Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hunk’s feet cracked against the slick cobblestone with the force of a thousand Newtons.

The sound echoed across moldy brick walls and defunct fire escapes, warping with his ragged breathing to create a symphony of desperation.

Come on , he thought. Just a little faster, just a little farther. Someone needs my help.

He surged forward as the screams amplified in the distance.

Hunk had been scavenging for parts in the junkpile two blocks down when he’d smelled the gas. After about thirty seconds of sprinting through alleyways and tripping over lumps of humans, he could see it too. Thick, white plumes of smoke that tumbled over the tops of buildings and curled through the air as if they were cream. If Hunk squinted, it looked nearly green. Or maybe that was just him -- he’d been a little stomach sick due to the faulty revolving door that he’d barrelled through to get out of the junkpile.

The weight of the metal block in one of his many pockets reminded Hunk that he should probably contact someone about what he was about to do. That way, if he died a horrible, fiery death, someone would know what to put on his tombstone.

He slipped the device out and rubbed at the screen, trying to remove the grime from its surface as he ran. All he succeeded in doing was smearing the existing grime around. His fingers might as well have been crafted from gear grease and blast powder by this point. Nevertheless, a few taps later the screen spluttered to life, its blue surface flickering as if uncertain about wanting to be there. Hunk was right there with the stupid computer. If he had any sense at all, he should be running away from the lethal toxin and the police that would arrest him on the spot.

“Pidge? Pidge come in,” he gasped, voice shaking to the thrum of his feet.

“Hunk?” the screen fizzled and a grainy picture of a very close up eyeball appeared as the girl behind it leaned far too close to the camera. “What’s going on? Why are you sweating so much? Are you running?”

“Hey don’t act so surprised OK?” he tried to hold the device so she could see him but he probably still looked like a blur on screen. “There’s White Death a couple buildings away from the pile, and I gotta go see what’s up. Any survivors will probably need the cure.”

“Hunk!” Pidge backed away from the camera at his news, probably to go get Shiro. “I’m getting Shiro, don’t do anything!” Yup. “You’ll get yourself killed, or caught! Hunk if they just gassed out the place there’s going to be police swarming!”

“I can’t hear you Pidge, I think you’re cutting out!” Hunk waved the device more vigorously, and ignored Pidge’s noises of protest. “You know what the gas means. Someone in there is on GALRA. And I have to help.”

“ Hunk so help me --”

He clicked the screen black, and dropped the cell into the endless folds of his filthy cargo pants.

He rounded the next corner and almost spilled right out onto a narrow, extremely fed-occupied street. He reeled his arms and braced himself between the two brick walls of the alley, sucking in his lips to keep his chest from heaving. Although the scene before him was loud, chaotic, and everything else in between, he could not risk getting caught.

The street was crawling with men in uniform. Big black hounds bared fangs at the crowds of people who’d come to stare in horror. Three stories up on one of the crappiest apartment buildings Hunk had ever laid eyes on (which was saying something), White Death poured from the broken windows like syrup. They had so completely drowned the apartment in gas that it was filtering down to the street below, where officers stood in their foreboding bird-like masks, not even pretending to keep the crowds away from the extremely deadly substance.

Screams of terror echoed dangerously from inside the clouds of noxious fumes, and Hunk felt his heart jump up to his throat.

He recognized this place. One of these apartments was where Pidge bummed old electronic supplies off of Shay. He couldn’t remember which one, but it wasn’t too hard to guess. How had they found her? How had they known she was working for The Resistance?

The screams eventually died out, and Hunk resisted the urge to vomit. He stayed in the alleyway as shadows crept along his feet, signifying just how long he’d been standing there. As the last police officer finally left, he risked stepping out into the street. He feared it was probably too late.

If anyone had survived that gas, they would have found their way out of the apartment by now. The police knew that, which is why they left. Hunk ran a hand through his greasy hair, catching on the yellowed strip of burlap he’d forgotten Keith had tied there.

Your hair’s getting almost as long as mine, Bolts.

Had that only been this morning? Staring up at the white gas, devoid of any life, the comfort of the Castle felt like a million light years away. How many people had just died? Two? Ten? Shay? A family? A group of junkies? A group of junkies Hunk could’ve saved ?

At that moment, a sob cut above the murmurs of the bedraggled clusters of spectators. Hunk’s eyes flickered to the side of the apartments, where a crack about two feet wide separated it from the neighboring building. A fire escape inched down the pocketed bricks, rusty and crumbling, looking as though it had been sliding down the facade since it was built.

Hunk walked forward as if pulled by a string, all caution thrown to the wind as another sob tore through the soupy air.

The sight that greeted him felt like acid on the back of his throat.

Hunk was no stranger to destitution. Arus was rife with it. Every single street had at least ten druggies curled up in their own filth, and you didn’t have to walk very far to find a corpse. And in Hunk’s particular line of work, he’d seen more violence, gore, desolation, and hopelessness than he cared to admit.

But he nearly lost it just then.

A human figure lay curled on its side, pressed against a railing of the fire escape. It had clearly crawled all the way down from the third floor; it was coated with a fine layer of white dust that trailed behind it all the way up the tarnished stairs. Hunk could only guess that whoever they were had missed the main radius of the blast and gotten to fresh air before too much of the White Death could be inhaled. The places the gas had touched skin would probably boil up in the days to come, but would no longer be fatal.

The child clutched in the white-dusted figure’s grip, however, was a different story. Hunk knew immediately that she was dead.

“Hey,” he started softly, leaning forward to press a gloved hand against the powdered back of the sobbing figure. “Hey, I can get you out of here. They’ll come back if we don’t hurry, we need to go.”

Then the figure turned its face towards Hunk and the man was well and truly floored.

This was definitely not Shay.

The boy’s eyes, for he knew it was a boy now, were a cerulean blue behind a milky layer of hot tears. He seemed to stare into Hunk as if Hunk didn’t exist, as if he were a foggy window obscuring a perfect view.

Hunk knew at once he’d gone into shock. He felt his doctor mode take over, and years of unutilized training occupy his deadened limbs.

“OK, come on buddy,” he reached out with firm hands , intending to pry the corpse from the boy’s grip.

He was stopped by an anguished shriek.

“ NO ! No, no please-- ”

Hunk’s heart caught in his throat again, and he had to swallow back the fear and desperation in order to let professionalism take over.

“Sweetheart, she’s dead. She’s gone. We’ve gotta get you out of here.”

The boy’s limbs trembled as he tried to hold on, but it wasn’t really a contest when it came to Hunk’s strength. He pried the dead girl reluctantly from the boy’s grip with a gulp of sorrow. The boy refused to quit sobbing, crying for her. He slipped into another language as Hunk pulled him to his feet, and the larger man thought it might have been Spanish. The boy stumbled, limbs trembling, and white powder cascaded from his tear-tracked cheeks. His eyes were wild, and his body was injured. He clutched Hunk’s arm like a lifeline, almost as hard as he’d been gripping the small girl.

“Hey hey hey,” Hunk kept his voice level and soothing, pushing the bile to the back of his throat. “You’re gonna be OK. It’s going to be alright. You’re gonna be safe now. I got you sweetheart, I got you.”

The boy seemed to respond to Hunk’s tone of voice, and the wretched sobs faded to incoherent mumbling. His eyes darted from under heavy lids, full of pain, pain, pain.

Hunk figured it was safe to move him now, and carefully tucked a strong arm underneath the boy’s legs. He swept him up in one smooth motion, carrying him out in front of him. The boy gripped Hunk’s grimy yellow shirt frantically, and tucked his face into Hunk’s shoulder as they descended the fire escape.

He didn’t know if this man was a user or not, ( if he was he must’ve just started because his eyes had yet to change ) but Hunk wasn’t about to leave him howling on the fire escape with a dead girl in his arms. There was a reason the government wanted him dead, and Hunk wasn’t about to let anyone follow through with that plan.

It had nothing to do with the boy’s pretty (stunning) eyes and everything to do with the fact that this was Hunk’s job. Hunk’s job was to save people. Of course, he usually just shot them up with the cure and left, not take them back to the Castle, but Hunk couldn’t just pump the boy full of chemicals without knowing if he was an addict.

At least, that’s what the mechanic told himself.

He huffed and puffed through dark, unsurvaillenced alleyways all the way back to HQ. In his arms, Hunk felt the boy tremble and cling to his jacket a little tighter.

Chapter Text

Lance coughed himself awake.

The back of his throat felt like sandpaper, and an invisible pressure pushed down on his chest. Patches of his skin itched -- no -- burned with acid-like tangibility. He blinked slowly, painfully, accosted by light. A bare bulb gleamed above him, but something was off about it. Lance squinted. Was it... purple?

Something squeaked behind him and he whipped around towards the noise, bones creaking in protest. He caught a glimpse of a thick pink tail slither under his cot. Sewer rat. Shivering, Lance drew a ratty blanket around his knees. He was the coldest he’d been in recent memory, which was saying something because his apartment hadn’t had any heating.

Lance took stock of his surroundings as the blurriness seeped from his vision. It looked like he was in some kind of concrete box. The walls were practically green with mildew, and Lance couldn’t tell if the floor was covered in dirt or was dirt. He looked down at his hands, a mocha brown that almost matched the shade of the filthy bedsheets covering the cot. He picked underneath his stubby fingernails. They were caked with white powder.

The memory crashed into him, a dam cracking. He was flooded with icy, icy water.

A sob ripped through his ruined throat, and his hands fluttered to his sides.

Oh God, he thought, a pounding nausea sweeping through him. Oh my God.

He stumbled out of the cot, rusted springs ringing in his ears. It only took him two steps to cross the frigid room, where he spilled the contents of his stomach into the corner. It wasn’t a whole lot. Just murky white acid that further seared his throat. He sat there afterwards, eyes glazed and unmoving, hunched over a pool of his insides.

They were dead. They were all dead. He’d killed them, fuck, Lance had murdered all of them. He squeezed his eyes tight, tears like unbidden fire down his cheeks. He could still feel the weight of Camilla in his arms, could still hear Grant’s screams dying in the thick white smoke. How many times had he gone back in, searching for them? He couldn’t remember, he couldn’t count. The smoke had burned, but he’d held his breath, nearly swimming through the white apartment in search of his little siblings.

It hadn’t been enough.

He couldn’t save them. Why had he ever put them in danger? Why couldn’t he have died along with them. Why --

A curse and a clatter echoed from outside Lance’s room, and something thumped against the small door. Lance’s mind suddenly tried to conjure up what had happened after the gas and the explosion and the death of his family. There was... warmth, he thought. Maybe. Had he gotten caught? Pulled in for questioning? His current digs did look rather like a cell, a really, really crappy cell. Ever since the state of emergency had been declared, people caught with GALRA could be arrested without trial. The image of the police crashing down his door, guns blazing, flashed through his mind.

Get down, fuckn’ chili choker!

Please! I have papers, my little sister was born here, my family, you can’t--

You’re under arrest for GALRA possession, imprisonment without trial is--

No! No you can’t you don’t understand, they don’t have anyone else! You--

He’d tried to shield his siblings as best he could, but they’d seen that as resistance.

God, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t be here. If they interrogated him he would crack before they even asked a question.

The door finally squeaked open, after being kicked and sworn at from the other side. Lance only realized too late that he was still crowded over a pile of his own vomit and he probably should’ve gone back to the cot.

“Damn fucking floor, we should’ve gotten it fucking paved three fucking years ago.”

The boy that had aggressively opened the door growled at no one.

“Fuck,” he said again for good measure, and kicked at the dirt inside the room too.

He was thin, painfully so, black hair hanging limply over a smudged, pale face and down to his shoulders. When his eyes landed on Lance, huddled in the corner, they furrowed in concern. He had deep circles under them, and Lance could’ve sworn they were purple. But that might have just been the weird light bulb.

“Hey,” he started again, tone completely changed. “I uh, I brought you some water. I’m here to change your bandages.”

Lance couldn’t reply. This kid did not look like the police. In fact, he only looked a couple years older than Lance. The boy tried again, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“Dude, you need water. White Death fucking blows, believe me, I know. You’re probably burning up right now.”

Lance slowly inched himself up off the floor, skin screaming and mind so fuzzy he couldn’t speak. He took the reused plastic bottle being offered to him, and eyed its cloudy brown contents.

The black haired boy raised an eyebrow. “Don’t complain. It might go down with a tang but at least it’s drinkable.”

Lance couldn’t complain. He’d had far worse. There were even a couple times where he’d drank water so dirty it was close to black. As soon as he’d had one gulp, it became addicting. He downed the entire bottle in seconds, and nearly cried in relief at its softness on the back of his throat. Lance collapsed onto the cot, and the boy stood awkwardly next to him.

“Is it... um alright if I sit? I’m supposed to redo those,” he gestured towards Lance’s arms.

Lance looked down, and blinked in surprise. He hadn’t noticed the grubby strips of cloth wrapped all the way up his arms and across his bare chest. He held them out in invitation, and the other boy dumped a pile of ripped up cloth next to Lance and sat.

“I’m Keith,” he said lowly. “Hunk’s busy right now, otherwise he’d be the one down here doing this. He’s the one that carried you out of... there.”

Lance refused to look at his blistered skin, instead opting to look at Keith, who was steadfastly avoiding his gaze.

“What...” Lance cleared his throat, knives raking underneath his tongue. “What happened? Where am I?”

Keith bit his lip, finishing with his left arm. “I’m not really sure what happened. Hunk said he had to get your ass out as fast as possible. You’re... well you’re somewhere safe. Away from the police. You’ve been here for two days.”

Lance’s heart skipped a beat. He thought he knew all the GALRA houses in the city. He could name every single Arus dealer -- and a lot of users -- off the tip of his tongue. But Keith wasn’t in his mental database, and neither was this Hunk guy, which kind of terrified him.

“Are you guys a GALRA house?” Lance asked tentatively.

Keith did look like an addict, and the shitty confines of the room lent itself to that theory. But Keith’s hands stilled while wrapping the bandages, and his eyes met Lance’s for the first time since they sat down. They were definitely purple. He was a user.

“No,” Keith snapped harshly. “We’re not.”

Lance swallowed. Keith refocused on tying up Lance’s arm, but not quite as gently as before. Lance winced when the rough cloth caught on his burns.

“Did you guys...” Lance couldn’t bring himself to say it. If he acknowledged it, did that make it real? Could he say that out loud? But he had to, he had to because if he didn’t how would he stay sane? “Did you guys go back and... and find my... did you guys look for... Camilla... my--”

He couldn’t do it. The back of his eyes grew hot, and tears threatened to spill. Keith suddenly looked very out of his depth.

