Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Keith was a lot of things. He was courageous, agile, and astounding. He could take a crowd's breath away with a flip of his raven-colored locks. But, there is one thing he never the best at: asking for help.

For the most part, he could get away with saying "I'm fine" and not one person would bat an eye at the orphaned kid. That is, until he came under the watchful eyes of his surrogate brothers Shiro and Adam.

Shiro was different than the others; he didn't persistently pester Keith like James and Lance, nor did he ignore him like Hunk and the rest of the Garrison. He was kind and actually seemed interested in what Keith had to say. He promised to never give up on Keith, no matter how stubborn he got. Adam, Shiro's fiancé, was a little harsher on the kid, but he seemed to have a soft spot for him somewhere in his heart.

And yet, Keith still hid behind the walls he built up. He couldn't and wouldn't trust anyone but himself with the secrets of his past. Behind all the twisted scars and pale skin hid a small boy, lost and alone in the coldness of his loneliness. It isn't that he wanted to be alone; more that his walls were too strong for even him to pass.

But...is it possible for a new face to break the barriers?

Chapter Text

When Keith stirred into consciousness, a piercing migraine grasped a firm hold of his skull and seemingly fried his brain of all rhyme and reason. With a low groan, his body forced him into a sitting position and let his feet slide off the comfort of his soft, warm bed. Upon making contact with the floor, a shiver was sent down his spine that made him hug his chest for warmth.

To put it plainly: he felt like shit. His neck was beaded with sweat, his vision swirled with black spots, his entire body was full of goosebumps, his nose was extremely stuffy, and even his stomach turned at any sudden movement. He hadn't remembered the last time he'd been this sick, or even if he has ever felt this bad.

Still, he was certain that this petty illness wasn't going to ruin his day. Besides, why would he want to worry his team when they're already preoccupied with other, more important, endeavors?

Keith reached for his black t-shirt, which was lying on his bedside table, and pulled it over his pale torso. He may have been sick, but he sure didn't want to look the part. He brushed through his silky mullet, making sure all the knots and stray hairs were matted down, and slipped the sleeves of his favorite red-and-white jacket along his arms.

Standing up was a bit of a difficult feat, what with Keith's newfound dizziness, but he somehow did it. His head seemed to pulse, which brought on the thought: I wonder if Coran has any painkillers...

With a mug face and a false grin, Keith trudged through the long hallways of the castle to get to the kitchen. Each step came with a shock of pain that he hoped wasn't evident on his face. His ears had this low ringing sound that he just couldn't seem to place. He wished he could hum it away, but a knot in his sore throat seemed to prevent him.

Finally, he made it to the kitchen. He broadened his shoulders and stiffened his posture to look convincing as he made his way to the long dinner table. Surprisingly, everyone was already there. Hunk was cooking away in the kitchen; Pidge and Shiro were peering over Pidge's laptop on the table; Coran was...cleaning..?; Lance was making some chocolate milk; and Allura, with the help of her mice friends, was typing her blue locks to the top of her head. Keith took a deep breath, ready to greet the others before a coughing fit wracked through his body. Everyone was suddenly staring at the red paladin with worry. It was a look that made Keith's insides twist, as he hated being pitied.

Once the coughs subsided and Keith had wiped the tears from his eyes, Hunk spoke in a concerned manner. "Keith? Are you alright?"

Keith nodded his head twice, which he immediately regretted it. The painful rattling of his skull seemed to make they world sway. "I'm...f-fine.."

Shiro seemed to see Keith's slight swaying since he abruptly stood from his seat. "You don't look fine."

Keith sniffled, rubbing his nose and taking a seat adjacent to the studious green paladin. He awaited Hunk to finish cooking, suppressing his nagging urges to cough or sniffle, as the black paladin's gaze bore into his skull and read him like a book. He knew Shiro was rather perceptive, but he had hoped his façade would hold out at least through breakfast.

"Allura? Can you help me serve the food?" Hunk called from the kitchen. Bowls of space goo were perched on the half-wall dividing the two rooms, each with a complimentary spork. Allura nodded, thanking her mice softly and walking over to grab a few bowls.

When a bowl of goo was placed before Keith, his stomach churned. He was hungry, sure, but his stomach was already full of anxiety and bile. He just couldn't find any appetite in his tiny, ill-stricken stomach. He picked up his spork, cringing at the coolness of the metal, and spooned in a few mouthfuls of goo. His stomach instantly twisted, causing a wave of nausea to pass with a shiver. Keith couldn't force himself to eat any more of the horrid substance, so he instead tried to listen in on the conversation. His hearing was muffled, but that shouldn't be a problem.

"Hey, Lance," Pidge started. "I found a new game at the space mall the other day. Wanna come to check it out?"

Lance, who had already scarfed down the entire bowl of food, stretched his arms upwards. "Sure. What game is it?"

Pidge and Hunk exchanged wide smiles. "Metroid!!" They exclaimed in unison. It practically blew Lance's chair back, which Keith would have laughed at if he were in the proper condition to. Lance quickly regained his composure, but Keith could tell that Lance was terrible at hiding his excitement.

The conversation went on and on, and Keith eventually got lost. He loved video games as a kid, but he just was never in the mood for them anymore. It was weird for him to be so quiet, even after Coran and Allura jumped in on the conversation. He could feel Shiro's eyes on him still. Shiro ate his food slowly, looking as if he wanted to say something to Keith but held it back.

A hand waved in his face, startling the Korean boy and making him jump slightly.

"Relax, Keith," Pidge, who now had her full attention on Keith, said with a slight sigh. "I was just asking you a question."

Keith had never heard said question. "S-Sorry...I didn't catch it. C-Could you...say it a-again?"

Pidge's smile furrowed into an "o" shape. "I asked if you wanted to play the game with us."

Keith wanted nothing more than to lay in bed and sleep, as impossible as that was. After breakfast, he had planned to go to the training deck and try to regain his normal agility. Anything less, and the other paladins would suspect something. Anything more, and he would surely collapse and worry the others.

And Keith didn't think he was someone worth worrying about.

Keith waved his hand and declined the invitation, watching as Pidge just nodded and Lance's smile fell. He pushed his barely eaten food goo towards the middle of the table and stood from his uncomfortable seat. His legs were barely able to hold his weight, but he somehow stabled himself before stumbling.

Shiro gave Keith a fatherly glare. "Are you going to finish eating that?"

Keith didn't want to shake his head again, so he placed most of his power into making his voice sound normal through his scratchy throat. "I'm just...not that hungry. I'll eat l-later."

