’t told me anything. Anyone who knows your family or who remembers what happened isn’t going to be fooled. I’m sure I’m not the only one to put the pieces together.” She rolled her eyes. “We’re not handing you over to the Garrison or anything—”

“What’s my name?” Lance blurted out. He’d bitten his lip to the point where he tasted iron.

“ Ay, Angelo, usually we have to be in the middle of it for you to be asking me to say your name.” She laughed as Lance sat up and turned to face her, just watching her. Her smile faltered. “...I know it. But you’re my Ángel, that's how you introduced yourself.” She touched his cheeks. “...do you want me to?”

Lance took a deep breath and shook his head. “...Ángelo is… it’s fine. It’s good.” He groaned and slumped forwards, leaning his head against her shoulder. She gave him a hug, pressing him against her. “...how many people do you think know?”

“Know for sure? Only the ones who know your family, I think,” She gave him a squeeze. “Like I said, though—a soldier from the Garrison is still a soldier—wherever they sent you isn’t our business—”

“They didn’t send me anywhere,” Lance whispered. “I wasn’t deployed. I— we- went…” He pointed up at the ceiling, hoping Fructuosa would get the hint. Her eyes widened. “...but there’s war there too. And I was just a kid, and most of us were just kids, and I got so used to fighting and always being on edge and ready and then it all just—” He stopped. He was breathing hard, and Fructuosa took his hands.

“Breathe, Ángelo, it’s alright.” He nodded and she squeezed his hands.

“It all just stopped. I wasn’t used to resting, and I was so scared someone would recognize me, and I couldn’t live without that adrenaline and now they’re back, and they want me to rejoin them, and I can’t—” He exhaled sharply. “I can’t do it. And they think I’ll be fine, they think I’m just Lance, I’m the sharpshooter, we need a pilot, fuck that, I can’t even hit the clock!” He grabbed his hair, almost pulled.

“Hey. Don’t ruin my hard work.” She took his hands back. “Ángelo, I think you need to give them the reason you can’t. What are you gonna do if you have flares in-well, wherever you end up? You have to tell them, amor.”

He laughed and groaned, still shaking his head. “I can’t tell them, I can’t tell them…” He groaned and gestured vaguely to himself. “... this , they’re already on my ass, calling me an alcoholic, what would they think—”

“Well, I mean—” Fructuosa’s eyes drifted to the cans on the table, remnants of his breakdown.

“ Don’t, don’t, you know it’s better than… you know.”

“I-I guess so, but that doesn’t mean you can—” Lance gave her a look and she rolled her eyes. “Nevermind. You’re not ready to hear it, so I won’t say it.” She took a steadying breath, then gently punched his shoulder. “...I still think you should talk to them. One of these days, they’re gonna find out.”

“I hope they never do. I want them to give up on me for real this time, and I want to just stay here—”

“Ángelo, I’m afraid if you stay here and leave things the way they are, it’s going to kill you for real this time.”

Lance blinked. Fructuosa had tears in her eyes. “You—”

“We all care about you, Ángelo, and we don’t want you to leave, but the road you’re walking now is just as dark as the first wrong turn you took. Take it from me, there are better paths to follow.”

He wasn’t quite sure how to react to that, but he didn’t have time to. A knock on the front door startled them both. “Shit—” he swore, scrambling to his feet. He grabbed the cans and threw them in the recycling as he went to check the peephole. He heard Fructuosa get up, saw her stretching out of the corner of his eye. He glanced through the peephole, pale. “...fuck,” he hissed.

Fructuosa came up behind him, smiled sadly at him, then unlocked the door. “ Pasa!” she said cheerfully, and swung open the door. Coming face to—well, not face to face but maybe face to chest with Shiro. Fructuosa looked up at Shiro’s startled face, then back at Lance, who had his hand pressed to his forehead as he stood behind the door. “ Qué guapo, wow!” She teased.

From what Lance could see through the crack in the hinge of the door, Shiro looked thoroughly startled. “Uh… wrong- uh, casa… incorrecta, lo siento—”

“Oh no, sólo se esconde,” she said, jerking her thumb towards Lance. He glared at her, and she just grinned mirthlessly at him. “Pero qué hay de nuevo?” She stuck her tongue out at him—she must not have been that upset. “Bye, handsome,” she said, gliding past Shiro and giving him a wink as she left.

Lance sighed. ‘Bite the bullet, Lance.’ He opened the door the full way, cheeks burning. “...did mamá tell you where I lived?” He said, finally greeting Shiro head on.

“She—yes, she thought… maybe it would be best for us to have some proper time to talk… she said you’re not working today?”

Lance tried to breathe evenly and forced a smile. “I’m off the hook today.” ‘No you’re not’. “You’re welcome to come in, but it’s um…” He looked over his shoulder, then scowled. “...it’s a little messy.”

“That’s fine, Lance, I just wanted to talk with you—I mean, like, catching up?”