“I’m sorry, I don’t, um,” he finished tying the bandage and stood up flustered. “I don’t know, I’m sorry, sorry. I’m going to go get Hunk.”

Lance watched him scrabble for the old bandages, unable to do anything but sit. His arms felt leaden, so did his eyelids. As the tears began to fall yet again. Keith seemed to move even faster, eyes kind of wide and freaked out. Lance figured the dude didn’t have a lot of experience in comforting people. Before he left the cement box, he curled his fingers around the rotted wooden door and bit his lip.

“I’m really sorry. I know it doesn’t mean anything, but I am. And just know, you’ll have a friend here. Not that I’m a very good one, but, um, yeah.”

When Keith was gone, Lance gave himself over to the despair once again. His knees drawn up to his chin, he sobbed.

It could have been hours or minutes later that the door squeaked open again, and the smell of mechanical oil and honey permeated the room. It was a pleasant alternative to eau de vomit. Lance looked up, unable to be embarrassed about how much he’d been crying, and his next sob was knocked clean out of his throat.

The man before him filled the entire doorway. His eyes, brimming with soft worry, crinkled at the corners. It looked to Lance like he spend a lot of time laughing. Like Keith, he was absolutely filthy, probably even more so. This must be Hunk.

When Lance saw him, everything felt safe all at once. He felt the tension roll off him in waves, and his level of comfort skyrocketed.

“Hey sweetheart,” Hunk spoke as if to a wounded animal, and Lance felt his eyelids flutter. “You look a lot better. I’m really glad to see that.”

Lance knew immediately this was the man who’d rescued him. He should’ve felt angry, he knew. Angry at this fat, stupid meathead for taking him away from his brothers and sisters but he couldn’t bring any of that emotion to the surface. All he could muster up was a warm, tingly sensation that reminded him of security.

He felt his eyes well up again, and apparently that’s the only cue Hunk needed. In seconds he was in the man’s arms, inhaling sweat and sawdust and sunshine. Hunk shrugged off his heavy jacket, made up almost entirely of pockets, and draped it over Lance’s shoulders. Lance felt goosebumps at the sudden change in temperature. Hunk put his arms around him without a second thought. Lance clung desperately, shamelessly, to the human contact as he cried. Snot pooled onto Hunk’s shirt, but he didn’t seem to mind. Lance figured if its color was any indication to go by, Hunk’s shirt had seen a lot worse than the inside of Lance’s nose.

After a few minutes, Lance felt good and truly dried up. It was a hollow sort of feeling, but it allowed him to ignore the ghosts clattering around his brain and focus. No more tears. He pushed himself away from Hunk’s chest, and felt a minor slice of terror at how reluctant he was to do so. He met Hunk’s warm brown eyes, ringed with chocolatey skin.

His expression was so concerned, so kind, that Lance could barely breathe. It was the way his mother had used to look at him. No, not exactly. It was something completely different. Completely wonderful.

“There you are,” Hunk grinned, and Lance wanted to melt the image permanently into his memory. “I’m Hunk, Hunk Garett. Biomedical engineer, part-time mechanic, and gourmet chef extraordinaire.”

“Lance,” the other boy managed to croak, heart pounding when Hunk’s smile grew impossibly wider. “McClain. Lance McClain. Fuck up extraordinaire, I guess.”

Hunk laughed, an incredibly deep and throaty laugh that curled all the way into Lance’s toes. “It’s nice to meet you Lance. But we’ll have to see about the fuck up part. I’ve got a couple choice faceplants under my belt that could probably give you a run for your money.”

Despite it all, Lance choked on a snicker that made his eyes water when he thought he was all out of tears.

“None of them could possibly be as bad as breaking an arm by tripping over a single hair tie,” Lance countered, feeling the hopeless note to his voice retreat slightly.

Hunk barked out loud, eyes glittering. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

Lance’s smile shattered with the sound of a single hitched breath. He wanted to hide behind his knees again, but Hunk snatched Lance’s hand up in his own before he could do anything. He gave it a gentle squeeze, and Lance tried to breathe.

“Hunk, where am I?”

He blinked his doe eyes at Lance, and a grin crept across his face once again.

“Well, don’t our lavish quarters make it kind of obvious?” Hunk spread his hands out playfully to the moldy walls around them. “You managed to find The Resistance.”

*

What followed was an absolute whirlwind. Lance couldn’t be more grateful.

Somehow Hunk knew what Lance needed: something to occupy his mind so he wouldn’t think about the five corpses now littering apartment 33J. Hunk lead him out of the room by a poorly bandaged hand. The hallway outside was only a couple feet wide and so low that Lance had to duck. Hunk sucked in his gut and pushed past the clusters of rusted pipes with a practiced ease. They passed a few more doors like Lance’s before pushing out into a slightly bigger room, though no less cramped.

Under the eerie purple light, five people bustled from corner to corner, so laden with supplies and covered with oily dust that Lance had to blink several times to be able to focus.

“Welcome to the Castle,” Hunk swept a hand across the room, and at the sound of his voice the other five people stopped what they were doing to look up at the two of them.

Lance resisted the ridiculous urge to hide behind Hunk like he was a shield.

“Hey everyone, this is Lance. Fuck up extraordinaire,” Hunk beamed at only him, and Lance gulped.

That man was something else.

“Hunk!” a woman spoke from the opposite end of the room.

She leaned behind a table next to an intimidating East Asian man, who was missing his right arm. Her dark skin contrasted brilliantly with shock white hair that she’d piled messily on top of her head. It looked as though she hadn’t washed it in several days. She had a hard glint in her eye that spoke of unseen things, a glint that the man beside her shared. The both of them leaned over a rickety card table with what looked to be a hand drawn map spread out on top of it.

If Lance was forced to fight anyone in this room, the two of them would be his last choice.

“What?” Hunk balked at the woman’s accusatory tone.

“You can’t just call people a fuck up. That’s so unlike you, you sounded like Keith.”

“Well it is my favorite word,” Keith piped up from the middle of the room where he sat hooked up to some sort of machine, which was being operated by a small human with a bird’s nest for hair.

“I didn’t call him a fuck up,” Hunk grumbled, squeezing Lance’s hand defensively. “It was a self inflicted title. Am I right Lance?”

Lance could only nod dumbly.

The woman seemed fairly appeased, and Lance suspected she was more than eager to go back to her map.

“Well, after that lovely introduction,” Hunk gestured to the woman with a glance in Lance’s direction to make sure he was paying attention. “That’s Allura, our resident mother.”

Her glare whipped back up to him, and Hunk immediately backpedaled.

“I take that back. She is an extreme badass that also happens to sometimes nag a little bit -- not a lot! She is perfect and we love her. Um, next to her is Shiro. He’s only got one arm but he can still take you out. The two of them together make up the backbone of our planning department. When we actually, you know, have a plan.”

Shiro smiled and waved at Lance, and his foreboding exterior transformed into friendly golden retriever in seconds flat. Hunk spun Lance around so he was facing the opposite corner of the cement block, and his eyes widened. A giant... thing stood almost from floor to ceiling. It looked like a glowing tube, with a blue glass front that shone almost violet in the light. It was hooked up to a million multicolored cords, and amidst the mess of wiring swam a person.

“That’s Coran.”

“How do you do!” a redheaded man surfaced from the machinery, the most impressive mustache Lance had ever seen curling on his upper lip.

“Coran is... well Coran is um, our resident... Scott?”

“Hey!” the man sounded very indignant. “I do a lot around here! You wouldn’t be here without me!”

Hunk glanced sideways at Lance with a secret grin, telling him that yes, they would still be there without the blustering old man.

“And this is Pidge, resident tech expert and my number two.”

“I thought I was your number two,” Keith deadpanned.

“Um, you can be my number two... too?”

Lance thought the way Hunk touched his fingers together was adorable.

“That’s not how it works, Bolts.”

“Shut up, both of you,” Pidge grumbled from where she hunched over a soundboard-like piece of machinery. “Nice to meet you Lance.”

She didn’t look up. Her huge glasses had slid to the end of her nose, and Lance wondered how she could even see through the grimy surfaces.

“And you already met Keith. Resident asshole.”

Keith gave him a wane smile, which was more than any of the rest of them had shown (besides Shiro). He cringed and looked away as Pidge yanked at something below him.

“Pidge I’m not a computer. I actually have nerve endings and they hurt when you pull stuff.”

Pidge blew a piece of her sandy hair away from her forehead, nose pink from the chill. “I’m working on it. Don’t be a baby.”

Keith looked like he was about to throw a hot retort, but was cut off as Pidge pulled something else and he threw his head back. Lance counted four wires connecting him to Pidge’s machine via veins in his forearm. His tattered sweater was pushed up to reveal ivory skin mottled with bruises: purple, blue and black. The carnage took up almost the entire inside of his arm. Lance had to look away. He’d already thrown up enough for one day. Lance had seen a lot of users, too many for his liking actually, but the mess on Keith’s arms surpassed anything he'd seen.

He realized he should probably say something after Hunk stopped talking, so he cleared his parched throat and looked around at everyone busy in their work.

“So, this is it?”

Hunk tilted his head in confusion. “What?”

“The Resistance is six dirty teenagers in a basement?”

A flush dusted Hunk’s cheeks behind constellations of freckles. Keith cried indignantly from his seat, unable to turn around and face Lance properly.

“Fucking excuse you, I’m... I’m fucking twenty three.”

“Took you a minute there Keith,” Shiro grinned, his soft voice surprising Lance who expected something deeper to match his broad shoulders.

“I can’t remember the last time I had a birthday,” Keith spat back, nearly drawing blood as he bit his lip. “Pidge damn it --”

“Well birthdays happen annually Keith. It’s not like a happens-when-you-remember-it kind of deal,” was Pidge’s only response as she continued to tug at his arm.

“Oh you know what I mean,” Keith let out a pained hiss of air, breath fogging in little clouds. Lance watch him carefully tense his fist.

Lance did know what he meant. When was the last time he’d celebrated his birthday? Or even acknowledged it? It had to have been before the accident, so four, five years? Lance had been stretched to his limit trying to feed six mouths; it’s not like he could just drop everything for a chocolate cake and some candles. His throat got fuzzy again, just thinking about four days ago.

Things hadn’t been perfect, but they’d been enough. Barely. Sofia had just come home from school with an art project. Her masterpiece, she’d said. Lance remembered nodding wisely and hanging it on the back of the front door, where they put all of the good ones. Even Ian had congratulated her, albeit grudgingly, and the six of them had all stood back to look at the front door with it hanging in the center. Lili had kissed Sofia’s cheek with pride.

It’s so good mija, Lance had ruffled her hair as she beamed up at him. I’m so proud of you.

The art project was probably still on the back of the door. Fuck, he had to go get it. He would clean all the white dust off it, it might take a while, he’d need rubbing alcohol. Rubbing alcohol and some Q-tips, and a paper towel, he had to go get it he had to --

“Lance,” Hunk put his hand on Lance’s shoulder, its warmth seeping all the way through his thick jacket.

“I’m fine ,” Lance lied, blinking and swallowing back his tears.

Hunk smiled a little sadly, but didn’t call him out on anything. He knew Lance needed that lie, and Lance was so damn grateful the man said nothing about it.

“I guess I’m just a little confused,” Lance tried for a jocular, sarcastic tone that was supposed to come naturally to him. “I mean, this whole setup is impressive and all, very dystopian 90210, but what exactly are you guys resisting again?”

He couldn’t be positive, but Lance was pretty sure it was Shiro that hid his snort behind a hacking cough. Hunk’s eyes danced, but his lips only twitched, telling Lance that this is a very serious matter so help me. He dug into one of his cargo pants pockets, and not finding what he was looking for, reached into another with his tongue stuck out in concentration.

“He’s spelunking,” Pidge intoned wisely, glancing up momentarily to see Hunk fishing in his pants.

“He has everything in his pockets,” Keith took pity on Lance’s confused stare. “Each one of them is like a fucking bottomless cave. So when he goes looking through them, we call it spelunking. It’s even better when he empties them out.”

“I coined it,” Pidge muttered.

“Aha!” Hunk finally found what he was searching for, and the entire room discreetly stopped what they were doing to look. “We’re resisting this.”

Hunk tossed the small object to Lance, who fumbled with frozen fingers to catch it. It was a glass syringe, empty, but stained purple from its last use. The needle had been taken out of the end, and Lance could tell the entire thing was months, perhaps even years old. He was impressed nonetheless. On the side of the glass was a tiny engraving: 6A. Alpha 6.

This was a syringe from the original strain.

“Why do you have this?” Lance asked slowly. “I mean, how? I thought the originals were all long gone by now.”

Hunk shrugged, big shoulders settling comfortably. It unnerved Lance how he could be so calm in the face of such a threat.

“We’ve been fighting for a long time.”

It wasn’t Hunk who answered, but Allura. And with her response she pulled an object from the homemade satchel slung across her back and slammed it on the table. It was a mask. More specifically, a painted ceramic mask of a lion, cold eyes and carved surfaces. Lance inhaled at the sight of it, and felt his heart drop to his toes. He involuntarily took a step back, a step away from Hunk.

“Lance, Lance it’s not what you think --”

“You... you’re... you guys are the Lions?”

The Lions rose to prominence shortly after GALRA had begun its rancid destruction of Arus four years before. Allegedly, the Lions would attack GALRA houses, shooting every druggie in sight with some kind of blue weapon. Victims would experience several days of excruciating pain, and then wake up completely fine. Better, even. People started to report that once they were shot by the masked vigilantes their addiction to GALRA had been purged. They felt healthier, more alive, than ever before. People started to believe that the Lions had the cure to the drug, and yellow-eyes addicts on their deathbeds began flocking to GALRA houses in hopes of an attack.

It all came to a shuddering halt less than a year later. Scientists got involved. Tests were run. The truth came out that the Lions weren’t infecting GALRA addicts with a cure -- they were infecting them with an even greater disease. The Lion’s virus lured victims into a false sense of security, seemingly clearing the side effects of GALRA before developing a final, fatal blow. And if anyone doubted the results of the testing, they could just look at it logically. If the Lions really had a cure to GALRA, why didn’t they go to the authorities with it? Stop this madness once and for all?

The Lions were named a terrorist organization, and their masked faces plastered up as criminals on every television network. A few more attacks happened after their exposure, but most victims disregarded the injections. The next day, they’d shoot up with GALRA again and not care if they’d die in a week or a year.

The last Lion attack had occurred more than a year ago, four or so months before Lance got involved in that world, so he’d never personally seen them. But he’d heard stories. Oh, he’d heard stories. Enough stories to recognize the mask now laying in front of Allura.