Without another word, the stubborn paladin stumbled from the room, leaving the paladins and Alteans shocked.

"What the quiznack is up with him today?" Allura whispered to Shiro.

Shiro shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. I'll ask him about it later."

---------------------------------------------------------

It was only thirty dobashes after breakfast, and everyone was already doing their own things. The Garrison trio was hanging out in Pidge's room, and Allura and Coran were running diagnostics on the castle's functions. It was a free day, much to Shiro's delight, since they were traveling to the Balmera without a wormhole.

Shiro was usually wanting a free day for the longest time. Ever since Keith and the crew saved him from the Garrison quarantine, he hadn't had a lot of time to himself. Until now, he had no time to think about his friends back on Earth. More importantly: he hadn't thought about his lovely fiancé Adam.

The two were roommates at the Garrison, and eventually, they developed feelings towards each other. There were so many warm memories they shared together, like their first pod race and their first kiss; even the time Shiro proposed to him came to mind.

Shiro shook his head. No, he shouldn't think about Adam right now. The two broke up before the Kerberos trip. Adam refused to go through grief again, so he broke it off before he could lose Shiro (as he was sure Shiro would die during this mission). He remembered how devastated Keith looked when he was told the news.

Speaking of Keith...

Shiro's mind wandered back to his brother's actions this morning. He looked so sickly pale, with his bloodshot eyes, redder than red nose, dark bags under his eyes, and pinkly puffy cheeks. There was absolutely no doubt he was feeling nauseous while eating, what with that expression on his face. And yet, he tried to hide it.

Shiro swore he would never understand that boy.

Actually, Shiro had no idea where the red paladin was at the moment. He sat up from the sofa he was lying on, deciding the best thing he could do was look for him. Though, it seemed he didn't have to, as the paladin was walking through the doors of the recreation room. He only grabbed Shiro's attention when he tumbled to the ground with a loud and exasperated groan.

Shiro immediately shot up, thoughts swarming through his head like a tsunami as he tried to piece together why the boy was in his paladin armor, sweaty, and passed out on the floor. Anxiety tangled in his stomach. He sprinted towards the collapsed figure, tearing off his armor and seeing the sweat seeping through the boy's gray sweats. There was no doubt he was training vigorously in his sickly state.

He shook Keith rather vigorously, practically shouting for him to wake up. Keith opened his eyes slightly with a low groan before shooting up and spewing the contents of his stomach all over the floor. If it were possible, he was even paler than he was earlier.

Keith panted and heaved, allowing Shiro to rub circles on his back and whisper soothingly. In all the commotion, the trio had come out of the room and watched breathlessly as the scene unfolded before their eyes.

Keith's dry heaving gradually turned to ragged breaths. He coughed slightly, clearing his throat before suddenly diving into Shiro's chest limply. Luckily, Shiro caught him in time and sprawled him across his lap. He pushed the boy's raven hair out of his face, peering at the boy's exhausted face. Placing his human hand on his forehead, he felt a spike of warmth that made him retract his hand.

"He's burning up!" Shiro exclaimed, then cursing under his breath. He heard Pidge giggling and whispering "language, Cap" under her breath and receiving a rather hard nudge from Lance. He couldn't hear what Hunk said, as he was drowning in the sea of his own worries, but he could tell Hunk was frightened.

Pidge tugged on the hem of Hunk's shirt. "Come on, we'll go get Coran." They left shortly thereafter, taking one last glance at Keith, they took their leave. Leaving Lance to his confusion and Shiro to his anxiety.

---------------------------------------------------------

"I think he passed out from exhaustion and dehydration, multiplied by overexertion and this strange illness he has," Coran explained, gazing at his monitor that showed Keith's diagnosis.

They were in the med bay, Keith laying on an operation table and plugged into various machines. Lance guessed that one of them was similar to an IV on Earth. Shiro pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly having a headache. Lance didn't know what to think while the two peered over the red paladin's limp figure. It was apparent to even him that Keith was sick, and Lance wasn't the best at catching those sorts of things.

So...why did he try to hide it from everyone?

Shiro cleared his throat, revealing a raspy voice. "A strange illness? What do you mean?"

Coran hummed, playing with his mustache as he scrolled through a list of ailments. "He definitely is ill, but I have never seen such an illness before. Therefore, I can't identify or treat it."

"Will the healing pods help?" Lance offered anxiously.

"No, those only work on physical wounds."

Lance glanced over at Shiro for reassurance, instead finding the paladin rubbing the start of a beard on his chin and staring blankly at his brother. His eyes seemed to light up, and his head shot up and darted to meet Coran's gaze. "What about the Balmerans? Can they help?"

This gave Lance a glimmer of hope. As much as he considers Keith his rival, he has grown a bit attached to the stubborn boy over the year they had been in space. While he would never admit it, he really did care about that damn mullet-headed idiot.

Coran waited for a few tics before replying. "It's worth a try. But we will have to arrive sooner than expected if we want number four to heal sooner."

Shiro nodded his head, calling Allura into the room. She ran in moments later, wearing her favorite blue dress and golden tiara. Her face went from excited to concerned in a matter of tics after glancing at Keith.

"What's going on?" She asked. Well, more demanded than asked.

Coran was about to reply, but Shiro cut him off. "Princess, can you please wormhole this castle to the Balmera?"

Allura gave a questioning look. "I thought we were going there leisurely; to save my energy?"

Lance shook his head. He shocked himself when he realized his hands were gripping Keith's, though he tried to keep his mind on the situation. "Change of plans. Keith is sick, and we can't treat him."

Allura gasped slightly before giving her orders. "Alright. I'll go start the teleduv. Coran, can you drive the ship?" Coran was already out of the room before she finished her question. She turned to Shiro next. "Shiro. I need you to broadcast to the Balmera and tell them we're arriving early. Can you do that for me?"

Shiro sighed, releasing the bit of raven hair his metallic hand was playing with and reluctantly left the room with the princess in tow. Lance couldn't imagine how hard it was for Shiro to leave Keith's bedside, especially since there was no guarantee he could even be cured. However, he went anyway, which proved to Lance that he truly had faith in our allies.

With no one except the two males in the room, the room was silent. Well, except for the beeping of a heart monitor and the occasional dripping from the IV bag. Lance's fingers brushed from Keith's chest all the way up to his lips, which were dry and chapped. Lance's gaze couldn't strand far from his lips. They were so kissable; a feature Lance had noticed only then.

Keith stirred slightly in his sleep, mumbling something incoherently for a few tics before his soft snores resurfaced. Lance chuckled at Keith's cuteness and innocence while sleeping, suppressing the urge to poke his reddened cheeks. Keith was so peaceful while he slept; like he could just forget all of his worries in his state of unconsciousness. Lance kind of envied that, since he himself gets nightmares almost every night.