Lance stared at him, eyebrow raised, but he did step aside so he could come in. “I’ve pretty much caught you up to speed, Shiro.” He closed the door behind him and hoped to god he didn’t have anything embarrassing out in the open.

Shiro took a moment to look around the tiny apartment kitchen. It wasn’t… too bad. There was a broken glass in the sink, and Lance swore silently—he’d done that last night, hadn’t he? He wasn’t expecting anyone, he didn’t want anyone in here, this was his… his…

His what? His safe place? He wasn’t sure if he felt particularly safe anywhere… Safe from Alexandro, from (most) of the questioning, and it was supposed to be safe from—

“Lance?” Shiro was looking at him. Fuck. Lance took in a breath and forced a grin. “You okay there? You spaced out.”

“Right on brand, huh?” he rasped. God, right, his voice was wrecked. Did he look okay? Did he look sober? He wouldn’t be able to handle the third degree right now. “Well, that’s… that’s the kitchen. Not much, but uh… it’s a kitchen.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and shrugged. “Uh… come on. If you wanna sit down, let’s go to the living room. Do you want anything to drink? I have—” His rambling cut short as he cracked open the fridge and promptly shut it, going pale. “...I have water, and I have orange juice,” he muttered, standing slightly in front of the fridge handle.

Shiro raised his eyebrows at him, then lifted his head. “...water would be great… thanks, Lance.”

Lance showed Shiro to the living room, then trudged back into the kitchen. He found a clean glass in the back of the cupboard and grabbed the pitcher from the fridge, moving a six-pack he didn’t remember buying out of the way. Something twinged in the pit of his stomach, gnawing at him, but he shook his head. ‘You’re fine. You’re like anyone your age.’ He poured the glass and eyed the broken cup in the sink. He’d thrown it in there in a moment of panic. A shard glinted at him from the countertop—seems he’d gotten some good shrapnel from that. He dragged a hand down his face and shoved the pitcher back in the fridge. He closed the door, feeling a little nauseous, and took a deep breath. ‘Time to face the firing squad’, he thought, rolling his eyes as he stepped up into the living room.

Shiro was looking around, taking in his surroundings, as Lance set the water down on the coffee table in front of him. He knew that look— find the exits, the entrances—seat yourself in the corner chair, back to the wall. That door over there is closed, why is it closed, is there someone in there—

Lance jerked his head towards the closed door he’d caught Shiro staring at. “Bedroom. It’s a nightmare at the moment, so… you won’t be getting a full tour today, sorry,” he said, sitting down on the couch. He laced his fingers together and tried to keep himself from bouncing his leg. ‘Don’t give him any ammo,’ he thought, leaning back and keeping his hands on his lap. ‘Don’t look too closed off.’

“Oh… that’s fine, I just… figured we could talk.” Shiro took a sip of water and looked towards the kitchen. “...who was that?” he asked.

Lance looked towards the door. He wished she’d dragged him along with her. Wished she hadn’t opened the door. “...Fructuosa. Friend of mine,” he said. He cleared his throat. “She was just… just visiting.” He winced. That just sounded worse. He waved a hand, seeing Shiro’s brow start to rise. “Not like that.”

“Oh… got it.” He tapped his prosthetic finger against the glass. Lance felt a muscle in his jaw working. He looked away from the arm. It brought up too many memories—Galran tech, the battleships, the explosions… his back tingled. “So… you aren’t seeing anyone?”

Lance blinked. He snorted, not able to contain it. “What? You worried about Loverboy Lance?” He stuck his tongue out. “...I tried. Relationships aren’t… they aren’t for me.” He thought briefly about the night before, how gentle Keith’s arms had been around his waist, the way he flirted back with ease. He shook his head. “Kinda difficult to open up to someone when your past includes alien space battles and robot cats,” he scoffed.

“I’d… imagine.”

Silence. It was then that Lance started to notice things he didn’t want Shiro to notice. The scent of stale tobacco, the ashtray in the window, the pull tab glinting on the floor by his foot. He lifted his foot and hid it, surreptitiously sliding it under the couch. The hair on his neck prickled. Why did he still care so much? Shiro was no longer his captain, no longer his team mate…

Lance sighed. Who was he kidding? The man was his hero for years. Even now, with the tension in the air, in an unfamiliar territory, he still managed to hold himself together. “...sorry if this is all a disappointment, Shiro,” he murmured, waving his hand. He smiled, but something in the muscles he used told him it came across as more of a sneer. “We don’t… not all of us adjust well.”