“I can’t believe this,” Lance swallowed, shaking his head and refusing to meet Hunk’s desperate gaze. “You called yourself ‘The Resistance’ like some sort of... some sort of game but really you’re a group that kills people? I can’t... I’m sorry I can’t do this I won’t --”

“Lance, please give us a chance to explain --”

“Explain what, Hunk? That you go around killing people who already have had it bad enough?” Lance waved around the syringe he was still holding for emphasis.

“No,” Hunk kept a calm tone of voice even as Lance’s climbed to a fever pitch. “Give us a chance to explain the truth. The story you’ve been told is propaganda. That syringe you’re holding? It’s not what you think. It doesn’t come from where you think.”

Every person in the room had frozen, waiting for Lance’s reaction. He realized that he had the power in this situation. He might be outnumbered, but he was fast. If he decided to run right now, he could probably run to the authorities. He could uproot their whole operation in minutes. Of course, the police had just gassed his house. Lance had been put under arrest for GALRA possession, and he wasn’t about to turn himself in.

He gulped, and stood down. The fear and anguish that had brewed behind his eyes ever since he woke up boiled over into anger. He kept himself composed, and focused on Hunk.

“Start talking. This better be good.”

Coran -- at least Lance thought it was Coran -- let out a breath of relief behind him. Hunk glanced at Shiro before speaking, stance warry and palms facing the dripping ceiling.

“GALRA is the deadliest drug this planet has ever seen, that... that’s pretty much true, but everything else you’ve heard about it is fake. It’s not a street drug. The government manufactures and distributes it.”

“What? Are you out of your damn mind?”

“ Listen , Lance, please,” Hunk begged, eyes full of fear as Lance reigned himself in. “The Blade Party has been covering this up for the last four years. The drug, they invented it as a source of unlimited energy. GALRA is designed to amplify a person’s bodily electricity tenfold, which eventually kills you, but not if they can harvest that energy first.”

Allura stepped out from behind her table, mask glaring daggers from the surface.

“It’s a masterful conspiracy, Lance. Every major political figure in congress you can think of is in on it. The entire city is under their command. Police accost GALRA users without a trial, supposedly imprisoning them for life. Where they really go is a containment facility, where their body is stored and plugged in to the power grid. By Pidge’s estimations, almost the entirety of Arus now runs on energy gleaned from GALRA victims.”

Lance’s mind reeled, and he felt the unpleasant feeling like he was about to puke again. “I... I don’t understand.”

“GALRA is designed to make you feel good,” Hunk cut in, desperately trying to make Lance comprehend. “That’s what hooks everyone at first. With more stimulated electrical production in your brain, a human’s physical and mental capabilities increase dramatically. It’s a high unbeatable by any other drug. But it kills you, you know that. The government takes a person before death and harvests the excess amounts of electricity that the drug created in the brain.”

Lance clutched at Hunk’s coat, pulling it tighter around his bandaged torso. “But, there are so many people that still die. They aren’t harvested. And the police, they tried to kill me! The police tried to kill me, why... why would they kill me if they wanted to harvest --”

“You weren’t a user,” Hunk’s eyes were soft. “They couldn’t harvest anything out of you, so they decided to make an example instead. The government still needs to keep up the appearances of trying to fight GALRA and its disastrous effect on society. The more people they blow up, the less questions people ask.”

“I don’t believe this. I don’t believe any of it. How do you explain the Lions, then? How --”

“We have the cure, Lance,” Hunk cut him off.

Lance was silent, shocked.

“I...” Hunk suddenly looked pained, uncomfortable even, and it was the first time Lance had seen him that way. “I was one of the ones who helped create it. As the Lions, we administered it. At first it worked beautifully. The police couldn’t arrest us, because we were apparently fighting for the same cause they were. Our raids were successful. Over the course of a year GALRA usage almost came to a complete stop. But, that wasn’t what they wanted. So they made up the research, claimed we were killing people, a terrorist organization. Suddenly our masks and our lack of cooperation with the police weren’t working so much in our favor. We tried to keep doing the raids, but... they stopped working. After they were cured, people just went right back to GALRA. They believed they were already dead anyway.”

Lance shook his head, and looked around the room. All six faces stared back at him gravely. All these years, all these stupid years, the government had been sanctioning this drug? While the news reports brought in death counts in the thousands, while the streets grew crowded with destitution and the sanitation department fell under, while a state of emergency was declared, while Lance’s parents died, the people supposed to be putting out the fire were actually stoking the flames behind the smoke?

It seemed almost too fantastic to believe.

But something itching at the back of his mind told him that Hunk and all these people were telling the truth.

“I need proof,” Lance whispered, eyes swimming. “I want proof,” this time a little louder.

Hunk swallowed. Allura moved to say something, but the large man shut her up with a glance.

“We don’t have any,” he said.

“ What?”

Lance saw Allura glance at Keith out of the corner of his eye, but the two of them stayed silent.

“We don’t have any,” Hunk repeated, letting out a shaky breath. “What we’re saying probably sounds ridiculous, and it’s pretty much the exact opposite of everything you’ve been told these past four years. But I’m asking you to trust that I’m telling the truth. You either believe us, or the people who tried to kill you.”

Lance gulped, eyes roaming around the room of pipes and dirty, war-hardened faces.

“And what if I chose them? What if I decide you’re all terrorist liars?”

Keith moved angrily in his seat, but Pidge pulled him down with a jerk of the wires. Hunk’s calm eyes never left Lance’s face.

“Well,” Hunk looked reluctant, but his eyes hardened as he looked at Allura.

Lance suddenly realized this soft, portly man with the kind eyes had a lot more in him than he let on. For the first time, Lance noticed how his arms were made of solid muscle. His biceps were as big as Lance’s head. Scratch Shiro and Allura. At least with them he’d know what to expect. Out of everyone, Lance would least like to fight Hunk.

“We’d have to stop you. We’ve been working way too hard and we’re way too close now to let anyone report us to the police.”

Lance nodded, letting the information wash over him with barely a ripple of expression. Fuck it. Fuck it all. If he was going to be prisoner, he’d be a prisoner. If it turned out Hunk was lying and Lance would be an accomplice in killing even more people, so be it. He was already a murderer. And if Hunk and the others were telling the truth... well, that might hurt even more.

“OK,” Lance said, and found himself looking at Keith rather than Hunk. For some reason, he felt like it was him he had to prove himself to. “I’m not gonna run.”

Keith looked at him, eyes glittering dangerously. Lance though it was the kind of glare worn by people who used to be attractive.

“I would hope not,” Allura looked him up and down defensively.

Hunk took Lance’s hand in his own again, and he gave a little start at the contact. Jesus, that man was like a furnace.

“If he says he won’t run off, he won’t run off. If he can trust us, we can trust him.”

“Are you sure?”

It was Keith that spoke, and he didn’t even flinch when Pidge tugged on his arm tubes in an attempt to shut him up.

“Keith,” Hunk said in a warning tone, but the other man wouldn’t listen.

Lance realized that something had changed in Keith within the last couple of minutes while he analyzed Lance respond to Hunk. Instead of understanding, and maybe a tinge of awkward compassion, Keith’s gaze was full of mistrust.

“Hunk said your house was targeted as an example. We all thought it might be because they mistook your apartment for Shay’s, but that would mean that Shay’s been compromised and we were still able to contact her this morning so she obviously isn’t. Which makes Hunk’s theory correct.”

Lance darted his gaze around to everyone else in the room, and they all seemed just as confused as he was.

“Yeah, we already said that dude.”

Keith swallowed, eyes narrowing.

“Yeah dude? Well you never told us why the police would be targeting your fucking apartment. They don’t just kill random families as examples, they kill people who are on GALRA. And you, obviously, aren’t a user. So explain that.”

Lance felt his throat go dry.

Keith thought he was a spy.

Hunk squeezed his hand tighter, sensing his unease, and tried to cover for him.

“Lance just lost his sister Keith, we can’t go around prodding into his personal business yet. GALRA is a sensitive topic, you of all people should know that.”

Keith bristled. “ Me of all people --”

Lance shook his head as if trying to dislodge something there. Something invisible. Everything hurt, and he didn’t want to think about it. He pulled his hand away from Hunk’s, and wrapped his arms around himself. Keith shut up, and a flash of that old concern flashed across his face. Hunk made a worried little noise in the back of his throat.

“Three,” he choked out, eyes squeezing shut. He couldn’t let them see him cry. He’d cried enough, damnit. He’d cried enough.

“What?” Hunk’s voice was gentle.

“Three sisters. Two brothers. Camilla was the only one that... the only one I could find.”

He felt their silence more than heard it, and he still refused to open his eyes. He didn’t realize how much he was shaking until Hunk placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. The man’s touch grounded him. It was unfair.

“I’m so sorry Lance. We didn’t know.”

Lance shook his head, tears furious, thoughts filled with blank white gas.

“It wasn’t your job to know,” he looked up at Hunk then with a poor smile and a shrug. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, but we’ll work on it,” Hunk whispered, and Lance felt like those words were just for him.

Keith had fully turned around in his moldy leather chair now, wires pulled taut across his bruised forearm.

“So, was one of your siblings a user?”

“Keith!” this time, both Shiro and Pidge cried out along with Hunk, who looked about ready to deck the kid.

Lance had no doubt Hunk could snap him in two, but he decided to say something before that happened. Besides, insinuating Lance would let one of his little siblings actually use GALRA was toeing the line.

“No,” Lance glared at Keith, holding his eerily violet gaze. “I was a dealer. That’s why they targeted me.”

The silence was so dramatic and immediate Lance knew he immediately said something wrong. Hunk’s hand on his shoulder felt heavier, more reluctant somehow, and a ball of sick started to grow in his stomach.

“What?” he asked thickly. “I did it to feed my family. I know people that’ve done a lot worse for a lot less.”

Keith was the first to do anything, standing up from his chair darkly. Pidge gave a weak yelp of protest, but Keith didn’t even seem to notice the tubes tearing at his arm.

“I take it back,” Keith’s voice had dropped an octave, the circles under his eyes made him look like a skeleton. “If you need a friend, go rot in fucking Hell. Don’t come to me.”

With that, he completed the barbarity by ripping the wires totally from his arm. Needles the size of pencils slithered out of his veins, leaving a trail of dark purple blood as he dropped them to the dirt floor. Lance felt the bile in the back of his throat, threatening to make an appearance at any moment.

The raw sense of betrayal radiating off Keith shocked everyone in the room motionless. It wasn’t until he’d gone that everyone seemed to remember they could actually move.

“I... I better go talk to him,” Shiro cleared his throat.

“Take these,” Pidge tossed him a bundle of bandages with a roll of her eyes. “The damn sadistic idiot.”

Shiro shook his head, then glanced over at Lance. His expression was unreadable, but not nearly as friendly as before.

“Don’t... don’t worry about it Lance. It’s not your... I mean, just keep your distance for now, alright?”

Lance had a sneaking suspicion the man was going to say ‘it’s not your fault’. But it was, it was, it was, which is why Shrio couldn’t say it. Lance could only nod vacantly. He felt like an empty sack. Well, not quite empty. There was still quite a bit of puke in there.

After Shiro had left too, Lance turned to look at everyone else. Allura spun back to where she’d slammed her lion mask on the table, and Pidge busied herself with scooping up Keith’s bloody IVs. Coran didn’t really have anything to do, and ended up blatantly not meeting Lance’s eye. Hunk was the only one who looked mildly apologetic.

“What just happened?” Lance asked him. “What happened to nice I’ll-try-not-to-curse-at-you-while-I-bandage-your-arm Keith?”

A weight shifted on Hunk’s strong shoulders. His eyes looked almost as dark as Keith’s, but not nearly as angry. Just resigned. Lance got the strange urge to comfort him, push his hair back, crack a joke until that light Lance had briefly seen came back into the man. But that was completely irrational and Lance shoved the feeling aside.

“It’s not really my place to say,” Hunk said slowly, and Pidge snorted from the ground. Hunk pretended not to hear. “Keith is... well, he’s been with me the longest out of everyone here. And he’s been through... um, a lot. There’s a reason he’s pissed. Keith should be the one to tell you about it.”

Hunk looked at the door doubtfully, as if wondering if Keith would ever deign to speak to Lance again, much less disclose his personal anime backstory.

“Anyway, come on,” he took a deep breath and tried for a smile. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

“Why? What’s upstairs?”

“My shop!” Hunk’s mouth stretched wider, more genuine, and Lance found it rather infectious.

“Hunk’s Junk,” Pidge snickered from the floor. “Nuts, Bolts, and Solutions to All Your Mechanical Needs.”

Hunk’s grin slid into an indignant frown. “I didn’t choose the name.”

Lance bit his lip to keep from laughing. The turmoil of moments before was forgotten with Hunk’s cherubic cheeks looking that damn adorable. “So what’s up in your junk, Hunk?”

Hunk gave him a look of exasperation. “Well nothing, if you’re gonna make fun of me for it.”

“I would never.”

“I was gonna make you a mask. You know. A lion. You could even pick the color.”

Lance blinked. He thought of getting to sneak around buildings, darting through alleyways as an enigmatic lion. He glanced at Allura’s mask still on the table, and grinned despite himself.

“You got any blue paint?”

“Of course.”

“Then by all means, lead the way. Destination Hunk’s Junk. Where mechanical mishaps go to get lost. Deeply lost. In your junk.”

Hunk groaned, and Pidge snorted. Even Allura cracked a smile from across the room, though she quickly wiped it off her face.

“Nah, it’s OK to laugh, pretty lady,” Lance winked and Allura blinked rapidly in shock. “It’s pretty hard to resist the ever persistent charm of the Bad Boy Supreme.”

“You’re worse than Keith,” Hunk lamented.

Lance smiled, and took his hand back up again. He took pleasure watching Hunk gulp. They made their way towards the door, and Lance thought about how if he tried hard enough, this whole ‘being normal again’ thing might not be too out of reach.

“You know you love it big guy.”

“Oh, I’m starting to.”

Chapter Text

Hunk caught the falling pipe without even opening his eyes.

It was the foot long, cast iron joint that connected the hot water from the main system drainage through to the rest of the building. Hunk had put his cot right under it on purpose, because it was the one spot in the whole stupid place that was above freezing. However, he’d made that decision before he knew the piping had a tendency to fall apart, especially the piece directly above his head.

He sighed and sat up, blinking blearily and eyeing the curved piece of metal in his hand. No matter how many times he welded the stupid thing, it still jostled itself undone. He’d taken to catching it in his sleep. The spot on his forehead where it used to land still gave him phantom pains. He shuddered thinking about how many brain cells he’d probably lost to this stupid thing.