Still, even sleep must be uncomfortable when you are as sick as Keith was. In Lance's sympathy, he couldn't stop himself from leaning into Keith's forehead with puckered lips and placing a kiss under his bangs.

"Get better soon, buddy."

Chapter Text

Soon thereafter, the Castle of Lions has made it's landing on the rocky surface of the Balmera. Lance couldn't really tell until Pidge came to help, as he was preoccupied with giving Keith a breathing mask. He was spiraling in his own little world of anxiety and guilt for not noticing Keith was ill sooner. His thoughts wandered through the forest of his dark thoughts.

I should have noticed...

I was so, so stupid...

I'm a failure...

The sudden contact of a hand with his shoulder sent fear through his spines. He jumped backward, raising his hands to his chest defensively in case of an attacker. When his nerves stilled a little bit his vision had cleared enough to make out a small redhead peering up at him curiously, their eyeglasses shining up in his face.

Pidge placed her hands on her hips in a sassy manner. "Geez, Lance. It's just me."

Lance took a deep breath to still the spikes pricking in his chest and lowered his guard. "Sorry...about that."

Pidge nodded her head, adjusting her glasses to go further towards her hazel eyes. "Well, Hunk and his girlfriend went to fetch a doctor. Shiro, Allura, and Coran are doing some diplomatic work with the leaders."

Lance's gaze landed on the pale, unconscious boy before him. The bags under his eyes were fairly evident; a bruise forming where the IV was punctured in his arm; his breathing was slow, and Lance could see the goosebumps forming along Keith's now bare arms. Keith looked way too sick and malnourished for comfort. Lance thought about placing a second IV (if that would help, he thought) in Keith's forearm before a new voice rang through the room in an echo.

"Oh my!" Shay said with a sharp gasp. Lance turned to see her in her usual attire, placing a hand over her gaping mouth with fear in her eyes. Hunk stood behind her, equally concerned. He breathed an apology when a slightly taller Balmeran pushed past him to get a good look at the sick boy. He was taller than Shay, his greenish skin slightly rougher and scratchy. He wore what was probably the equivalent to a doctor's coat, though it looked much more like a gang outfit than anything.

The Balmeran peered over Keith, taking a good look at his features. Lance watched with anxiety as the doctor pulled a metallic stethoscope-type thing from his gray handheld bag and placed it under Keith's shirt. After a few tics, he clicked his tongue and bent over to search the bag once more.

It went on like that for a while: the doctor checking Keith's blood pressure and temperature, among other stuff, while everyone else waited eagerly for him to finish. Hunk had tears threatening to leave the home that was his eyes, and he pressed his tanned face into his girlfriend's chest. She smiled down at him, remorse pricking her features. She whispered sweet nothings to the yellow paladin, though they seemed to be lost on him.

Pidge watched like a hawk would a mouse. Her hazel eyes scanned the man, or maybe they were on Keith (Lance couldn't really tell when it came to Four Eyes). She bit the bottom of her lips, her eyebrows furrowing when the doctor lifted the red paladin's gray tee and let out a raspy gasp.

Lance instantly thought of the worse, as he seemed to always jump to conclusions when it came to his rival. His lungs lost all air, making him have to gasp for air through a pounding heart and an aching chest. "What is it?" He immediately questioned. "Is he alright?"

The doctor had his back turned on the paladins. His shoulders were sagging under his abnormally tall neck. He cleared his scratchy throat full of worry and turned to face the others in a gloomy manner. His eyes were glazed over with an emotion Lance couldn't place but was probably something between pity and confusion.

The doctor opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. The knot in his throat twisted and made it almost impossible to speak. Pidge's watchful eyes slowly landed on Keith's pale chest, his abs showing. Her eyes gazed over the unconscious boy until they stopped on abnormally blue ovals spotting across his stomach area and painting the canvas of his body a dark navy.

Lance's eyes widened, a small gap he couldn't stifle escaping through the crack between his thin lips. The doctor flinched a little when Pidge gently pushed him aside. Her fingers grazed against the Korean boy's abs as she traced the bruise-like swelling. Hunk's gaze fell to the floor as Shay towered over him, dumbfounded.

The Balmeran female tried her best to find words, taking in a breath before a small sob wracked her large body. The blue paladin was thoroughly startled but paid no mind as the doctor stared at her with confusion.

"Do you know what those marks mean?" The doctor asked, curiously tilting his head slightly at Shay, who nodded her head in reply. Hunk wiped a tear from her eye as she answered:

"I know not what it's called, but I know what it signifies. My grandmother's friend had a disease like that. It's a rare one that is most common in the Galra race. Unlike most physical illnesses, this one is contracted by the emotional strain one's body has."

Her breath hitched, but she continued shortly thereafter:

"The brain is so full of emotional trauma that wasn't released, so it loses control of bodily systems and creates bluish blemishes on the skin. That is why the red paladin is so sick."

Lance had no words. Not a flippant line or even any words entering his mind. For a moment, his mind was blank; totally void of any feeling or thought. He hated the silence more than anything else. Whenever his mind went silent, he always was overcome by emotion afterward. He took a shaky breath, feeling his heart pound against its chamber as he awaited the sea to tumble his mindscape into oblivion.

And it came: the hurricane of thoughts, emotions, and even pain flooded his head and made his ears ring with a painful white noise. He was drowning in the flood and too weak to grab onto a piece of his sanity floating by.

His eyes seemed to twist the very fabrics of reality, contorting all the figures in the room to shadows with bright-eyed glares. This didn't feel real...no, this wasn't real. It absolutely couldn't be! There was no way Lance would ever accept this; absolutely none. His mind couldn't handle the guilt that hammered his body like a couple hundred tons. Keith wasn't suffering through life on his own, there was no possible way of that. Was it his fault?

He couldn't seem to think of any world where all of this didn't stem from his painful existence.

"Holy shit!" Pidge suddenly yelped, jumping back what seemed like a mile to Pidge. "Lance is crying!"

Lance had only noticed it then; the river of tears sinking into the pores of his cheek, the remnants falling off his bony chin. He was too overcome with concern and depression to feel embarrassed at this point. He heard Hunk sniff loudly before feeling the warmness of his best friend wrapping around his body. Lance felt like he was suffocating against Hunk's thick shirt, but he didn't care anymore and just let sobs wrack his chest like shivers would his spine.

