Chapter Text
Lance Juan Andres García McClain.
Born in Cuba, in Varadero, near the beautiful Varadero Beach.
Boy in his late teens - just turned seventeen in July 28th.
Long and lin, with thin limbs and features.
Tanned skin, short brown hair, and deep blue eyes.
As blue as the sea under a stormy night sky. The exact storm twirling in his mind nowadays. Messing up with his thoughts, drowning his emotions in a whirlwind of water, rushing and crashing in. Tornado devastating him through the inside, leaving only rubbles his long fingers desperately tried to grab onto, to hold on, nails scraping on the weak, fragile bricks. All just to avoid being swept up, whipped from the ground of sanity he was on.
Almost to no avail, though. He knew he was dipping under the longer he stayed there, watching, listening indoors. What couldn’t reach couldn’t hurt.
But what was heard caught him straight to the heart.
He wanted to puke. All the salt, all the clear blue liquid, bypassing his thin barriers, which he thought so solid...All the tears from the ocean he created, with sobs and pain, despair clear on his features. An iceberg melting down, slowly, surely enough. Huge, towering his heart, it was casting its shadow on him. Obscurity with words, and an unnamed shape - really? He knew it, though. He already knew everything.
Knowledge is your best friend and your worst enemy.
How accurate is it? The door to awareness was open to him, but he had to hold on its key now, to fit in the hole - suffering.
He was wailing, hurting from the inside out. Wounds opened, deep enough for him to die, bleeding blue.
A blue where he could find himself gladly drown...but deadly.
He could taste the salty water aggravating his injuries. Varadero Beach was so close, but at the same time so far…
The crystal droplets couldn’t help him with reality. Just reminding deep memories, where he remembered being happy and in peace with himself and the sky above, lost in an innocent oblivion he would have kept, with it rolling down his face. A wonder, a matter - “ It tastes the same ” but it’s not. Sour, tastes like melancholy and sadness. Nostalgia can only do so much with tears of a stolen innocence. Cries of the innocent are the most heart wrenching view, especially for the one whose smile can light up the whole world, and put celestial bodies to shame. But the stars stayed the diamonds of this dark sky, shining upon them all. And Lance was basking in them too, marvelling on it, if it wasn’t for how icy they truly were...Being the only watchers of his endless struggles, the ones surveying his silver cage the Castle’s become.
He couldn’t blame the Universe for its doomed fate. But at least, it could let him rest. Because he was just as doomed himself, destiny sealed in fatality.
Bloody fingers holding onto his blue heart, slowly filling with the shady waters of doubt and hurt. And he could only drown in eternal abyss, while his teammates were swimming above. And he could only watch the ones he learned to love for their true valor, while being dragged down. But who could tell? He was lost in a dark forest, yes, lost child in unknown, obscure territories.
And no one can hear you scream in the woods...
No one, except this. The quiet.
The silence was death. The silent was the dead.
And he could only bear so much. But he could always scream, right? He could...if it wasn't for the ones he loved. It's not better to shut up, but at least it avoids arguments. And he was sick, it was sickening, getting him ill, because it got nowhere every goddamn time, and he just wants this to stop - ! Some days, he just wishes he wasn't. But wasn't what? That he wasn't so dead inside, wasn't struggling so much, wasn't homesick, wasn't so dead inside at times? He couldn't tell. There was so much he could say. He was many things. Maybe the single answer was if he ceased to be.
Existing is a chore, but he could only do it gladly, because he was already thinking too much about it.
How it would be like, if he wasn't there. And it didn't scare him as much as it should. Maybe after all he was a ghost in the shell of a living being. But just how alive can it be?
It was all quiet water, muffling his sensations in a dull numbness, and he could only surrender to the surface mirroring his dead mind when times called for it, his body floating above like a corpse. And the sounds of calm waves running over his body, licking his fingers and his toes, filling his ears in a sorrowful contentment.
Alone and fading away slowly in an abyssal ocean of navy ink made out of the crystal blue droplets leaking from his now indigo eyes.
Maybe he was bound to be lonely.
Alone within the others. What a cruel destiny.