At least he’d started turning the water off before bed. When the pipe used to break, not only would Hunk’s skull hurt for the next couple days, but he’d also be thoroughly doused in steaming water.

He fumbled for a shirt (the shirt, really, because he only had one) and slipped on his utterly soiled gloves. Whenever he wore them, he could always hear his dad’s voice in his head.

Seidou, those gloves carry diseases by now. When I told you a mechanic’s hands should always be dirty, that’s not what I meant.

Hunk smiled sadly, and gave a practice kick to the wall by the side of his bed. Overhead, two rows of ancient light bulbs flickered to life, casting Hunk’s workshop in an unearthly purple glow. The place was huge, but to Hunk, nothing ever felt as cozy. Absolutely filled to the brim with half finished projects and broken machinery, the garage was his safe haven.

It was too early in the morning for light to filter through the squalid windows that lined the ceiling, which meant that it was also too early for anyone else to be awake. Except maybe Keith. In the last few months especially, the boy had slept less and less as the pains grew worse and worse. Hunk didn’t want to go looking for him, however. Hanging around Keith nowadays was enough to put a damper on anyone’s mood.

Sometimes a man just needed to spend some quality time with his machines.

He wandered across the dirt floor to where a giant garage door stood behind a clunker of a station wagon. The car must have been at least fifty years old; it guzzled gas like some kind of monster and every possibly oxidizable part in the vehicle was rusted out. The harried owner had brought to Hunk in a state of disrepair, unable to tell him the year of the car or even the maker. He’d almost laughed out loud. The piecer had been his project for the last couple of days, giving him all sorts of grief over seemingly unsolvable conundrums.

Just the way Hunk liked it.

He spent a couple hours underneath the car, which had to be jacked up in order to accommodate for Hunk’s girth, and he felt like he made good progress on the absolutely trashed brake pads. He worked up an oily sweat. His mind washed blank. It was perfect.

Even as the workshop flooded with dusty sunlight, Hunk didn’t notice the time. It was eventually Shiro that had to pull him out from under the vehicle.

“Hunk?” the man rapped on the front bumper, cheap coffee in his voice. “Hunk, it’s breakfast. We reheated your crazy soup from the other night.”

Hunk was tempted to say he wasn’t hungry just so he could keep working, but his growling stomach reminded him otherwise. He sighed in resignation. With a push he rolled himself out on the back of the creeper. Shiro looked down at him with that bemused smile he always wore.

“You really want to eat that ridiculous soup?” Hunk asked, hoisting himself up by his elbows with a grunt. He was absolutely covered in grease and dirt.

“Well yeah, it was pretty good. A little spicy, but at least Keith loved it. You know how hard it is to get him to eat anything these days.”

Shiro’s voice dropped a little. Hunk did know. He’d been trying to invent increasingly exuberant dishes (with what limited resources they had) in the hopes that maybe the moody kid would grow an appetite.

“How is he?” Hunk asked.

“Sick.”

“I meant about last night.”

Shiro’s expression darkened, a look he only wore when he got protective. Hunk wasn’t often on the receiving end of Shiro’s anger, but when he was, he didn’t like it. Even though technically Hunk was the one who saved Shiro’s life all those years ago, he was constantly worrying about disappointing the man.

And right then, it felt a little like Shiro had some animosity beaming in his direction.

“He’s... not... happy,” Shiro settled on lamely. “It’s kind of like someone twisted the knife already stuck in his gut.”

Hunk sighed, and rubbed his temples. He made his way to a work table, where he rummaged around for a cloth. When he found it, it looked slightly cleaner than he did, so he wiped himself off.  “I’m worried.”

“So am I.”

Shiro said it like a challenge. Hunk exhaled heavily through his nose. He didn’t want to engage, and so he decided not to. Unlike Shiro, unlike any of his team, Hunk never rose to the bait.

“I’ll be down in a minute. I gotta do some configuring on the adjustments I made today then I’ll be right there,” Hunk didn’t meet Shiro’s eyes, but put a little cheeriness in his voice. “How did you even manage to heat the soup up?”

Everyone knew not to touch Hunk’s kitchen. He was pretty sure Allura didn’t even know where it was.

Shiro shook his head. “Pidge fried the metal bowl with the defibrillator. Almost the entire basement shorted out.”

Hunk snorted. “She’s absolutely insane. I’m surprised she avoided electrocution.”

“It’s Pidge. Her entire existence revolves around avoiding electrocution.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

Hunk twisted a couple dials next to the garage door, lighting up the OPEN! sign outside the door. Hopefully someone wrecked their car today. The Resistance was a little short on funds.

“Oh, do you have any extra shirts?” Shiro’s casual demeanor seemed to go back to its previous ‘annoyed’ state.

“Shirts? What for?” Hunk asked warily.

Had they finally noticed he wore the same on every day? Oh nuts, would they make him go out and buy a new one?

“Well Lance can’t walk around in just your ginormous coat forever. His skin is getting better and the bandages need to come off soon. His other one was pretty destroyed. We couldn’t get the powder out,” Shiro said it with calculated tact, but Hunk could hear the way his words clipped at Lance’s name.

He was pissed at Lance for pissing off Keith. And pissed at him because, even though Shiro would never admit it to Hunk, he thought there was a slight possibility Lance could be a spy.

But then Hunk was thinking about the boy he’d managed to avoid thinking about the entire morning. Damn it. Oh, damn it! Images tripped through his mind of Lance with his mop of wavy brown hair. Watery eyes, walking around swallowed by Hunk’s coat.

This was unhealthy. It was horrible, actually. But Hunk couldn’t help it.

Lance had just lost his entire family, almost been killed himself, and now woke up to a strange group of people he didn’t know and didn’t trust. And Hunk had the stupid audacity to go and get a crush on him. It’s not like it was unwarranted. Lance was absolutely gorgeous, even dirty and covered in bandages. But he’d winked at Allura. It was pretty obvious he didn’t bat for Hunk’s team. What were the sheer odds of that? And besides, even if he did, Lance could go for literally any other guy on the planet. Hunk didn’t shower and was as fat as a cow, which was rare enough for an inner city outlaw supposed to be starving.

There was no way. No realistic way. Usually Hunk would allow himself to dream, but even that felt wrong. Lance had been through enough. He didn’t need a crazy mechanic wanting to get in his pants, especially because they were pretty much stuck together. If things got awkward, it could only go downhill. That’s the only way things could go with only a max thirty foot distance between the two of them.

“Hunk?” Shiro shook him from his Lance-induced stupor, eyebrows furrowed.

“Fine, I’m fine,” Hunk said with a sweep of his hands. “I uh, might have some extra shirts from that one guy who left all that stuff in his car. I’ll check through the boxes.”

Shiro nodded. “And, he might need pants too. Right now he’s wearing Keith’s and they’re too short. And uh... Keith is not as fine with that as he was two days ago.”

Hunk nodded, feeling an uncharacteristic spike of anger towards his oldest friend. “Yeah, will do.”

“See you in a few.”

Shiro walked to a depleted car sitting in the corner of the garage. It didn’t have tires anymore, and even if it did, it unquestionably wouldn’t run. Its rusted out bumpers sank so low to the ground, that, during earthquakes, the dirt pushed all the way up to the tubes on its underbelly.

Little did any customer know, Kaltenecker ( like the beer, Bolts. You know... the brand... nevermind ) was a permanent fixture. Actually bolted in place, the car concealed the entrance to the basement, which could only be accessed through the hole in the bottom of the trunk. He watched as Shiro popped the old lid, and disappeared from sight. The trunk swung shut behind him.

Hunk fumbled through piles of junk, searching for the box he’d told Shiro about. A couple years ago some asshole had turned in a car, not for repairs, but to be scrapped. He’d left boxes of his old stuff in the back, as if Hunk’s mechanic shop was some kind of charity. In it had been a bunch of old stuffed animals, clothes (that were way too small for Hunk and ended up going to Keith) and jars of candied peaches. The peaches were gone within minutes. But for all Hunk knew, the stuffed animals were rat homes by now.

When he found the box, he remembered that it was already picked over and cursed. It’s not like their operation had money coming out of their ears, and any clothes at all were welcome, so he’d be lucky if there was any left. After digging for a fair amount of time (because it was for Lance after all) he came up with a grungy gray t-shirt and a pair of washed out women’s jeans. Hunk remembered Keith trying them on only to find them pool around his ankles. Hunk had made fun of him for days. Hell, when Pidge found out she’d make fun of him for days. Keith bore the brunt of the team’s short-person jokes, mostly because if anyone were to make fun of Pidge they’d find socket wires under their pillows ready to shock them in their sleep.

After scribbling down some near illegible numbers in his notebook, Hunk followed the path Shiro had previously taken. He squeezed into Kaltenecker’s sagging trunk and down the trapdoor, frantically begging his mind to focus on anything but Lance McClain.

*

After breakfast, and a short moment of panic after Coran spilled soup on some wires, The Resistance met around Shiro and Allura’s planning table. There were now seven of them in total, and something about that made Hunk’s insides glow with pride. He’d built them from the ground up. They were gonna make a difference, save a lot of people.

“Alright,” Hunk started. “Allura, Shiro, what d’ya got for us?”

He stood next to Lance (coincidence of course) and tried not to think about how Lance was still wearing Hunk’s jacket. Now that he wasn’t sweating underneath a car, Hunk was starting to get a little chilly in the damp basement air. But there was no way he’d ask for his coat back now. Not when Lance needed it (looked good in it) more.

Shiro cleared his throat, looking at Allura before he spoke. The two of them worked so seamlessly together Hunk wondered how long it would be before they fused into the same person.

“Well we’re close. Everyone knows that. So we’re going to start our scouting missions. We have sixteen planned over the course of the next two and a half months. By the end of them, if everything goes successfully, we’ll have the complete layout of Balmera, all of the security information clocked, and a plan on how to get in.”

Silence followed Shiro’s announcement. He looked around at all of them, grave eyes, Allura behind him. It made sense. Hunk didn’t think they’d have to spread out the missions quite that much, but he trusted their judgement.

“OK,” Hunk nodded, eyeing the map of what they knew of Balmera that was spread out on the table. “When’s our first run?”

Allura and Shiro glanced at each other.

“Tonight,” Allura said after a moment’s hesitation. “They’re doing routine cleaning under the main septic tanks, so they’ll be an opening. It won’t happen again for another two weeks, and that’s too long to wait. It’ll offset the whole schedule.”

Hunk blanched, along with Pidge. She looked a good deal more upset than Hunk was, slamming both her hands on the table.

“Tonight? You’re joking! You couldn’t have given us a little more warning? All the guns need to be charged, and we’re almost out of the antidote! Hunk might have to cook another batch, and you want us to be in and out tonight?”

“Look, calm down,” Shiro held up his hands, and the girl simmered. “We didn’t find out about the date until a couple days ago. With Lance’s arrival we thought it would be best not to bring it up. We checked and there’s just enough cure to fill up the guns for a mission. Hunk will have to whip up some more before the next run, but for this one we should be fine. The only thing that does need to happen is the charging thing. And that’s all Keith.”

Keith scowled as six sets of eyes turned to him. “I’ll do what I have to do.”

Shiro nodded. Allura stepped in, pointing to the empty spots on the map with a long, chipped fingernail.

“The first mission is only going to be scouting the sewage section leading up to the underground facility. We estimate there are minimal guards and it’s one of the smaller sections. Also, it’s supposed to lead up to the rest of the building so it makes sense to start there,” she swept her hand to where a large number one was circled in black ink, next to a box labeled ‘septic tank’. “As you can see, we’ve cut Balmera into sixteen sections. Each sector will be charted on a different mission, all spread out overtime to ensure maximum safety on our part. This way we’ll be able to blueprint out the facility accurately, without fear of having to rush things all in a one-night raid. As we gather information, we’ll be formulating our break in plan.”

The rest of them fell silent, studying the map. It made a certain amount of sense. As purely scouting missions, they’d be doing a lot of observations. And probably a fair amount of aborting. The general rule about scouting missions was don’t engage. If you’re scouting, it means you don’t know security routines. You don’t know the pattern of the guards or the cameras and you don’t know about fast escape routes. So instead of fighting, they tended to do a lot of running. Keith had never been a fan of scouting missions.

“What about here?” Pidge had dropped her angry tone in favor of a thoughtful voice. She pointed to a center section of the map where it seemed Shiro and Allura hadn’t marked. “Is this like a separate mission or something?”

They exchanged glances, and Shiro cleared his throat. “That’s the control room. It’s probably way too dangerous to actually go on a mission in there. That’ll have to be a one time thing.”

“But it’s not that big of a deal,” Allura jumped in before Pidge could say something hot. “All that’s in there is a whole lot of guards and security camera feeds. If we scout the majority of the rest of the building, we should be completely fine.”

“Are you sure this map is accurate?” Pidge fired back. “What if you don’t have everything here? What if they only real map is in the control room?”

“Can you trust us, Pidge?” Shiro put a soft hand on the table, decisive voice effectively shutting her up. “We’ve been working on this a long time. We trust Shay’s intel is accurate and that’s pretty much the only choice we’ve got. So to have your faith and support would make a huge difference.”

On anyone else’s lips, the words would’ve sounded sarcastic. On his own, Hunk didn’t think they’d even sound like English. Pidge eventually nodded, rocking back onto her heels. He could tell she still had questions, protests even, but bit her tongue. Hunk liked that about her. He was about to ask when departure was, but was cut short by the brunette next to him.

“Um, I hate to be a buzzkill here,” Lance glanced at Hunk before directing his gaze at Allura and Shiro. “But I have absolutely no idea what any of you are talking about.”

Hunk was the first to laugh, followed by Pidge and then Allura gave a wan smile.

“Sorry Lance, I completely forgot,” Hunk grinned at him.

An unrecognizable emotion flashed through Lance’s eyes, but then he smiled and shrugged. “Nah you’re cool, even the Bad Boy Supreme can be forgettable.”

Hunk let that turnover in his head a moment, then realized what he said had come out completely wrong. “No, no, Lance you’re not forgettable at all. I just forgot that you hadn’t always been there, you know?”

Lance’s next smile was a little more genuine. “Yeah.”

Hunk coughed when he realized everyone else at the table was staring at the both of them. He let his gaze slide past Keith’s. Allura looked at him expectantly. She wanted him to explain it. It was then that Hunk realized everyone besides him, and possibly Pidge, had some sort of gall against Lance being a dealer. Or maybe they were just mad at him for making Keith upset. Whatever the reason, Hunk felt a surge of defensiveness in his gut.