Not many words were shared after that; most of the time was filled with Hunk suffocating Lance in his chest and Pidge conversing with Shay. Pidge knew she should let the emotion behind her poker face out, but she was more so compelled to help Keith. She had to stay as strong as she could for that to happen.

"Shay? Can I ask something?" Pidge asked, trying hard to sound neutral. Much to her displeasure, her voice cracked mid-sentence and exposed her true feelings.

Shay nodded sadly.

Pidge motioned towards Keith's limp figure with one of her (now strangely pale) hands. "Do you know of anything that can help Keith?"

Shay placed a finger to her cheek dimples as she thought. "I remember...Grandma got some sort of dream machine from—"

"Of course!" A voice shouted, which startled the living shit out of everyone in the room. Even Lance turned to look at the doctor with his tear-ridden eyes. The doctor (the one who yelled) snapped his stubby excuse for fingers together and bent over to conduct a search predominately for something.

"Huh? What are we talking about?" Hunk asked with a shaky voice that unveiled his inner uncertainty.

The doctor had a smile plastered upon his fern-green skin as he held up a rather large mechanism for something carried in a duffle bag. It was about the size of an Earthen microscope, gray and black plastic-like material covering the mechanism behind. It was circular with a few buttons and two black wires—each with their own oxygen masks—sticking out of the front. The machine was placed on the empty side table next to the medical bed that was now clear thanks to the doctor shoving all the other tools on the floor with a resounding clang.

Pidge's eyebrows furrowed in downright confusion. "What is that?" she asked.

The doctor grinned widely. "A Dreamanator 2000."

By now, everyone in the room was completely dumbfounded. "What?" Lance muttered under his breath, though most everyone in the room heard him anyway.

"It's a piece of tech that will allow two creatures to connect their dreams," the doctor explained matter-of-factly. "It can also be used to view dreams and allows creatures to travel into another's dream."

Pidge's eyes widened, a smile making her once-sagging cheeks now blossom with delight. "How does it work?" she exclaimed.

"Well, I would hate to lose all of you in the explanation, so I'll just state the basics: you see, this machine emits a gas we Balmerans engineered. This gas does two things: makes the subject lose consciousness and makes memories that have been disoriented resurface. We then use neurotransmitters to—"

At this point, Pidge was squealing with joy and Lance was suppressing an exaggerated eye roll. Unlike Hunk and Pidge, he was more interested in things like piloting than science. He had to tune out the entire conversation to even keep his head straight. In the meantime, he decided to think about Keith.

For the longest time, Keith was someone he was jealous of. He was a favorite of Shiro and always seemed to get in trouble. Yet, his skills in piloting were unchallengeable. He was, without a doubt, the best pilot of his age. That was something Lance always envied about the raven-haired boy. He never tried as hard as Lance did, yet he always seemed to appeal to his superiors. Lance would never in a million years admit this, but Keith was someone he looked up to. It came to both a shock and disappointment when he heard Keith was booted from the Galaxy Garrison.

Yet, Lance felt this unusual tinge of warmness in his heart when he looked at the male's admirable figure. His chest; his muscles; even his stupid mullet was the most beautiful thing Lance had ever seen. He didn't know what this feeling was, but he was sure he had never felt it before. Whatever it was, it was important.

Lance unconsciously tuned back into the conversation when Shay asked what the doctor was intending to do with the machine. Pidge's eyes were now practically twinkling like a faraway star at midnight.

"I don't expect that the patient will wake up anytime soon, so I plan on making him dream," the doctor explained. "I will then send one of you three," he motioned at the three paladins present, "into his dream to help him overcome some of his past demons. That, I believe, is the best way to help cure him."

Shay was quick to agree. "My grandma did something similar for my friend as well."

"Did it work?"

"I believe so."

The doctor clapped his hands together loudly, sending a jolt of numbness through his body. "There we have it! Now, which one of you little children should I send?"

Lance didn't even have time to think it over; Hunk and Pidge had already pointed their index fingers at Lance. Lance jumped slightly when the doctor shoved Lance's back with his hand, making the skinny boy fall forward before he caught himself.

"Congratulations, you have been chosen to cast into the flames of Hell," the doctor proclaimed with a smirk. When Lance's eyes widened, he broke out into a hearty laugh. "I'm just kidding, kid. You need to learn to take a joke."

Lance blushed a little because of this, but he was honestly unable to feel anything but guilt and remorse at the moment. Thoughts flew him by; the ones that stayed in his mind were about him going into Keith's dream. How would Keith react to that? Did he even think he could handle Keith's most likely difficult past without sobbing for the guy? Most definitely not. Lance was always known for crying after watching Disney movies.

"But: why me?" Lance asked, confuzzled. "Wouldn't Hunk be a better choice? I mean, he's better at this sort of thing than me."

Hunk placed a reassuring hand on Lance's broad shoulder and gave a sad smile. "Nah, man. I'm good. Besides, you know Keith better than either Pidge or me."

"I do?"

"Yep," Pidge chirped. She then inched closer to Lance's face and added: "Plus, we all know you are totally gay for Keith."

Lance was sure his face had turned into a tomato with a brown stem. "W-what?! No, I'm not!" he defended.

Hunk said with a chuckle, "yeah, Lance, you kind of are."

Lance shook his head away. No, it wasn't the time for such petty things like this. If Lance had any sort of gay feelings for Keith, he'd have to sort them out later. For now, it was time to help Keith; and he was determined to complete the mission, no matter the risks involved.

Lance sighed. "Alright. I'll do it if it means I can help Keith." He tried to ignore Pidge's fan-girlish squeals and Hunk's nervous banter as the doctor pulled him inside for some last minute details.

"When you enter the dream world, you will manifest the form of an inanimate object in the red paladin's life," he explained. "Your conscience will be connected to this object, and you will be able to move it around. However, it is as frail as it should be. Even if you cannot feel pain, it would be bad to destroy your host. I also might add that the closer you are to him, the more important an object will be your host. Is that clear?"

Lance wasn't sure at all if he was prepared to do this, but he decided ultimately that they had no time to waste. Keith's fever and other symptoms were on the rise, and he would most likely break himself if everything isn't resolved soon.

Lance nodded and was lead to a second bed Shay set up on the other side of the nightstand housing the "dream machine". When he laid down, he felt his heart rise to his chest and pound ferociously. The thin blanket that was draped over his body was anything but soft, almost cold to the touch. The overhead lights blinded his pupils and made them shrink even more than he ever thought possible for the human eye. The bed was rather rough, and he only then noticed that the entire med bay stunk of cleaner and alien sweat.