He was wondering. Bounded to the ground, held back by words and a full ocean. Waves upon waves caressing his toes with tenderness. One which broke his heart.
There was nothing kind behind them.
Waves upon one another washing over his thoughts and memories. On his bed, he closed his eyes, hearing the far away sounds of the night, the voices of the underground, his heart dripping blue, stained white. No darkness. Just a foggy grey covering his thoughts, twirling in his head like obscure clouds.The whispers were hushed by the noises of the ocean next to his ear, drowning him in nostalgia. He remembered the rain, tender, peaceful, soothing his nerves and washing away the black ink biting his fingers, painting his mind. The feeling of the water rolling on his skin, the velvet of its caress. The shining pearls hanging on his lashes, blurring a tad his view. And then the river of diamonds began leaking from his eyes shut. A breathless gasp wrenching itself out of his sore throat - too little talk, too much silence, perhaps it’s the contrary.
What could he say though. He was lost. Lost at a sea of despair, lies and doubts. He wasn't certain to ever see the surface again. He didn't know if his voice could be heard in the Void of oblivion created under his feet, slowly creeping around him, threatening his heart, creating a lump in his throat. He was silenced by the salty liquid filling his mouth. Tasted bittersweet.
Sour in his liquid mirrors who serves him as eyes.
Was he a blessed child? His mama always told him so. Saying constantly to him, back home, “Eres destinado para grandes cosas hijo!”,in her booming voice, beaming at him with a big smile and an undying enthusiasm...Ha ha. It probably died down at the same time he did. In memories, that is. He was certain that after the Kerberos incident, the Garrison would erase their existence. No doubt he’s dead and buried, and his family is living with the aftermaths. He knew how much they were attached to him. It could be felt in his veins. Himself was craving them like water in a desert. He was dying of thirst, swallowing liters of sadness. Homesickness, they said. That is indeed a desert of ice, where he was frozen, lying down on the snow, slowly being swallowed into a frozen lake.
God how he was lounging to hear the laughs, to see the smiles, the happy chattering in the familiar language he desperately wanted to listen to, along with the delicious lyrics rolling on the tongue of his older sister, Hannah who had a real talent to captivate everyone. She has teached him how to go in the highest notes when singing, which he performed to the point of not having a great strain while doing so. He had his skilled voice, and the grace of his oldest brother, Amaury when it came to move around. He remembered when they would pass afternoons make up dancing contests, and when Amaury would teach him some sick moves he would try to copy. He actually cried when he was able to make his first choreography which he created himself, rearranging slightly some of his brother’s moves. Amaury often invited to join him to their small skate park, where he would be with his friends. They weren’t as much as deterred as their first time seeing Lance with their “bro”.
The booming energy of his mother, Sofia, except that he was overloaded with electricity, and a real desire to live way above his mama’s level. He was often seen running around in their neighborhood, always with some other children. It didn’t stopped when he got older, always laughing and joking around with some really close friends. Then, there was his rational and tactical side, coming from his other older brother, Nahuel, with who he learned to play chess, and strategic war games. His want to discover the worlds he came upon and travel, he took that from his uncle Paris, and the sense of music from his husband, Orfeo.
When he had his first interrogations about his sexuality, he came to them. Orfeo has been a role model for him, like Paris.
He also liked his young aunt Iliana, the one who gave him his pretty good aim. They used to wrestle when she came back from her work and went to their house. She made him learn how to shoot targets at different angles and distances. Nerf games were always a big challenge with her! She has been in the military forces, now working as a special agent. She said she was fighting for good causes around the world, crossing paths with her brother and his husband at times. For him, she was a Lara Croft of the real world. He reminded himself of his fifteen’s, when she recorded a video where she shot multiple times in the air to play the happy birthday song. She offered him a real gun and one of her military insignias. “My most precious one” , she told him. After that, they went to a laser game, and he teamed up with her. They were indestructible.