“Well it’s not your fault,” Hunk said, looking at Lance rather than the others. “That you don’t know what’s going on, I mean. We’ve been planning this stuff for ages. After the raids failed, and we ruled out curing individuals, we decided we needed to go higher. And like, break into the top structure of the government. Not a lot of people know this but the leaders of our city don’t actually reside at the city hall. They actually live inside Balmera Corp., which also happens to be the leading producer of GALRA behind its power plant front.”

“And?” Lance looked at him with a thin, raised eyebrow.

“And... what?”

“What will you do? When you do break in, I mean. I thought you said the entire Blade Party was in on this. Will you go incept a dozen people in their damn sleep?”

Lance was smart. Lance was really smart. Hunk had to keep his fried brain from thinking about how stupid hot that was.

“Well, we... we’re going to kill Lotor.”

Lance blinked, and Hunk saw Pidge cringe. He had said that a bit bluntly, when he thought about it.

“You’re what? You want to march in there and murder Alexander Lotor? The god damn leader of the Blade Party? Fuck, you guys are a terrorist group, I don’t care how bad someone is you can’t just go in and assassinate --”

“Yes we can,” Keith answered, cold and steely. He spoke from his dark place at Shiro’s right, arms crossed like he owned the place.  “He’s the fucking cornerstone behind all this shit. Most of the party backs him because he buys their vote. If we can off him, the entire regime goes under. Initiatives won’t pass without his push. And if you’re going to get in our fucking way, then I’ll pop your head too and it’ll roll around on the fucking floor with his.”

Hunk wanted to pop Keith’s head off at the moment, but he swallowed his anger and turned to Lance instead.

“However tactlessly he put it,” -- glare in Keith’s direction -- “Keith’s right. We’ve been at this for almost three years now, Lance. Believe me when I say we’ve tried everything. We know what we’re doing. This is the only way. And if he has to die then he has to die. He’s killed millions of innocent people with GALRA.”

“And that’s just your judgement call?” Lance’s eyes burned into Hunk, through him. “ You’re the all powerful, all mighty one who gets to decide whether or not a human being lives or dies? No matter how shitty he’s been?”

Hunk felt a stone drop to the bottom of his stomach. Suddenly he was nineteen years old again, staring in awe at a glowing blue tube of sheer power for the very first time.

Are you God, Tsuyoshi Seidou? Does that vial you’re holding make you God?

It was Allura that answered Lance, voice steady and eyes hardened. “Yes. We have to make that call. Because the system is corrupt, no one else is there to make the call for us. Justice has abandoned Arus, for the time being. Since no one else is trying to restore it, it has become our job. This is our city. We will not sit by and watch it die.”

A beat. Two. Then Lance exhaled slowly.

“OK. I... OK. When do we leave?”

Allura gave him a small smile. “Nineteen hundred central. That gives us all day to charge the guns.”

With that, everyone turned to Keith. He looked at Hunk. Hunk almost choked at the pain and betrayal he saw there. Keith well and truly believed Hunk was replacing him with Lance. He moved to say something, anything, but Keith spoke in a smoky voice before Hunk could blink again.

“That’s my cue, right Allura?” he rasped, tearing his gaze away.

“Unfortunately. Pidge, Coran, can you get him into the Pod?”

As everyone stirred into motion, Hunk couldn’t move from the table. He stared at the unfinished map, counting the smudged fingertips on its surface. He was startled from the hurricane thought process by a slender hand slipping into his own.

Lance looked up at him with a tired smile. He seemed resigned. Hunk figured Lance saw that he was upset, and was just returning the favor that Hunk gave him so many times yesterday. Nothing more than repaying a favor. But he still allowed himself a small bit of comfort as Lance squeezed his grip.

“Hey, sorry for yelling at you back there. I’m overwhelmed. I know I said I would go at this without questioning it all, but that’s super hard for me. I’m trying to just... not care? But after caring for so long, I guess I’m kind of out of practice.”

He sounded sad, tired maybe, and Hunk wondered how well he slept last night. If he slept at all. The boy looked like he’d been wrung out like a towel, and the same thought he’d had last night sprinted through Hunk’s mind. Prisoner! Prisoner! You’re keeping him prisoner! But he cringed and tried to ignore it.

Lance’s nose was red and raw from the cold, and a couple blisters from the poisonous gas still lingered on his temples. He had eye bags and his hair was a rats nest. His shoulders hunched, his fingernails were picked raw, and his lips were chapped and peeling.

Hunk though he looked ethereal.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Hunk told him honestly. “I kind of deserved it.”

Lance quirked a smile at that one, but the both of them turned at the sound of a particularly colorful curse from Keith.

They had the Pod set up, and were wiring Keith in. The needles that slid into Keith’s arms were bigger than GALRA injections, and outside his usual spot. He’d once told Hunk that being hooked into the Pod felt like liquid fire pumping through his veins. And he was completely immobile in there.

Right before Keith stepped in, he made eye contact with Lance. They both looked ready to rip each others throats out. The tension nearly scalded Hunk from a foot away. Keith’s eyes dared Lance to say anything, dared him to ask. Lance said nothing, and Keith slipped under.

As soon as the glass closed, a loud humming crackled through the air, and the Pod glowed with renewed vigor. After a couple second, its blue light filtered into violet. Keith’s skin looked nearly translucent. Every vein was visible through his closed eyelids, his body so thin it could have been bone. Along the wall, a row of guns flickered with violet light, all wired to the Pod.

“OK you guys, do whatever you need to do to get ready,” Shiro instructed the rest of them, eyes not leaving Keith’s motionless, emaciated form. “It’s me, Allura, Hunk, and Lance that’re going.”

“What do we need to do to get ready?” Lance asked curiously, and in his gleaming eyes Hunk saw visions of superhero suits and lion masks.

Hunk shook his head with a grin. “Come on. You can help me with my job.”

“What’s your job?”

“I get to pack the snacks.”

*

They weren’t even inside Balmera property lines when they saw the first police officer. Shiro was point, and he gave a low curse as he dropped to the muddy stones.

“Patrol, due North,” he breathed to the rest of them, and Hunk internally groaned.

He could barely see his other team members. A freshly painted, metallic blue lion hung in the dark, only slightly discernible as Hunk turned around. Their breaths fogged before them, creating patches of air where visibility was even further inhibited.

“I thought they said guards weren’t going to show up until inside Balmera,” Lance hissed as he crouched down low with the rest of them.

His voice came out echoey, and deeper than usual from inside his new mask.

Hunk shrugged. “That’s what Shiro and Allura thought. We’re here for the first time, we don’t know any of this stuff.”

“Guys!” Allura’s voice pierced from behind the red lion mask.

Hunk had to blink several times. She’d been wearing it for almost a year now, and it still made him do a double take. He was used to someone else in her position at Shiro’s right.

“Sorry,” Hunk whispered, and Lance mumbled something along with him.

They all shut up and stayed down against the ground, counting on their backs, black with mud, to conceal them. Still, Hunk couldn’t help holding his breath and scrunching his eyes shut as the footsteps of the guard clicked on the stone. The polished boots stopped for a split second in front of their position, and Hunk felt his stomach in his toes. Then the guard was moving on and the lions relaxed against the ground.

“OK Hunk, you got that?” Shiro murmured, the eye slits of his black lion never leaving the stones where the guard had narrowly missed them.

Hunk groped for the notepad in one of his pockets, not having nearly as many now that Lance had his jacket. He’d been put on note taking duty. An important job, but also one that required him to squint at tiny handwriting and fumble in the dark with stubs of graphite.

“Parol guard crosses north alleyway outside east entrance to septic gate. 19:08,” Hunk mumbled as he wrote.

Shiro nodded. His mud-covered body was so dark that his lion head seemed to bob suspended in the air. Hunk decided not to comment on the illusion, but he punched Lance’s shoulder silently. When the boy turned around, Hunk pointed at the back of Shiro’s head, and bobbed his up and down exaggeratedly. Lance’s hand flew to his masked mouth to stifle a laugh that ended up coming out as a squished snort. Allura whipped around to the both of them again, and even though Hunk couldn’t see her eyes he could imagine her glare.

He held up his hands. She shook her head. Hunk elbowed Lance again. Both of their shoulders shook silently.

They crouched low to the ground and crossed the stones one at a time, rolling across as quickly and quietly as possible. Crouching at the base of the fence, Hunk listened for a telltale hum of electricity. When there wasn’t one, he gave the nod to Shiro and they started to search for a good spot to use Pidge’s special wire cutters.

While they were going, two more guards passed their position with lazily sweeping flashlight beams. Every time they came around, Shiro would stop what he was doing with the cutters and they’d all drop, pressing ceramic noses into the dirt until it was safe for Hunk to write down what happened.

Eventually, Shiro got the hole cut away, and they all shimmed through to the other side of the fence. (Thankfully Shiro had accounted for Hunk’s size when cutting the gate; he didn’t want to think about what would happen if he got stuck. The embarrassment flooded his cheeks just thinking about it.) Shiro carefully laid the circle of mesh down in front of the hole so they could leave the same way they came. Pidge had created a handy device that not only would slice right through almost any material, but could also be used to weld it back together. Hopefully, by the time they slipped back out, no one would be able to detect that they’d ever been there.

Past the gate, Balmera Corp. stood pale and towering against the dingy cityscape. In the middle of spiraling alleyways and crumbling apartment buildings, the Balmera grounds were a kind of oasis. Perfectly maintained green sod surrounded a building that looked like it could be a prison complex. Hunk had always been unnerved by it, even before he knew it was a GALRA processing plant in disguise.

“OK,” Shiro gathered the three of them closer on the dark lawn. “We need to be careful. We’re probably out of range of security cameras right now, which is why they had the patrol guards. But the closer we get to the building we could be caught on tape. Hunk, I want you to record every position of a camera we see. Lance, take rear point. Let’s move out.”

“Wait!” Lance’s voice moved above a whisper for a split second, and Shiro turned back around momentarily. “You... you want me to take rear?”

Hunk heard the silent not Allura? after his question.

When Shiro spoke, the smile in his voice was evident. “Yeah. Something tells me you’re good with a gun.”

Hunk couldn’t disagree. When they’d passed around the newly charged blasters back at the Castle, Lance had taken his up without a moment’s hesitation. His slim fingers wrapped around the trigger like they weren’t meant to be anywhere else. None of them had asked where he’d learned to hold a gun like that. No one wanted to ask him much of anything with such a fierce look in his eyes and a lethal weapon at his hip.

Now, Lance unclipped the mud-smeared gun from its holster, and its purple glow filtered through the dried sludge. He looked rather deadly with the mask forebodingly obscuring his features. Hunk thought the blue paint suited this lanky, deadly angel.

When they moved, Hunk didn’t constantly feel the urge to look behind him. Not with Lance at his back.

They made it across the grass slowly but successfully, dropping stock still to the ground when a camera swept their way or sprinting away from the light beaming from the watchtowers. Hunk took note of everything, and they all stayed ready to abort mission at every turn.

Finally, they made it down the hill to the back of the building. A smell to rival all other smells immediately accosted them.

“Oh my God ,” Lance was the first to speak, and this time Allura was too busy covering the nose holes on her mask to make a comment. “It smells like Danny Devito died in his own shit back here.”

“Like, like, Danny Devito’s body is a couple days old already but the shit is still hot and fresh,” Hunk added, grinning.

“Gross you two,” Shiro muttered. “You both somehow made it worse.”

Hunk giggled quietly to himself as they made their way towards the huge septic tanks sat like beached whales. Lance nudged his shoulder good naturedly, and Hunk felt his insides glow. Even Pidge didn’t make such horrible jokes, and Hunk hadn’t realized how much he’d been missing.

“OK, now we wait,” Shiro said, backing the team up against a wall. “According to the hacked site, they should be coming out to clean it any minute now.”

As if on cue, the huge metallic door next to the four of them jolted, and a beeping noise echoed from the inside of the building. Hunk pressed himself flat (or as flat as he could get) against the wall, sucking in his chest and feeling his heart rate increase. The door slowly swung open, and two men in gray jumpsuits slunk out, a giant machine being pushed between the two of them. If Hunk had to make a guess judging by its shape and parts, he’d say it was some kind of vacuum.

“An’ what did she say? Fuck it smells,” one worker was talking to the other in a disinterested tone.

“Yeah it fucking does. Well she was obviously pissed. I mean, I kinda, I kinda did exactly what she told me not to, but I had to explain it to her I said, I said you know it’s my decision whether or not I go, and that’s, that’s on me you know? That’s on me, I said --”

“But I thought it was her thing?”

“What? No, no, she’s on parole still, and I, I --”

“That seems like a kinda dick move though, I mean --”

“Are you, are you calling me a dick? Because, ‘cause I got, I got people man and --”

“I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ man.”

“Well it just, it just sounded like --”

The two men’s conversation was cut short by the clang of the septic tank opening, and the vacuum flicking on. A roar so deafening Hunk felt it in his teeth filled the entire area, and they took that as their cue.

Like cats, they slipped inside the building through the enforced metal door the workers had left open. Hunk only had a split second to process the long, sleek hallway they’d entered before Lance was tugging his arm.

“Everyone get down! Camera!”

They all dropped, but it was too late. The security camera attached to the ceiling a couple feet in front of them blinked red. Hunk froze in fear, feeling lead melt through his bones. Why did he go on scouting missions again?

Lance was the only one who took action. In a flash, he’d pulled his gun and blasted the camera into a million pieces. The noise couldn’t have blared above the thunder of the vacuum, but Lance obviously wasn’t taking any chances. He shot the control panel by the metal door too, dead center, and the giant thing began to lurch closed. Soon enough, it was just the four of them breathing heavily in a silent corridor.

“Well, I don’t think I’m allowed to say anything critical towards Lance since he probably just saved our hides, but now we’re trapped in here,” Shiro pointed out. “We probably only have seconds until guards show up.”

Lance shrugged. “Well, we need to record response time anyway. And if we can find a good enough place to hide it shouldn’t be a big deal. We were prepared to run if things got dicey. Well, they just got dicey.”

“Dicey?” Allura seemed to be gritting her teeth. “They know we’re here. There are people running down here to kill us right now.”

“I hate to break up this uh... important discussion,” Hunk interrupted. “But we need to move. We need to move now.”

They bolted down the hallway, Lance shrugging off Hunk’s huge jacket as they went. He dropped it on the ground behind them, and started to drag it by the sleeve.

“What are you doing?”

“Our tracks, dude,” Lance huffed back to him as they ran. “We’re soaked in mud, in case you didn’t notice. But I guess that’s not very much of a change from your regular state of being.”

Hunk punched him in the shoulder, but ended up grinning. That smart bastard.

They eventually found an alcove big enough to foster all of them, with just enough layers of shadows that it would be possible to miss them if you ran by in a hurry. Hunk was just piling in when Lance cursed.