Lance watched intently as the doctor replaced the oxygen mask on Keith's lower face, replacing it with one attached to the machine. Keith's muscles were tensed up, but they instantly relaxed after he began to breathe in the gas. Lance wouldn't lie to himself in the regards that he was nervous; he truly was. He never had to be knocked out for medical purposes before, and certainly not for anything like this.

What if I mess up? What will happen to Keith? Will I make it out of this okay?

Unpleasant thoughts swarmed in his mind as flies would in a swap, though he tried his best to push them to the darkest crevices of his mind. The doctor approached with the mask in hand, and instantly Lance began to tear up. He found it pathetic, yet he was unable to stop the fear from rising to the surface.

Two hands squeezed each of his palms, and he instantly knew it was Hunk and Pidge attempting to give him courage. Lance felt a smile slyly creep onto his face as the oxygen mask was latched over her nose and mouth.

"See you later, buddy," Hunk said softly but reassuringly.

"Good luck," Pidge whispered.

Thanks, guys, Lance wanted to say, but soon he found his vision spiraling like air currents into a comfortable darkness.

Chapter Text

The first thing Lance saw when he awoke was darkness. Not single etch of light from the confined space he was in; nor any sign that he was anywhere at all. For a moment, he felt like he was stuck in a void stretching on infinitely. Had the machine worked?

He had no idea what object he was manifesting, but it was rather easy to lift his four legs, at least that's what he assumed they were, and attempt to move. The barrier his body was stuck in was in a square shape, and he could hear the scrape of his plush foreleg against a cardboard-like surface. From everything he could tell, he was in a box, and it would probably smell all dusty if he could actually smell anything.

He sat there for a little while, pondering exactly where he was and trying to piece together why he was there in the first place. His mind wandered to his voice, and he was going to attempt to say something in his reduced form when an abrupt slam caught him off guard. He jumped slightly, his mind racing with thoughts of panic, but then he heard the squeak of shoes on wood and a voice familiar to a certain red paladin's, but only high-pitched and overcome with a sense of joy he never hears Keith harness before.

"Dad!" The voice called, followed by a squeal of optimism and a groan of surprise.

"Woah there, tiger..." A gruff, manly voice joked, adding a chuckle. The first thing Lance noticed about the man was his largely deep Southern accent. "Happy birthday, son! What are you now...twelve?"

Keith's voice giggled—something that was music to Lance's fairly small and oval ears—and squeaked his shoes as he probably turned to look elsewhere. "I'm fourteen, Dad..." he muttered.

"Don't worry, Keith. You'll always be my little boy."

"Stop!" Keith shouted, dragging out the end of the word for a bit. "You're embarrassing me."

He received a hearty laugh from the man, whom Lance presumed was Keith's father. "Who is there to embarrass? It's just us here." When Keith fell silent, Lance could hear the pounding footsteps grow closer to him. They rang in his ear for a bit and only got worse when he was jostled about. The man had probably grabbed the box from whatever surface it was standing on and was carrying it somewhere.

"This is for you, son."

Lance could hear Keith hum a bit, before the squeak of his weight shifting to another leg on the floorboard. Lance felt himself shrink smaller and smaller, confused and slightly afraid of what was happening. With the resounding shred of laminated paper and the tear of cardboard, light flooded into Lance's eyes like a tsunami would a shore. Light flooded through the now open box, and Lance decided now was as good of a time as any to fall limp. The last thing he needed was Keith and his father panicking.

Lance thought he was ready for this, but after seeing the face of a fourteen-year-old Keith, he instantly knew he was anything but prepared. Keith was but a child—as innocent and upbeat as they come. The highlights in his violet eyes seemed to glimmer as he looked down on Lance's plush form. He didn't understand why Lance was here or even how Lance got here, and he honestly didn't know how to explain it. Right, like saying "You are really sick, and our consciousnesses aligned with your dreams to bring you back," is going to help for anything.

He was torn from his thought by a rough, yet tender, hand that yanked him out, followed by the raven-haired-boy jumping up once in glee.

"A hippo!" Keith exclaimed, a voice crack resonating through his tone mid-sentence.

His father chuckled, and he placed one hand on his hip. The other was too busy stroking his start of a beard to follow. He was much like Keith and even wore a familiar outfit. I think I've seen Shiro wear that before, Lance thought.

There came a time when Lance was downright glad he couldn't physically feel anything in this body. When the older (or well, younger in this scenario) squished him into his rock of a chest, he could feel his stuffing curling together against Keith's gravitational pull. The gray sleeves of his undershirt were rough against Lance's newfound softness. He could finally see his purple hues of fur over the reds of Keith's t-shirt and jean shorts.

"A voice crack," Keith's father joked with a chuckle. "You really are getting old."

"Not as old as you, old-timer."

"Touché."

Keith's grip over Lance's breast had loosened by then. He fell in over Keith's arms as if he were seasick on a rowboat far out at sea. He wanted more than anything to jump out of his pretend game and envelop the older into a heartwarming hug; the fact that it tingled a bit was more than contemplated.

His father, as gruff as he was, gave a hearty laugh; it sounded more like a rough cough to Lance more than anything. "So," he began, "do you like it?" When Keith gave a glare, he quickly corrected, "Her."

"Yeah! Hippo is my new best friend!"

Keith jumped up and did a little dance on his feet of lithium. His slipped-up, lopsided grin lit up a thousand galaxies of Galra, not a single one of them not smiling. Even sweet, loverboy Lance felt the affection tang in his chest and drive his heart on high. Keith only stopped when his father coughed again, and his jacket slipped off, revealing circles of blackened muck tattering his once regal uniform.

Keith cocked his head to the side, his grip on the hippo growing steadily. "Dad? What are those marks?"

The man hadn't seemed to notice them, and when his son pointed them out he made an idiotic move to clasp an open palm over it. He retracted his reddened hand with an exclamation of pain. "Shit!" he cried.

The raven-haired boy was innocent in its name. "What's wrong?"

His father chuckled nervously, moving towards a nearby cabinet to grab a washcloth. "Me? Oh, I'm fine." Keith was granted a sigh. "Why don't you go play with Hippo while I clean up, okay?"

Keith blinked slowly. "What?" Some of that good old teenage angst slipped through his fair tone.

"Keith. Are you disobeying me?"

Said boy took a sudden interest in the shabby floorboards. "No," he mumbled, pivoting on his heels and trekking towards what Lance could only assume was his room.

The way there was filled with tan and brown clashing against each other as his vision was rattled. Keith was running down the hallway, and Lance couldn't help but ask himself how the boy still had breath. Or maybe time was warped in his mind?