His playful side came from his younger siblings, Isis and Isidoro, even though they were about Pidge’s age, one year younger now that he thinks. He liked to wrestle with them too. And they brought him hell, but they were still funny as hell, and even if they bickered, it was cool. They played a lot of games together, and he came to overpass his need of electronics with them, even though there was a lot of banters with 3DS and other consoles. They would bring along their cousins of their age, Maël and Alyx. The nights of sleepover with everyone were filled with laughters and a lot of screaming when they were with them.
Speaking of bickering, there was his older sister and his brother of the same age, Juliana and Frederic. But, even if they bickered a lot, he found in those arguments something...funny, a note of lightheadedness, something he doesn’t think he could forget and separate himself from. They were nice when it was needed, and when they felt like it was the time, really helpful in the worst moment. Real brother and sister. He would never exchange them for nothing in the world. It was silly, but Keith’s and his discourses and challenges reminded them, and how they used to work at three. Promises were made with them too. He missed them so much…
His cousin of the same age as him by now, Amour. Both inseparable, doing everything together. He had their sensibility. They were always paired up in familial parties. They also seeked for Lance’s twin, Fidel, with who he got loyalty and strong-will. The three of them were a diabolic trio, but they loved each other and were also angelic. Though everyone ran when they knew they were in for a prank or something. He shared everything he had with them.
He never stopped loving them both, even after they came out respectively as nonbinary and trans. Their family was kind of tense with the revelation, because link of blood, and “what concerns my family concerns me” , but Lance never cared about it in this way.
He got acceptance and tolerance from Amour. Understanding from Fidel. He was proud. And they were too, of him.
Developed brotherly side and the sense of responsibility with his youngest siblings, Pedro, Caliste and Bianca. They were adorable and all, but also little demons when they wanted to. Sometimes - scratch that, many times Lance took for them, but his mother noticed when he would lie for them half of the time. At those moments, she would just sigh, and offer a warm chocolate to her hijo. But he would still go to bed without desserts, or worst, without dinner. However he did watch over them, and has teached them a lot of things to know on the world, and the rules of politeness, the allowed swears (some banished ones still filtered incidentally, and his mother got to him with a shoe for that, while Iliana just laughed because she was there to witness that the first time). He was like, a second parent for them, even more than a brother, since his dad was very much never there to play with them, always too tired or feeling too little invested in their lives.
His papa, Rodrigo, from who he learned patience, and how to huld grudges. But also how to fire back to comments, to defend himself verbally and to be proud of what he had. To keep his head high and straight in front of the dark, just like Iliana told him to. And he also learned to forgive, way, way after he thought he already knew everything that has to be known.
Then, he learned true love for the first time, along with his sexuality with Cameron. A mysterious teenager who made his heart bit hard in his chest, like he never felt it. Green eyes, straight dark hair in a square reaching a bit under his chin. Pretty pale. A plain clothing style, with various patterns, but he noticed floral ones, with wings and cranes. Strange in his own way. Mysteries always attracted him, and he loved to solve them. Delicate features and magnetic aura and charm.
And last but not least, Lissandre, his 'near-twin', an autistic albinos boy around his age who wandered around, and was basically adopted by his mother and the rest of his family at home, passing most of his time there (to the point of him living inside).With him, Lance learned a new form of understanding, maturity and brotherly love. The notion of loving someone with all your heart while not being lover or connected by blood.
All of them were the ones who marked his life, even if there are more family members. They were the ones he remembered pretty well. The rest was fading slowly, coming back in broken records. And he hated himself for it.
He prayed for all of them. He wanted them to be safe with all his heart. If only all the familial conflicts could be solved. He did know that his family wouldn’t take his ‘death’ well. But he didn’t know to which intensity the familial damages would be, and under which form they would be presented.
He wished he had a good star. To light up his path, instead of the cold darkness under his feet. Like he let footprints of the space on the Castle’s alleys. Sparkling with little stars, in the beautiful mix of dark colors the galaxy sported. Always leaving a Void behind him, although he was stepping on it every times.
He was drowning in blue, and no one can stop him. No one could. They couldn’t have stopped him.
It was a freefall. He deliberately let himself fall down.
To die to know what it’s like to be alive.
He’ll sleep for now...