“Lance, it’s not—” Shiro stopped, then set his water down. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped. “If you’re comparing yourself to me… it’s not possible.” Lance snickered, and Shiro gave him a stern look. Lance shut himself up and averted his eyes. “Our situations are different. I never left the battlefield. Once I was in it, I stayed in it—this is the first time we’ve had any sort of real lull, and even now…” He clenched and unclenched his human fist. “It’s scary. It feels too quiet. I’m still on edge. I mean, you remember how I was sometimes. I’d have flashbacks in the middle of it all…”

Lance shrugged. “You still managed to come back, though.” I couldn’t do that. He swallowed thickly—memories of something acrid, tinged with iron. He sniffed, wishing he had a cigarette to douse the memory of the taste.

“Yes, well… Like I said, our situations are different. You came back—one moment you were fighting, the next you were on earth. I can’t imagine that’s an easy adjustment to make,” Shiro said, his voice soft.

Lance pulled his feet closer to the couch, longing to curl up in a ball and be alone. “...I made the adjustments I needed to make,” he said curtly. “Got a physical job, made new friends, caught up on sleep…”

“...Lance, whatever happened, it’s… it was such a change, it finally gave your mind the space to panic, to understand that what you went through was insane, and terrifying and dangerous, so… whatever happened to you… it makes sense.”

Lance’s mouth went dry. His heart pounded, almost to the point where his ribs hurt. He stood up suddenly, movements jerky. Shiro flinched, and Lance looked down at him, eyes wide, blood cold. The gnawing in his stomach had chewed straight through it seemed, and a pit had opened up. “...what did Alex tell you?” he asked, his voice shaking, but as calm as he could muster. His knuckles turned white, his fingernails bit into his palms. Shiro shook his head and Lance rubbed his mouth. “ Shiro. What did he tell you?”

“Lance, he—no one told us anything, your mother only said—”

“Puñeta—”

“Lance, we don’t know what happened,” Shiro said, finally standing up and putting his hands out in a surrender. Lance’s chest heaved. “...she said it was something that was up to you to tell us.”

Lance laughed—he didn’t think he’d ever heard such a wretched sound come out of his mouth. “ Did she?!” He moved away, fists opening and closing, heart pounding, heart pounding— he clutched his chest, his back hit the wall. He gasped and held himself up there, panting, looking around frantically. He didn’t have his shoes on, he couldn’t just run out. Not looking like this, not to be surrounded by strangers, by threats—how many people knew he was Lance, how many knew? “ Did she tell you that? Did she say how much of a fuckup I was? How much it fucked me up even now?!” Was he even safe here anymore? Was he ever safe? He felt dizzy, oh god. He slid down the wall. Out of options. He could lock himself in his room? Would Shiro break the door down? What if he was lying, did he know? “Oh dios, puñeta-” 

“Lance.” The voice was calm and steady, but firm. His eyes raised from his knees to the face in front of him. Hands up, no weapons. Lance eyed the Galran arm—Shiro lowered it, noticing the way his eyes lingered there. “Breathe.”

Lance found himself staring into the eyes. Tunnel vision, he supposed. He took in a shaky breath. He was gonna give himself away. Shiro dipped his head.

“One more.”

Another breath.

“One more.”

Lance couldn’t remember how long it took. Only once the cold sweat on his neck had dried, only when his heart rate was normal, and only when the shaking had stopped did he take a deep breath.

“...good job, Lance.”

He scoffed. “Shiro…” he murmured.

Shiro was kneeling in front of him, eye level. “Yes, Lance?”

Lance finally looked up, meeting Shiro’s gaze head on. “...do you understand now? Why you guys don’t want me?” he hissed. Shiro’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t give him a chance to respond. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe coming back here broke me. Maybe it wouldn’t have broken me like this if I’d stayed up there, but I would’ve been broken all the same.” He shook his head. “Disregarding the fact that you all seemed to forget I existed. Disregarding the fact that Blue and Red shut me out… disregarding all of that… that’s in the past. I’m broken now.” He looked at his hands. Something akin to grief flickered in the back of his mind—no way he had that dexterity anymore. He chuckled. “I’m no longer a soldier. I’m no sniper. I’m Ángelo, and it should stay that way.”

“...you’re not broken, Lance.”

“Shiro, please leave.”

There was the silence again. No one moved, no one spoke. Lance exhaled slowly.

“...Please leave.”

One moment. Two. Shiro bowed his head and stood up. He stayed where he was for a moment, then held out his hand. “...can I help you up?” Lance just watched him. There was a lump in his throat, and he knew that if he said anything, he would shatter completely. Shiro nodded and took a deep breath. “I’m… I’m sorry, Lance.”

Lance gave him a nod and jerked his head towards the door, then buried his face in his arms, tucking his knees up to his chest.

Shiro didn’t move for a time until, finally, the steps retreated. Out of the living room—down the step into the kitchen, 5 steps to the door, a pause. The sound of the knob turning and the latch giving way.

“...Lance, just… know that you can talk to us, or to me… I won’t judge you.”

The door shutting.

Lance sobbed, shoulders trembling.

That was the last thing he’d wanted his hero to see.

But maybe it would be enough.

He sniffed.

“...yes, you would.”