It wasn't long until Lance's vision was swirling, and Keith had stopped abruptly at a shabby doorway. The door was made of wood selectively boarded together by metallic nails, and the once golden hinges were rusted over. One hinge, near the top of the said door, was missing (Lance found it shining against the creaky floorboards).

The young boy dabbed at the door, and it flew open with a squeal. Lance could practically feel the shiver that went down Keith's goosebump-ridden arms when he walked into the dark room. The lights flicked on, and Lance's button eyes glistened over in awe.

If he had met Keith before the Galaxy Garrison, he would have had a very different view on the ambitious boy. Keith's room was the very core of the depths of his own heart, and Lance would have never guessed Keith was an engineer.

The room was littered with metal after metal, wire after wire, and tool after tool—the sad part was that Lance couldn't name any of the tools. There was hardly a place in the room that wasn't covered in something; that counted for the barren, gray walls as well. Sturdy shelves held up trophies for everything from pod races to robotics, a few snow globes from a zoo, and something that made Lance's eyes widen in puzzlement: hippos; lots of them. Figurines, stuffed animals, even a robot that went up to Keith's mid-calf. He had to stifle a fit of hysteria. Oh my God, this is so rich! his mind yelled.

With a groan, the Korean boy dropped the Cuban teen's figure across the firey red sheets of his creaky mattress. Lance had to crane his body's head upward to see the other grumbled something about having to do "stupid" math homework. There was a desk made of dark oak adjacent to the stiff bed, and it was piled with a heap of papers containing those dreaded geometry papers. Lance almost growled at the thought of Keith working with triangles. (a/n: this is my new headcanon XD)

Keith had perched himself at the desk, a swivel chair catching him in a sitting position when the lower part of his body dropped. He pinched the bridge of his nose and grabbed a nuisance graphite pencil that was trying to escape his grasp by rolling off the table. The raven-haired boy bent over in his work and traveled to the realm of his mathematical mindscape; his violet pupils were so distant when he was in deep thought.

Lance panned the room, his gaze locking on a rustling in the back of the room. The hum of whirring mechanics and code filled his "ears" and vibrated his plush form slightly. From the corner of the room, the robot he saw earlier rolled into view with the dark wheels pinned on its heels. It wasn't unlike a baby hippo Lance would see at his city zoo, and it had gray rubber "skin" covering its mechanical parts to show. Blue eyes pierced daggers through the stuffed animal's dull ones, but the hippo just turned its tail and rolled over to his creator. Lance's eyes were locked on the phenomenal being.

"Happy birthday, Keith!" the robot chirped in its monotone, blocky voice.

Keith didn't dare to avert his gaze. "Hi, Char," he deadpanned.

A deafening silence filled the room once again as both figures refused avail. Lance sighed, his senses spiking suddenly. He couldn't keep this up for much longer; the forced stillness was the bane of this form. Besides, he was here to help Keith, not spectate his pain like a stalker. This was it; he was going to speak for the first time.

"So. . . what's with all the hippos?"

The mullet-headed boy whipped back in his seat and yelped, and the robot—Char—yelled "Intruder!" at the top of its voice box. The young boy's frantic look bore into Lance's vision as if he somehow knew it was that object.

"What the fu—"

"Hey, now," Lance said in a playful tone, allowing his figure to stand on stubby legs on the unstable surface of the wrinkled sheets. "Do you kiss your father with that mouth?"

Keith's features wavered between annoyed, confused, and downright horrified. "What did that coffee do to me?" He cradled his forehead in his palm, trying to rub his temples at the same time and failing. "Char, am I seeing things again?"

Again? Lance questioned, baffled.

Char replied, "No. I can confirm that object is indeed moving."

"Great," Keith groaned, dragging out the word longer than he should have with a roll of his eyes. "And you can talk?"

"What? Do you think I'm possessed or something?" Lance questioned, intrigued by this development.

"I think I need my dad to burn the Devil out of you, if that's what you mean."

"You know what, Keith—"

Keith's glare made Lance pause, interrupted by the small boy. "My name. How do you know it?"

Shit.

"I. . ." Lance trailed, ". . . I'm a magic man. . . ."

"Right. And I'm Bucky Barnes."

"You talk big for a puny boy."

"Your point?" Keith huffed, crossing his pale arms over his chest. The Cuban male only then noticed this was the first time he saw Keith without his motorcycle gloves. "What the hell are you doing here? Who are you?"

Keith could practically see Lance's grin, despite it not being evident on the plush. "I'm your fairy godmother, sent to grant the deepest wish in your little head."

The Korean was not impressed. "Char. Give her a kick to the face for me."

Lance stood on his hind legs, his frontal legs waving about the air in an attempt to stop the bot from advancing. "Alright, alright. I'll stop joking around." Char halted at Keith's hand. He had an eyebrow raised expectedly, pressing the smaller to continue. He continued:

"I can't tell you my true name, but I can tell you one thing: I am here to help you. In the future, you will be so ridden with sorrow and pain that you will become severely ill. My sworn job is to prevent that from happening."

Keith sighed. "Look," he started, "I have no idea what you're playing at. Quite frankly, I don't give a shit. So why don't you just run off to Candy Land and dance with the Sugar Plum Fairy for all I care?"

"No can do, niñito. You're stuck with me for a very long time, so get used to it."

Keith groaned. "I'm too tired for this bullshit. I'm off to bed."

Within the span of a second, the boy was already curled next to Lance, cocooned in a comforter, and out like a light. Needless to say, Lance was dumbfounded.

Seems like this will be more difficult than I thought. . . .

Chapter Text

"No, you're not!"

"I am going!" Lance demanded, watching Keith's features fall to an ungrateful scowl. The boy tisked, clearly annoyed and trying not to blow up at the elder.

"Why?" the pale boy demanded bitterly, spitting venom through his teeth.

"Because—I am supposed to protect you!" Lance spat.

"You aren't my guard, so get off my ass!" Keith bared his teeth in a scowl towards his purple hippo, who was perched on his bed like a slender cat, and dropped his red backpack beside Lance dramatically. The Cuban boy instantly felt the weight fall under him and he tumbled towards the weight.

Lance sighed. "I don't want to fight, Mullet, but I can't leave you either."

Keith huffed. "Look, if I take you with me then James will just laugh at me."

If Lance could move the features of his face, he would have the most confused and downright horrified expression. "James?" he asked, more to himself than anyone else. There was no way in hell this was what he thought it was. "James Griffin?"

Keith looked up at Lance with etched mockery from where he was sitting on the floorboards and tying the laces of his red-and-white boots together. His jacket housed the same pattern as his boots and gave the hot-head a rather homey look. "Don't tell me you know him too," he said with a snort.