“What’s the matter?” Shiro asked as if on instinct rather than concern. He’d flipped into battle-focus mode.

“The camera footage,” Lance lamented. “They can check the cameras and see that we only made it past that first one. They’ll know we have to be hiding around here somewhere.”

In the millisecond after he spoke, Hunk knew what the boy was thinking.

“Lance no,” he warned, grabbing his wrist with a large, dirty hand. He easily encircled the entire thing.

Lance turned to him, and shook his head. “I have to big guy. It’s the first scouting mission. I’m not about to let us get caught.”

And then he was gone, sprinting like his life depended on it. Hunk realized that it probably did.

“That idiot,” Allura muttered, but she sounded concerned behind the sting. “He’s worse than Keith.”

Hunk only counted to fifteen, (they might have been the longest fifteen seconds of his life) before he heard the thumping of a single pair of running feet again. Lance dove into the alcove, landing directly on top of Hunk, knocking the complete wind out of him. Lance’s gun squished between them, and Hunk resisted the urge to yelp in pain. Lance slapped a hand across the mouth of his yellow lion mask, and visibly tried to reign in his own breathing.

Two beats later and a chorus of footfalls rang through the hallway.

“Harrison, Mark, take the left hallway! Rudy, Forrest, come with me. All the cameras are blasted through the whole radius, they’ve gotta be down here somewhere!”

And as the footsteps fell closer and closer to their alcove, Hunk found himself hugging Lance even tighter to him. The blue lion didn’t seem to mind, in fact, he squeezed Hunk’s bicep a little harder too. Hunk could feel his heartbeat frantically jumping against his ribcage. Behind him, he heard the softest click of Shiro setting his blaster to stun .

Well, Hunk thought. At least their response time was slow. A whopping 208 seconds, if I counted right. He squeezed his eyes shut, inhaled the hot, sweaty scent of Lance’s mud hair, and waited for the inevitable.

*

“Wow, you guys look like fucking shit.”

One by one, they dropped back into the basement, tugging the lion masks from their faces. Keith sat in the middle of the room, having his left arm freshly bandaged by Pidge, with his right still hooked in. Instead of a shit-eating grin, he wore sunken eyes and a wry, slashed mouth.

“Look in the mirror Mullet,” Lance said half-heartedly from behind Hunk where he was rubbing mud from his eyes.

Keith blinked, taken aback. “I do not have a mullet . My hair is just long.”

Lance raised an eyebrow, limping to stand by Hunk. “Is that what they’re calling it now?”

Hunk raised his hands before Keith could deliver a retort, feeling far too exhausted to deal with two antagonistic hotheads right then.

“Keith, cool down. Lance, you too. We’re all freaking wasted right now, so the best thing to do would be go to bed. Not tear at each other's throats, please.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say Bolts.”

Once Shiro was down the ladder, scrubbing at a patch of dried mud on his chin, Keith turned to him.

“How’d it go?”

Pidge looked up at this, seemingly willing to pay attention to details and not Keith and Lance’s cat fights.

Shiro sighed. “Well, we got into the building through the septic tank point. Tracked some guards. Got camera locations. Almost got caught but that’s OK. We knew it would happen eventually. Just not so soon into it.”

Keith’s jaw dropped at the same time that Pidge made a noise of distress. “You almost got caught ? What happened?”

Allura dropped beside Shiro then, and promptly untied the red lion mask. Hunk saw Keith’s gaze turn even more sour.

“Long story. Doesn’t really matter. We got out, they didn’t see our faces. And they don’t know what we’re trying to do. If you really want to know, Lance should tell you. He was the one who saved all our arses.”

Pidge looked at Lance appreciatively. “Hey, I knew you had it in you. What’d’ya think of the gun?”

Lance grinned tiredly, smacking his hand to his hip holster. “She’s my new baby. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to leave this place again without her.”

Everyone chuckled (except Keith) and Hunk involuntarily placed a hand on Lance’s shoulder. He realized after he’d done it, and immediately removed it. The slight disappointment he read on Lance’s face must have been the work of his over-hopeful imagination.

“OK, bed,” Hunk said. “I don’t think I’ll be able to stand on my own two feet for more than a minute.”

They obliged without much conversation, far too leaden to protest. The four of them filed out of the room, passing Coran who lay snoring in a pile of scraps. Keith stayed behind with Pidge, probably working up the courage to pull those stupid needles out.

Hunk didn’t feel like he could possibly climb the ladder back up to his garage bed at the moment, so he followed the rest of the crew to their rooms in the thin underground hallway. He didn’t really know where he was going with it. The only extra room they’d had down here had just gone to Lance. It’s not like there was a place he could crash.

But then everyone else was in their room and there was the devil in question, eyes incredibly blue and two inches from Hunk, squished up against him in the hallway. All he could hyperfocus on was the single streak of mud across Lance’s nose that must’ve happened after taking his mask off. Hunk had the inexplicable urge to lick his thumb and wipe it away like he would on a car’s rear view mirror.

“Hey um,” Lance flicked his gaze anywhere but Hunk’s adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “I’m not sure how to ask this, so I’m just gonna. Could you maybe... maybe um, stay with me tonight?”

Hunk blinked. Lance’s eyes widened with fear, and he made to quickly amend himself.

“Not anything weird! I just, I didn’t sleep very well the other night, not really at all actually, and I think having another person there would help. And... you give really nice hugs.”

He muttered the last part with a hand behind his neck, so quiet Hunk thought maybe he hadn’t said it at all. When he remembered that he had to actually reply , he practically stumbled over himself to do so.

“Yes! Yeah, of course. I was worried about having to climb back up the ladder anyway. You might have found me on the floor of the Castle tomorrow just passed out on the dirt.”

Lance laughed, a good, hearty laugh, and all the awkwardness dissipated. In the room, he collapsed on his cot with a sigh. Then, seeming curious, he slowly sat back up with a cringe.

“Hunk, can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

Internally he scolded himself for not even missing a beat.

“Why does Keith not come on raids? And what’s with the whole... charging thing? With the guns? And how they plug him in? What... what is that?”

Hunk bit his lip. Damnit, Keith would kill him. Keith would absolutely kill him if he found out that Hunk had told Lance anything. It kind of hurt a little bit, that his oldest friend in the book didn’t like the guy he was shamelessly (OK, not shamelessly, he had a lot of shame about it) crushing on.

“Well,” Hunk took the liberty to sit beside Lance on the cot, springs creaking. “That’s kind of Keith’s story to tell.”

Lance groaned, and rested his head on Hunk’s shoulder in exasperation. Hunk’s brain short-circuited for a second. “That’s what you said yesterday! Why can’t anyone give me any stupid answers!”

Hunk shook his head, low chuckle building up behind his chest. “A lot of people’s stories are paid for with a pretty hefty price. So, some answers you have to earn.”

Lance contemplated this silently for a moment, and apparently decided he’d used enough brain power for the day.

“I feel like that’s the best answer I’m gonna get from you.”

He laid back on the bed, yanking Hunk down with him. The purple light on the cement ceiling above them dimmed until it was dark. Keith must have unplugged.

In the inky blackness, it was impossible to see anything, but Hunk sure could smell plenty. The both of them were still covered in mud and dried sweat, clothes sticking to skin and skin to each other. They were absolutely rank, but Hunk couldn’t bring himself to mind. He pulled Lance closer, not caring that they barely knew each other and that Lance had only asked for company to keep the nightmares at bay.

He nuzzled his nose into the back of Lance’s soiled neck, and sighed at the warmth. In his opinion, they fit together perfectly.

“Goodnight Hunk,” Lance whispered, and Hunk thought he heard a smile in his voice.

“Goodnight Lance,” he said right back, breath ghosting across skin.

It was the best night of sleep Hunk had gotten in what felt like centuries. He hoped he’d never have to do it alone again.

Chapter Text

Lance jerked awake for the fifth time that night, eyelids caked with waxy mud and dried sleep.

He exhaled through his nose, shoulders aching against the crusty sheets. Actually, every single bone in his body seemed to ache. When he tried to roll to his side to alleviate some of the pain, he was stopped by a mountain of sweaty skin.

Hunk.

Oh Jesus, Hunk.

Lance’s face reddened underneath the layer of mud. He couldn’t remember falling asleep, but he remembered the moments leading up to it. Burrowed in Hunks chest, he’d felt safer than he had in days. Surprisingly, Lance was embarrassed.

He’d developed his reputation over the last year or so as a brazen flirt. He’d never held qualms about using his charms to get what he needed. He’d been young and ruthless and vying for survival; just like every other dealer in Arus. He’d learned to turn on a sultry smile like that, learned to crack a sex joke on the back of his tongue with nothing but a smile and a wink. He’d become a diamond, beautiful, confident, tough as nails. At least, on the outside.

On the inside, Lance feared, he was the same insecure crío that his mother used to comfort when a girl looked at him funny.

Why couldn’t he just ignore this? Or roll with it, God, like he had with any other stupid crush? He used to be able to push all this crap down far enough to be able to throw a coy smirk on his face.

But with Hunk it was different.

Lance didn’t need something. He wasn’t trying to barter for survival, for money, for the upper hand. Lance didn’t need to feel any attraction to this man at all actually. It wouldn’t benefit him. He would honestly be better off if he just left the poor guy alone.

But Lance wanted something, which made it infinitely worse.

Because Hunk was kind. He was kind and huge and bumbly and smart and quick when he needed to be. Hunk was funny. Hunk saved Lance’s life. And Lance really, really didn’t want to fuck that up. He didn’t want to fuck Hunk up.

How was that fair?

Lance groaned silently, and detangled himself heavily from Hunk’s leaden limbs. As he did so, a single snore ripped so violently from the man’s throat that Lance jerked back in shock. Afterwards, Hunk fell silent once again. What a gross weirdo.

Lance was blushing as he slunk out of the room.

His eyes could adjust to dark, but the Castle was more than just dark. It was pitch black. Completely underground, he had to feel his way down the hall. At least Hunk’s figure had been slightly familiar. He still hadn’t gotten the layout of the hallway. Where were those damn creepy purple lights?

Out in the main room, a flickering beam cut through the inky soup. A single, candle-lit lantern sat in the far corner by the Pod. That thing creeped Lance out yesterday. And it did the same thing now. Illuminated by the yellow candle, it seemed to glower ominously, devoid of its usual violet glow. Without anyone in it, the room felt a lot bigger. Colder. Lance craned his neck back at the ceiling. A labyrinth of mismatched pipes met his weary gaze. For a fleeting moment, the face of his dead sister danced behind his eyes. He choked on nothing, and swallowed the image down.

Suddenly, a rustling from the corner startled him.

More rats? God, Lance had never liked the slimy, foot long street rats that crawled up from sewers and hid under beds. He supposed probably a lot showed up here. They were in a cold, slightly damp hole in the ground after all.

It was not a rat that emerged from Coran’s usual pile of chords, however, but a grumpy programmer.

“Holy crackers Pidge, I was worried I was gonna have to kill a rat,” Lance clutched at his chest in mock terror. His voice sounded muffled in the huge empty space, bouncing off huge pipes quietly.

She glared at him from across the room, no animosity in her eyes. Behind her glasses ringed dark circles of purple. She looked like she’d slept less than Lance.

“Hardy har,” she muttered, and let a pair of wire clippers fall to the ground so she could run a tired hand through her rat’s nest.

“Whatcha up to?” Lance shuffled closer to her, scouting for a place to sit. Not finding a concrete one, he just settled for lounging on top of the scraps.

Pidge shrugged, looking dejected. “Well, a whole lot of nothing at the moment. I’m trying to further calibrate the Pod, get this algorithm in there that I thought would help lessen some of its radiation. Electron displacement stuff. But it’s just not working.”

Lance had no idea what she was talking about, but it sounded like hard work. The dying fire in her eyes was the same he’d worn countless times before.

“I hear you sister. How long have you been at it?”

Pidge snorted, looking up at the piped ceiling as if it held a clock. “No idea. Hours. Didn’t sleep at all. Must be around four in the morning now.”

Lance gave a low, half-hearted whistle. He rubbed the palms of his hands on the threadbare pants Hunk had given him. They were a little tight, not to mention a decade out of style, but he wasn’t complaining. His original pair had been caked with white dust that he didn’t want to remember anyway. Pidge raised an eyebrow at the mud still plastered to his skin.

“Dude, you didn’t shower?”

Lance coughed, eyes bugging out. “That was an option?”

Pidge laughed then, eyes crinkling up so he almost didn’t notice the dark bags underneath them. She looked really young when she did that.

“Yeah, we have a pipe upstairs that Hunk messed with so that the water’ll kind of rain out. But we turn the water off at night so you’ll have to wait a couple more hours until the big boss gets up. And even then probably all four of you will have to fight each other for it.”

Lance groaned. Growing up with five younger siblings, he’d learned how to wait for things he wanted. When his parents were still alive, he’d been the last to get anything. Last to open presents on Christmas. Last to get the yuca passed to him at dinner -- he’d always end up getting the crappiest scoop in the blue ceramic bowl. He’d gotten his first cell phone when he was fifteen. His younger brother got one age seven. Of course, they’d had to sell all of their expensive gadgets the moment their parents kicked the bucket, so it didn’t really matter now , but still. Lance was used to exercising patience. The problem was he’d never been really good at it.

And he swore on the good and gracious Lord above, right then and there, that if Shiro tried to shower before him, testicles would be swinging from the ceiling pipes in the morning.

“I’ll trust you to hook me up with a first-in-line kind of deal,” Lance told Pidge.

She rolled her eyes. “You’ll have to scrap Keith for it.”

“Are you kidding me? Mullet-head didn’t even get dirty! He was sitting here in a cushy seat the entire night!” Lance’s voice rose up an octave, and he pictured decking the owl-eyed addict in a race to the shower.

Pidge’s smile faded, and she picked up the wire cutters again. She twisted the tool meaninglessly in her hands, looking at it rather than Lance.

“Yeah, well, he wishes he could go get dirty with all of you like he used to. Believe me, that’s all he talks about when you guys aren’t here.”

Lance froze. Her voice sounded different than Hunk’s when she talked about Keith. Less pained. Less careful. More annoyed. Maybe, just maybe he could get some answers out of her.

“Hunk won’t tell me about Keith,” he started, then visibly cringed at his bluntness.

Pidge raised an eyebrow. “Well obviously not. Keith is like his baby brother. And that big idiot has a moral compass the size of Neptune. He’d rather cut off his leg than fuel the flames to the fire you two started.”

Lance smiled despite himself, scratching the back of his neck. Yeah, Hunk was a big idiot.

“Well, can you tell me? Like, who the Hell is he? And why he... plugs into the Pod? That’s... that’s what it is, right? When he gets those needles and turns all... purple... y?”

Pidge rolled her eyes. “I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever heard it put like that, but yeah. He’s ‘plugging in’.”

“Well? Can you tell me why?”

“I’m not sure,” she sighed and leaned away from Lance, shifting in her pile of wires. “I’m not... I don’t really care if you know Keith’s whole deal. He’d be upset but he can piss off. You’ll find out eventually. Who gives a shit, you know? We only have so long on this God-forsaken planet and I, for one, don’t want to spend it dancing around issues that matter. The only problem is, I don’t know all of his story. I don’t think any of us do.”

Lance shook his head. “You don’t have to tell me all of it. I just want to figure him out.”

“You want to figure out why he hates you so much,” Pidge interpreted.

Lance didn’t deny it.

“Well, that one’s easy. It’s because you’re a dealer. In his head that’s synonymous with murderer.”

He huffed in indignation. “But I explained it. It’s not like I wanted to be one, it’s not like my life goal was to distribute a deadly drug. I had to feed my family. And you know, pay for them to go to school, and for our house, for everything. It’s not as easy as it--”

Pidge cut him off. “It doesn’t matter to him why you did it. In his book, there’s no excuse. He thinks there’s nothing worse than selling GALRA. He sees it as you personally handing a suicidal person a shotgun.”

“But why?”

“Because he’s an addict.”

Lance swallowed. He’d known it, of course he’d known it, but hearing Pidge say it felt like a stone in the back of his throat. Why would this group of vigilantes, Hell bent on eradicating the drug, supposedly with a cure to said drug, have a GALRA user in their midst?

“He was an addict before Hunk found him three years ago. Barely alive. Living on the streets. Selling himself out so he could pay for the drug.”

“What?”

“He was a prostitute,” Pidge said bluntly, picking at the peeling paint on the handle of the wire cutters. “I don’t know anything else about his old life, so don’t ask me. He just told me that he was alone, and Hunk got him out.”

Lance sat silently for a moment. Keith’s gaze, liquid fire, bolted through his mind’s eye. How could that, ever consent to being fucked for money? He couldn’t picture Keith as anything other than the skeletal, angry figure who sat with his knees tucked under him in baggy clothes. Sunken in eyes, stringy hair, not at all pretty.

“What happened?” Lance asked slowly. “I mean, I thought you guys had the cure? If Hunk rescued him, shouldn’t he have gotten better?”

Pidge sighed again, and glanced up at the Pod behind her. She didn’t answer him for a long time.

The candle cast deep shadows up her cheekbones, and licked trickles of light down her bare arms. Lance noticed she’d pushed her tattered green sweatshirt up to her elbows. Freckles littered the back of her thin, pale hands. Calloused yet light, they reminded Lance of his bisabuela’s. They’d left her behind in Cuba, but Lance didn’t really mind. She always smelled like fish and cheap perfume, and tried to get Lance to play the old piano in their parlor with her.

Come, mijo !

Her Spanish had been different, clipped, not the rusty rich Cuban dialect Lance was used to. She’d grown up in Spain.

I want at least one bisnieto who can play Albéniz.

Lance shivered, remembering her leathery, batlike hands. God, she’d been ancient. He used to make bets with his sister every morning if she’d be alive for breakfast.

“Keith got the cure,” Pidge started, and Lance whipped his gaze back to her face, blinking. “Hunk gave it to him right away. But something went wrong. His blood out of a million didn’t accept it. All it did was slow GALRA down a whole hell of a lot.”

“What does that mean?”

Pidge shrugged. “Well, it means we get free energy now. Thanks to Coran, we have an actual Pod like they use at Balmera. To, you know, harvest the energy from GALRA victims. The only difference is I was able to recalibrate it so Keith doesn’t have to go into a permanent coma every time we need to take a piss. We can use it over and over and over again.”

Realization came to Lance a little slower than usual, but when it did, it hit hard.

“The lights! Keith powers the lights?”

Pidge snorted at his expression. “Yeah, and everything else in this place. He did the guns for you guys yesterday too.”

Lance sat back, incredulous as he ran a hand through his hair. It felt a little longer than usual, and definitely greasier than usual. When did Pidge say he could shower?

“That’s crazy. So you guys still get him GALRA?”

The smaller girl’s gaze darkened. She stared at the wire cutters like they had murdered her family. “Yeah. What else can we do? You know just as much as we do that if we stop giving him the drug he’ll die in less than twenty four hours.”

Lance looked down at his mud chipped hands. He’d always wondered what it would be like, to be on GALRA. How many times had he stared at boxes upon boxes of purple vials, and contemplated just one little touch of the needle to his forearm? They said it made you feel invincible. Damn, Lance could have used some invincibility.

If I had done it I would have died, Lance thought. I would have died and ended up just like  Keith.

Somehow, that was the last thing he wanted in the whole universe.

“Well, thanks for telling me,” he said slowly. “Hunk’s an A plus guy but there’s no way he’d ever let something like that slip.”

Pidge snorted again, and finally looked back down to her work. She seemed more at ease as she focused on a pried open circuit board on the side of the Pod.

“I don’t know Lance, if anyone could get him to go completely against his instinct it’d be you.”

Lance blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Pidge raised an eyebrow, not looking up again. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Um, no?”

“He’s absolutely infatuated with you.”

Lance blanched, and had the strange urge to fan himself with his hand. “W-What?” he spluttered. “I don’t... what? Are you joking? Hunk...”

“Let me tell you something Lance,” Pidge lifted her head, smirk curling below her huge glasses. “I’ve known that man for almost three years now, and I have never, ever, heard him call someone sweetheart, much less lend out his coat. That thing is basically his safety deposit box.”

Lance hugged the jacket around him tighter in reflex, enjoying how it felt to keep out the chill. Hunk called him sweetheart. That was fine. Lance was fine. It just meant Hunk might care about him. He might be a friend.

Lance was fine.

He was fine.

It’s not like he was getting attached or anything. Lance knew how to cut his losses. He didn’t get attached anymore. Especially not after... not after his family.

“Thanks Pidge,” he muttered, fighting to keep the blush off his cheeks.

He picked his way through shreds of machinery, and away from the light of the waning candle.

*

Around Shiro and Allura’s table, six of them stared at the map. Their next scouting mission was only a day away, and they all wanted it to go better than last time.

“The problem is the cameras,” Allura was saying. “We can improvise with guards, but cameras are far too unpredictable.”

Shiro opened his mouth to speak, but Lance was faster. “Well the purpose of these missions is to pinpoint where those cameras are. That way we can get in two months from now without a hitch.”

“He’s right,” Hunk said, and Lance saw Keith’s scowl deepen out of the corner of his eye. “These missions aren't supposed to be perfectly smooth. If they were, we could just break in tomorrow and kill Lotor.”

Lance tried to ignore how casually he said the word kill . In the back of his throat it felt like a huge fat glob of White Death.

“I agree,” Shiro’s diplomatically cautious voice cut all of them off. “But we still don't want to get caught. And last time was shaving it a bit close. So the cameras are a problem, but not one we can fix at the moment.”

“The biggest problem you fucktards have isn't the cameras,” Keith quipped drily across the table from his place at Shiro’s shoulder. “It's the fact that they know we’re trying to get in already. They'll all be like damn watchdogs now.”

Lance felt himself bristle despite it all. It's like the druggie had forgotten that Shiro and Allura had been on the mission too. He spat his accusation like it was singularly Lance’s fault that the four of them had almost gotten caught.

“Well there's no helping that now, genius,” Lance snapped, crossing his arms. “It's only thanks to me we got out in the first place.”

He might as well have set Keith’s greasy mullet on fire. His glare boiled into poison.

“Thanks to you?” Keith snarled, eyes darker than ever. “Oh, a lot of things are thanks to you, and I bet you can fucking count ‘em right up at Brookstone Cemetery.”

Lance felt his eyes grow hot. He was so used to finding the perfect comeback tucked underneath his belt that being at a loss for words felt nauseating. Why did Keith have to be such an ass?

Lance was starting to think he couldn’t stand another second of Keith’s triumphant, ghoulish smirk, when Coran saved the entire room.

“Hunk!”

The man came barreling through the door, out of breath and covered in sweat. He looked like he’d either just sprinted a marathon or seen his dead grandmother running naked through the streets. Both seemed like reasonable options to Lance, since it was coming from Coran.

“Uh, hey man,” Hunk turned from the Keith/Lance face-off, blinking at the sight of him. “What’s... what’s up?”

“It’s the toilet,” Coran nearly whispered, eyes wide and hands bracing the cement doorway. “Something’s wrong.”

Things were silent for a moment, until Pidge broke it with a laugh. Soon Hunk joined her, then Lance and Shiro, even Allura and Keith had to give grudging smiles.

“How big of a shit did you take man?” Pidge hiccuped behind her hand. “I thought Hunk said that toilet was industrial strength.”

“It is industrial strength,” Hunk mumbled feebly.

“No no no, it wasn’t me,” Coran moved quickly to amend himself, realizing too late that everyone would be making fun of him for this for all eternity. “I didn’t even do anything! I didn’t even flush it! The pipes behind it just burst and the whole seat cracked. I had to run and turn the water off.”

“So that’s the big noise we head twenty minutes ago,” Pidge had yet to stop grinning. “We thought that was the rats in the walls getting a little too feisty.”

Lance joined everyone in the room to look at Hunk. He figured it was about time that their toilet broke; he had been surprised to find out it didn’t happen on a daily basis. With six people plus a GALRA addict in the house -- and GALRA addicts threw up at least twice a day -- it should have busted long before now.

Hunk just heaved a sigh and ran his hand through his long hair. He’d tied it up with that strap of burlap again today, and Lance imagined him with an actual bandana. He looked nice with his hair pulled back, Lance thought. In a friendly way. Lance resolved to get him one as soon as possible. Probably yellow. He’d look good in yellow.

Friends. Friends. Lance would say that to any of his friends .

“Alright, I guess I’ll go take a look at Coran’s mess,” Hunk grinned in Lance’s direction.

This started Pidge up again, but she tried to hide her snorts behind coughs. She ended up wiping away the tears underneath her eyes.

“Until then, if anyone has to take a piss, do it in the street. Preferably by Sal’s, that jerk’s had it coming from the second he opened his place right across from mine.”

As the team broke, Keith made sure to brush past Lance in the roughest way possible with no eye contact. Lance flipped him off behind his back, but he was pretty sure only Shiro saw. Great. Like the big buff nice guy needed another reason to hate Lance.

“Good luck Hunk,” he called towards the door, after lowering his middle finger.

Hunk lumbered towards the door reluctantly, slumped shoulders cast in a purple glow. He looked back at Lance before following Coran. It was a simple, pleading gaze meant to be sarcastic. He mouthed the words ‘help me’. Lance knew he was supposed to laugh, but the way Hunk’s brown eyes wavered and his lips quirked up at the corners caused Lance’s throat to close hotly.

His siblings were dead. His life was supposed to be over. This was the Resistance, and Lance should be worried about survival. Survival first. Survival only.

Lance did not have a crush on the porky, bumbling, shy, beautiful, Hunk Garett.

Chapter Text

Hunk couldn’t remember the last time he’d come home without feeling some kind of hopelessness.

But today, he walked in with a tired satisfaction that melted like butter through his bones. They’d just completed their final scouting mission.

After two months and nine days, the chill of Arus had evolved into full-blown winter. Keith spent entire days hooked up to the pod in order to power a single space heater for the main room of the Castle. Customers had stopped coming in with blown transmissions and started coming in for antifreeze. Every night, he and Lance curled beside each other (for body heat), wrapped in old woolen gloves and moth-eaten scarves up to their pink noses. The pipes froze and burst if they didn’t empty the water. In the mornings, Pidge had to defrost the Pod. The mildew on the walls turned to ice, and even the rats seemed to have gone into hibernation.

It was the time of year that usually made everyone so completely miserable they almost forgot why they were resisting at all.

But not this time around.

Successful mission after successful mission had put all seven of them in unusually high spirits. There always seemed to be something to do, something to plan, something to get ready. Everyone kept moving and the cold only encouraged people to go faster. Lance had even joked that when they offed Lotor, the endless winter would fade into spring.

Keith had called him more ridiculous than C.S. Lewis; Arus hadn’t seen a legitimate summer in decades. Hunk had called him hilarious, and stuck his tongue out at Keith behind Lance’s back.

Speaking of the devil, Keith had become absolutely intolerable.

Hunk was used to his dry humor and poor social skills, but he was also used to Keith caring a little bit, no matter how much he denied it. There was none of that anymore. And Hunk refused to believe it was all because of Lance.

Lance.

Oh boy. Oh boy.

They’d been sharing a freaking bed for two months now and Hunk had never been so head over heels. Lance wore Hunk’s coat every day. He’d started keeping some of his own stuff in the pockets and Hunk didn’t even mind. Lance had morning breath that could knock out a zombie, and wouldn’t speak to anyone without having a mint first. He complained constantly about the lack of a mirror anywhere in the Castle, and he always asked Hunk if he looked OK before leaving the shop. Hunk always said yes.

And when Lance was on a mission his blue eyes turned to slits underneath that lion mask. His voice would even out and his lanky limbs turned into forces of nature. He knew when to follow an order, and he knew when to tell Shiro to stuff it.

He was beautiful, and he seemed to never leave Hunk’s side.

Hunk knew he was past go at this point, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. Lance hadn’t exactly been pushing him away, after all, so he took that as a good sign. Not that he’d actually try to make a move. Oh God no. No matter how many times he dreamed about holding Lance’s hand in public, taking him to dinner, kissing him -- he could never dream about how it would all start. That was just far, far too scary.

It was thoughts like these that Hunk had to push out of his mind every second of the day. Even after a mission, an effective mission no less, he couldn’t get his eyes off the sweaty, mud-coated boy laughing next to him.

“Oh man, Allura I don’t care what you say it was sick,” Lance raved.

“I wasn’t trying to be ‘sick’, Lance,” though she smiled as she said it, eyes trying to be stern.

“Whether you were trying or not, I would not want to be on the receiving end of that right hook.”

Shiro agreed with Lance, grinning and elbowing Allura as she rolled her eyes.

“How’d it go?” Pidge looked surprised from her place by Keith’s side, eyeing their smiles and less-beat-up-than-usual faces.

“It went great,” Shiro said, nodding at Hunk. “It went really well. We should be able to finish the map tonight, if Hunk’s info is correct.”

“Excuse me,” Hunk gasped, voice exaggeratedly low. “My info is always correct.”

“So, are we ready?”