Lance and James weren't the best of friends, as the dark-skinned boy remembered. They got along alright, and Lance could remember James as the class' second best pilot. There was always this fondness he seemed to have for the caramel-haired boy. Perhaps it was because James was always stepping up Keith when he got cocky or ran out of line. Nonetheless, Lance never expected James to be a bully.

". . . I—"

Keith rolled his eyes, standing abruptly and turning to storm out the door. "Look, " he spat. "Just stop pretending you know me. You don't know me; nobody does."

His words where an arrow tinted with poison struck right to the center of Lance's heart. He was scared; scared to mess up, and above all: scared that he wouldn't help Keith. The petite boy was right. Lance didn't know him. Hell, they hardly even talked. Lance never gave him the chance to. All their relationship consisted of was an unrequited rivalry and misunderstanding.

And for Lance to truly say he knew Keith, they had to me more than each other's target on a dart board.

Keith stomped, hands clenched into fists, out the door, but before he could take a step out, his hippo spoke in a new tone that made him freeze in his place: a tone of softness and guilt."You're right."

The violet-eyed boy said nothing, indicating Lance to continue.

"I don't know you," he resumed. "We are practically strangers, and I happened to forget you aren't the same boy I know.

"But, it is because I don't know you that I want to help you. So, please, let me at least go to school with you."

Keith was a statue for many moments, the only thing resonating and telling the other that he was alive was his shallow breaths of frustration. He was pondering for longer than the smaller liked. Finally, Keith whipped around and pulled open the zipper on his backpack.

"Fine," Keith snapped, pointing his index finger at the now open cubby. "But if you do anything to raise suspicion, you are dead meat. Got that?"

Lance nodded solemnly, but in his mind, he was doing his signature happy dance. For the very first time, he had gotten through to the mullet-head. The only problem was that he would never be prepared for the consequences that came with his persuasion.

---------------------------------------------------------

Lance hated his life.

Not only was he stuffed in a dark backpack with muffled hearing; he was stuck. Between hitting the textbooks—literally—that were posing as his neighbors, he had to find a way out. He had done countless escape protocols for if he were captured by the Galra (after Allura was captured, she wanted all the paladins to make sure they were prepared), but none of those methods seemed to apply to a kid's backpack.

The bag was dark ever since Keith shoved his bag in a half-locker and locked it before Lance could protest. From all the talk of sweat and games he heard on the way in, he could gather that Keith took him to a locker room. Why? The Cuban boy was sure even Keith didn't know.

And now he was stuck. He had heard the bell ring what must have been hours ago, and yet the Korean still hadn't come to get him. Had he forgotten? Probably not; it's almost impossible to forget a talking stuffed animal.

After another failed attempt to ram his abnormally shaped and weak head into the small hole left between the cheap zipper and the end of the train, he perched himself between the nuisance geometry book and pencil pouch like a dog panting after going for a run. He was convinced this piece of shit was made of metal, and a heavy one at that.

Lance wasn't even sure what he was doing anymore. He was just thrust into this without a plan, and ever since he had been going with the flow. He watched Keith all night, seeing the boy's peaceful state grow tenser and tenser as the night went on, and hadn't put much thought into a plan. Just staying by the boy's side would be enough, but knowing Keith, that wouldn't be the case.

Keith wasn't a touchy-feely type person. Any time he ever wanted comfort, he would stay by himself even when Shiro offered him a hug. Lance had once watched him the night before Keith collapsed, after the red and black paladins went on the Marmora recruitment mission—no one gave him details about what happened, but, whatever it was, it had shot Keith right through the chest. He locked himself in his room, and not even Shiro could coax him out. It was when everyone was asleep that Lance heard a wall on his bedside shake repeatedly with a bang. He snuck out of his room and found Shiro kneeling on the floor in front of Keith's door.

"I understand you're upset, Keith," he said softly. "But, I'm the only one here now. I promise that I will never leave you again."

When given no reply, Lance watched Shiro take a deep breath and sniffle. He watched in awe as his role model's eyes glistened dangerously in the dim overhead hallway light. Then, he sang.

"One foot in front of the other babe
One breath leads to another yeah
Just keep moving, oh
Look within for the strength today
Listen out for the voice to say
Just keep moving, oh

Go, go, go
Figure it out, figure it out, but don't stop moving
Go, go, go
Figure it out, figure it out, you can do this

So my love, keep on running
You gotta get through today, yeah
There my love, keep on running
Gotta keep those tears at bay, oh
Oh, my love, don't stop burning
Gonna send them up in flames
In flames

Don't stop, tomorrow's another day
Don't stop, tomorrow you'll feel no pain
Just keep moving, oh
Don't stop the past'll trip you up
You know, right now's gotta be enough
Just keep moving."

His voice was sweet, lathered in tranquility and a soothing aura. It was slow, and tears dribbled down his face. The man placed his metallic arm on Keith's door and sobbed. Lance would be dammed if he wasn't crying by now, which he was. His heart shattered when the door opened and a certain mullet came crashing into the elder's chest.

Even as Lance remembered that secret moment, he still believed he made the right decision to entirely forget about it. No, his rival didn't cry; he wasn't fragile like glass; he didn't need Shiro to get through his life. He went to the med bay and sprayed a chemical he found in the med bay in his face. He forgot that entire day's worth of activities.

Lance wasn't sure why he did that, but he assumed it was because he was battling with his own depression and didn't need the hothead destroying his façade. Now that the drug seemed to wear off in this dream, he could clearly think why he was doing this. Perhaps it was because he pitied Keith? Or maybe it was something more?

Before he could think anymore, his thoughts were suddenly jerked aside by the unlatching of a lock. Voices echoed in his head as a taller figure loomed over the backpack and light seeped through the hems.

"Man, our teacher sucks. I mean, what the fuck is a compression?" an unfamiliar masculine voice whined.

"Probably something lewd, like Lucy's—" another replied, before Keith cuts him off.

"Can you guys please stop talking?" Keith's voice spat, annoyed. Lance couldn't tell what the others' expressions looked like, but it couldn't have been good since he opened the bag and looked at Lance with fury fuming in his features.

A signature laugh signaled absolute silence. James. "What's that, emo kid?"

Lance was about to say something, but Keith, as if he knew what the other was doing, shook his head violently.

The loud creak of a bench resounded, and he was sure that someone was making their slow approach towards the raven-haired boy. "What?" James hissed. "You got somethin' to say?"

". . . No. . . ."

James was in Keith's face now. "I know you're hiding something. Give it here; we're all boys in here, aren't we?"

Lance felt a knot throb in his throat, impeccably impossible to swallow. Keith wouldn't budge, and that eventually lead to James reaching into the locker and tossing the bag across the cold concrete floor before Lance could better hide. The next thing he knew, he was on the floor, unmoving as teenage boys stared at him. Their faces turned in many different ways; some were confused while others were hysterical. It was a spectrum. Worse yet, he could still hear James over the array of hysteria that rung around the locker room.

James was holding his lack of a stomach as he belched a laugh. "Oh my God, this is too gold! The emo kid, Keith Kogane, has a stuffed animal!"

"Watch it," Keith growled under his breath, yet Lance still caught it. A glare of attrition took over his features and festered into a wavering scowl and look of regret.

James was practically crying now. "So—so, did your M-Mommy get that for—"

He couldn't say anything more; an elbow was jarred painfully into his side before he could even blink. He cried out in pain, stumbling before he caught himself against the nearest locker. Keith stood, his chest raised like he was a lion king perched on a rock above his subjects, and snatched his black-and-red leather backpack from his plain half-locker. The metallic door was slammed shut, and the glare he gave James was one Lance never wanted to be on the receiving end of (thankfully, he had never joked about Keith's parents before).

James, still in his gym shorts and shirtless, grimaced. "You really know how to throw a punch. Is that something your poor, poor dad taught you—"

Keith became The Flash in a moment's notice, and the next thing Lance knew, the grimacing boy was now doubled over on a purplish blemish in his ribs. Gasps filled the room, and Lance felt powerless to stop it. Hot-headed Keith was not a new thing for Lance, but a beat-up of this size could cause a polarity of responses. He needed to get Keith out of the eyes of his classmates, but he wasn't sure how.

Lance made sure no one was looking and slowly turned his stuffed head to the side. He was close, so close, to a bench, and the legs of said bench happened to be made of some sort of metalloid. If he could only get close enough to bang his plastic excuse for eyes against it. . .

Clang .

After numerous attempts to skid across the floor, he had finally made his escapade. He let out a short sigh of relief when Keith's violet beauties dialated in surprise. Some of his classmates had rush out to grab a teacher while others stood in awe, and Lance knew that the raven-haired boy wanted no part in a lecture; much less suspension.

Keith seemed annoyed to his wit's end. He rolled his eyes and scoffed dramatically, his hoodie riding up on his back when he bent over to scoop the tiny hippo into his arms. Keith gave a glare on his way out, and none of the teen boys were able to stand up against the ferocious beast and his stuffed animal.

---------------------------------------------------------

Keith had been silent most of the way home. Lance used to live for silence. Living in a house with more heads than rooms was never easy for the Cuban male, and that often meant no time of peace. Silence was a remote bliss—that is, unless the air molecules weren't holding the tension of unsagged shoulders and held breath.

Keith walked on and on, passing street corners both familiar and unfamiliar alike. The tan-skinned male had probably passed by this in a hovercraft or automobile once or twice, but it only slightly registered in his subconscious. Lance didn't dare look up at his hot-headed captor, fearing that the unearthly scowl that bare daggers would skin his mind and string it up for the filthy rats.

Seconds turned to minutes, and even minutes seemed like an eternity. Patience was never something he had a knack for, and he often got short-tenpered if tense silence dragged on for so long. With a click of what should have been his tongue (more like his plastic eyes banging against Keith's hidden belt) and the swish of his stuffed insides, Lance broke the ice separating the rivals.

". . .Um. . . Keith?"

Violet pupils trailed down in their sockets, menacing against Lance's petty button eyes.

"Y-You know, yous-shouldn't pick a fight like that. People will see you as mean if you . . . do that," he finished weakly.

Keith's jaw lowered to allow words to escape the confines of his thoughts, but he seemed to think better of it and just hummed in annoyance instead. Lance sighed as soft as he could, though, he was sure the hippo-loving, mullet-head kid still heard. So, you wanna play it that way, Cabrón. Lance internally smirked, a devious scheme devised.

"Where are we even going? This isn't the route we took from your house."

"Right. Wouldn't you like to know, weather-boy," Keith spat.

Lance had to suppress his urge to laugh at the other's glorious Vine reference. "I'm serious," he deadpanned.

The taller (at the moment) scoffed, finally giving in. "Alright! We're going to the arcade. You happy now?"

The boy who usually had oceans for eyes cocked his head. "The arcade? Why would we be going there?"

The beast gave a low growl, saying, "I go there when I need to unwind. Now, will you stop pestering—"

He stopped dead in his tracks, crackling in large amounts coming from the other side of the street. The raven-haired, naive child's face dropped at the sight. Lance could see from the reflection in Keith's eyes the inferno cast behind.

A house fire.  A very large house fire at that.

Lance's throat, or lack thereof, lodged with pain. The entire house was in shambles. Sirens blared in his ears, and red-and-blue lights flickered from the lights above the cars. The very thought of an ambulance reminded him of—no, he wouldn't think of that now.

He looked to the side, seeing the only thing that wasn't in the frightful flames was a shabby mailbox, a bit of the shriveled, brown grass, and—thankfully—a couple of chocolate-skinned spouses. The woman was clinging to her husband, her hair severely unkempt and her eyes raining enough to fuel the water pumps. The man looked on, watching a feud among the firefighters break out while the others set up the hose with a nearby fire hydrant.

One of the firefighters, Lance recognized, was Keith's father. He wore the same uniform he saw him in yesterday, however, the whole get-up looked much more perilous in this scenario.

"You cowards!" the sobbing woman accused. "Will you not save my daughter?"

"She's still inside!" the man added. Lance noticed the burns on his bare skin, shown only by the crisp holes in his casual attire.

One firefighter, that with a rough British accent, turned back frantically. "Ma'am, there is nothing we can do for your daughter. She—"

"—I'm going in," Keith's father declared, stunning the crowd.

"You are not, Kogane. That is suicide, and I am not filing a lawsuit," the former argued.

"I have to! She's gonna die if I don't!"

There was a rumbling, and when extra sparks flew up with a crash, the pair could notice the collapsed roof. Time was most certainly not waiting for this trapped maiden. Lance felt Keith's death grip tighten and pull at his cotton skin, his teeth biting the tops of his lips until they bled a mini Lake Michigan.

And he watched as his father ran into the inferno, just as the entryway (also his only exit) collapsed overtop and trapped in the cage of asphyxiation.

The blood-curdling scream that came from Keith was the one thing in the world he wished to never hear again.

"Dad!"