Keith asked the big question. Voice hollow. He didn’t even lift his head to speak; his bruised eyes blinking slowly, as if it took effort to do so. He looked like shit. As soon as Hunk thought it, a little part inside him twinged with regret. There was a time when Hunk would do anything to make sure Keith was OK. But this Keith was sour and hurting and completely rotten in every way.

At least, that was Hunk’s excuse for it.

He let his knuckles brush Lance’s, and for a split, shining moment things were alright.

“I think we are,” Allura spoke, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop yet another degree. “We’ll need to wait a while so they’re less on their guard, and of course we’ll need to recharge everything, which will probably take a few days. Also, I believe Hunk has to concoct another batch of the antidote, just in case. I don’t want to go anywhere near Balmera without some of it loaded in our guns.”

Planning. Action. Concrete plans. Something Hunk could do. “Me neither. I’ll get that cooking tonight. It’ll take a while to set and stuff before we can use it.”

Allura nodded, then looked to Shiro. Something invisible passed between them.

“Friday. End of the week. That’s when we’ll do it.”

Her words settled on all of them like a wet blanket. Hunk knew even Lance, who’d only been with them a couple months, felt the weight of them. This was it. The end. What they’d been working towards for three years.

Arus had gone to Hell, and they were about to try and save it.

Hunk gulped, not enjoying how Allura’s somber tone had popped all their bubbles.

“Hey so uh, I’m gonna head up to the kitchen and get to work. Lance, you wanna come with?” He broke the anticipatory tension with a clearing of his throat.

Lance jumped beside him. Curiosity backlit his eyes, and he smiled.

“Yeah. I’ve always wanted to see the master at work.”

Hunk ushered him out of the room, ignoring how every other person watched them go in complete silence. “The kitchen”, as Hunk had dubbed it, sat above ground hidden in much the same way as the Castle. It was only accessible through the garage.

“Are you kidding me?” Lance stared up the metal ladder, expression reluctant. “We have to go through the garage?”

Hunk stifled a chuckle. “Well have you noticed any other rooms down in this basement?”

“No,” Lance pouted, but he grabbed the nearest rung.

A thin layer of ice glazed over the rusty bars. Climbing up them to get to his shop these days made Hunk wary, his only consolation that he was probably squishy enough to just bounce if he slipped and fell to the ground.

He let Lance go first, which had nothing to do with the view and everything to do with the fact that he could catch Lance if he fell. The closer they got to the top, the colder it got. The basement had the opposite effect when it was above sixty degrees outside, keeping the cold air trapped downstairs. But in the winter it helped keep part of the chill out.

The garage, in contrast, had absolutely zero insulation.

Climbing out of Kaltenecker was a shock to the system. Lance yelped above him, and Hunk cringed. A blast of frigid air nearly knocked him over.

“Good God,” Lance scrabbled for the edge’s of Hunk’s jacket in order to pull it more tightly around himself. “It’s like we’re out on the tundra, not inside.”

Hunk shook his head, squinting through the cold at the huge garage door. Cracks in the metal whistled as snow battered against the surface. They might as well have been out on the mission again, running across the open Balmera field.

“Come on,” Hunk grabbed Lance’s hand, not even trying to justify the movement. “It’s behind my workbench.”

“Behind your workbench? Wouldn’t that be a bit... cramped?”

Hunk rolled his eyes. “Just trust me.”

His workbench covered an entire section of the back wall. Behind it, he’d stuck up huge plywood slabs and drilled holes in them to create a makeshift pegboard. Tools of all shapes and sizes hung from it in what used to be alphabetical order. On the bench, Hunk grabbed a wrench lying on the right side. He took a deep breath and pulled with all his might, throwing his weight into the rusted mechanism.

The pegboard lurched, whined, and slowly began to scrape to the side as soon as Hunk pulled the hidden lever.

“Whoa,” Lance whispered, voice caught in the grind of the gears.

“Come on. It’s cold out.”

The two of them climbed up and over the workbench, through the giant hole in the wall. Inside, Hunk breathed a sigh of relief. The wind was safely blocked behind the wall, and the soft glow of the single purple light bulb calmed him down a little. Two rickety tables spanned the length of the room, running around fifteen feet long. A stove sat in the corner, and a huge sink right beside it. Cluttering the table were test tubes, volumetric flasks, gaggles of burettes filled with glowing substances. Hunk spread a hand out to all of it, feeling a swell of pride in his chest. Sure, he loved the mechanics shop, he loved laying underneath a car for hours fixing problems. But this, this was his passion.

Pure, unadulterated chemistry.

“This is a chem lab!” Lance twirled around himself in soft surprise, brushing his fingers across glass bottles. “You’re stacked! Where did you get all this stuff?”

“We have a supplier named Shay. She works at Balmera. She can’t do a lot of sabotage, I mean, she’s not a hundred percent into the whole Resistance thing. But she sneaks me stuff every now and then so I don’t have to waste my already small paycheck on blackmarket chemicals.”

“I’ve heard that name before.”

“Well, she lives in your old apartment complex. The flat under you I think,” Hunk cleared his throat, nervous to bring that up.

Lance was silent as he looked around the dingy glass beakers. After a few beats, he turned back to Hunk, grin ever-present.

“I thought you said it was a kitchen, you dork.”

Hunk shrugged with an internal sigh of relief. “Well, it’s a makeshift chem lab. You don’t see any Bunsen burners or fancy glass hoods. And I do cook in here. That stove over there’s where I make all of my wonderful soup.”

“I don’t know if I’d go straight for wonderful.”

Hunk stuck his tongue out, and Lance bit back a smile.

“Interesting. Your soup is definitely interesting.”

Hunk ignored him, instead stepping across a crumpled up tarp and reaching for a volumetric flask filled with clear liquid. “This is also where I make the cure. A different kind of cooking, I guess.”

“Let’s hope it’s better than the soup.”

“Oh shut it,” Hunk’s smile was close to splitting his face open. “It’s better than the soup. And it’s not like you have anything to compare it to. I’m the only one in the whole world who knows how to make it.”

Hunk felt a pang of satisfaction at having shut Lance up for once. He eyed the contents of the flask again, then turned for the end of the table. He needed some liquid nitrogen. Lance faced him head on, arms crossed and eyes wrought with careful concern.

“How come?”

Hunk turned back to the table. On second thought, maybe he didn’t need that nitrogen yet. He was perfectly content to stand right there and not turn around to face Lance.

“What?”

“How come you’re the only one that can make the cure?”

Hunk felt sweat drip down the back of his neck underneath his hair. It really was getting too long. The burlap didn’t help anything either -- it was just another piece of itchy material on his skin.

“Uh, because I invented it?”

He could almost feel Lance’s eyebrow raise without seeing it. “All by yourself in this crappy excuse for a lab?”

“No.”

“Then where?”

“Somewhere.”

“Hunk --”

“I don’t wanna talk about it with you OK?” Hunk finally turned around, willing his eyes not to burn as he gave Lance a firm glare. His throat felt hot. Lance couldn’t know.

“Did you talk about it with Keith?” Lance sounded hurt as Hell. Hunk told himself that wasn’t important.

“Why is everything about Keith for you?” he had the urge to slam the volumetric flask down, then realized that probably wasn’t the best idea since it contained hydrochloric acid.

“For me?” Lance’s voice raised slightly in pitch, and he sounded offended. “I --”

“Yes for you,” Hunk said in exasperation. He could barely see out of his eyes. From tears or fear or desperation or anger he wasn’t sure. “Every time we go out on a mission you ask me about Keith. Every time you two have an argument you rant to me about it for two hours after. Everything you do is freaking competing with him, and I don’t... I can’t...”

Hunk screamed silently. Am I not enough? He thought. Am I not enough for you? Of course he knew he couldn’t compare to Keith. He was three times the boy’s size, and wow that was attractive. Keith had the brooding, mysterious persona that no doubt caught Lance’s attention, and they were always screaming at each other. Didn’t that mean something?

But Hunk had thought... Hunk had allowed himself to believe for a split second that Lance liked him. He laughed with Hunk, not at him, and he did it often. He voluntarily cuddled up to Hunk’s side when they slept, and he had a way of sighing Hunk’s name in the most endearing, incredible way.

Hunk had allowed himself to hope. And now it was burning away into anger behind his eyelids.

“Well how about you, huh? You talk about him all the fucking time! It’s always, ‘oh, I used to do this with Keith!’ or ‘huh, that’s something Keith would say!’” Hunk could hear the tears in Lance’s voice and it hurt. “You guys have known each other ten times as long as I’ve known you and you’re never exactly discreet about it! How do you think that makes me feel?”

“What does it make you feel?” Hunk asked, his voice dropping back softly, and the tears finally fell. He met Lance’s eyes for the first time. They were brimming too, tracks of water carving paths down dirty cheeks. “Why would you care if I talk about Keith?”

“You blubbering moron,” Lance’s voice suddenly leached itself of anger too, his shoulders shaking. “I’ve been coming onto you for months and you still can’t tell when I get fucking jealous.”

Hunk felt his heart stop in his chest.

“J-Jealous? You... what...” Hunk spluttered, and noticed the terrified look on Lance’s face. Did he think Hunk didn't feel the same damn way? “ I've been coming onto you for months.”

Lance blinked. Once. Twice. Then his blue, blue eyes were closer than they'd ever been before and Hunk was kissing him.

It tasted like mud and salt. It was possibly the wettest, sloppiest, clumsiest kiss Hunk had ever had, actually.

And he wouldn't have traded it for world freaking peace.

“Lance,” he whispered almost involuntarily after the younger boy pulled away.

Lance’s smile split his face in two. Beautiful.

“Wow, that was a terrible fucking kiss.”

Hunk grinned, then laughed, then pulled him in for another. They pressed their foreheads together and the sheer force of Lance, the intimacy of it all, nearly made Hunk cry. Lance’s hands were on his face, brushing his cheeks, his ears, the hair at the base of his neck. It felt like he was touching Hunk’s very soul.

“Seidou,” Hunk said, his breath hot and inches from Lance’s nose. “That's my real name. Tsuyoshi Seidou.”

Lance’s brow furrowed. “That sounds really familiar.”

Hunk pulled him in again, kissing him, praying to some god in his desperation that Lance would be able to understand. When he broke away to look at the other’s face, his smiled softly. Lance's eyes were still closed, mouth slightly open and lips red.

Your secrets will kill you if you keep fighting them the way you do, Seidou. Stop trying to fight your murderers.

“There's a reason it does,” Hunk’s voice was gravelly as Lance’s eyes fluttered open.

Damn, so blue.

“Why?”

“Well, four years ago I got pretty famous for dying an epic, fiery death.”

*

Hunk refused to speak about his past anymore until out of the lab. Mixing chemicals was too dangerous, and too expensive, to mess up all because he was distracted. Although, Lance became a pretty significant distraction even while not discussing Hunk’s sob story.

He found out quickly that the signals Lance had previously been giving him were nothing compared to the full force of his flirting.

In the span of the thirty minutes it took to mix up a full batch of the antidote, Lance cracked fifty seven terrible pick up lines.

(“Hunk, Hunk, do you believe in God?”

“What?”

“I was just asking ‘cause you’re the answer to all my prayers.”

“I’ve never been to church but I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

“Hunk I’d say you’re a solid nine.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I would say ten, but I’m the one you need.”

“Since when am I a nine?”

“Babe, babe.”

“You’re calling me babe now?”

“Are you Jamaican?”

“No, I’m Samoan.”

“Well you’re sure Jamaican me crazy.”)

Finally, Hunk had finished and the cure rested innocently on the table in a 1,000 mL beaker. It glowed a calming blue to juxtapose the GALRA purple, and Lance had oohed and ahhed at it for a bit.

Then Hunk hooked it up to a rope levy, and carefully lowered it down Kaltenecker into the Castle. Since it took so many expensive ingredients to make such a small batch, there was no way he’d try to carry the beaker down and risk a break. Allura got to work as soon as it hit the dirty floor, enlisting Coran to help her load the guns.

“This looks great Hunk,” she told him without a glance in his direction. “Hopefully we won’t have to use it.”

“Yeah, well, hopefully this is the last batch I have to make in secret.”

He envisioned a world months from now, no GALRA in the streets and people waking up from this hellhole. It almost gave him shivers that the dream was so close. He started as he felt Lance drop to the ground beside him and slip his hand into Hunk’s. It was so easy. So natural. It felt different from any other time they’d held hands, and Hunk was shocked at how painless it had been. Had he really been scared of telling Lance how he felt just this morning?

“No. Way,” Pidge looked up from her laptop screen, eyes locked on their entwined hands. “You two finally fucked?”

Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing to look at the two of them. In less than a second, Hunk ripped his hand out of Lance’s in mortification.

“What? Pidge, oh my God! No! Oh my God!” Hunk felt his voice go higher than it had ever gone, cheeks flushing red.

Oh damn it, why did she have to say that? Would Lance get grossed out suddenly and realize that Hunk was actually a whale and very gross and not-at-all fuckable? Things were going so damn well --

A loud laugh interrupted his spiralling thought process. Beside him, Lance had doubled over, clutching his stomach till his sides were about to burst.

Somehow, that reaction was infinitely worse.

Hunk felt his blood turn to lead. Lance thought fucking him was a big fat joke.

“Holy crackers Pidge, what the fuck? Hunk, oh God, your face, you’re horrified! Would I really be that terrible in bed?”

Hunk spluttered, not knowing how to respond. Lance thought he would be terrible in bed? Instead, he settled on turning to Pidge, every inch of his skin still hot.

“Why the Hell would you say that Pidge?”

“So... I’ll take that as a no?”

“Pidge!”

She bit back her bottom lip, eyes dancing. “Well something about you two is different, so I figured you finally did the deed.”

“Pidge,” Hunk tugged on his hair, refusing to look over at the boy next to him. “We’re not even technically together.”

This time, Shiro spoke up in confusion. “Wait, I thought you two were a thing.”

Lance sobered up, and slid his hand back into Hunk’s.

“We are now,” he said smoothly.

He said it with such easy confidence that Hunk nearly choked. No one had ever talked about him like that before.

“You mean, previously, before today, you were not together?” Allura set down her pencil to cock her head at Hunk.

“Um, no?” Hunk looked around, and saw every person wearing an identical expression of confusion. “Did everyone just assume we were dating?”

“Hunk, you share a bed,” Pidge deadpanned from the center of the room, looking over the top of her glasses.

He felt his cheeks heat up again, but Lance squeezed his hand and rested his head on Hunk’s shoulder. Wow, he was the perfect height to do that.

“Well Pidge, you’re not wrong. And speaking of bed, I am exhausted,” Lance yawned. “That mission went really well but it still took a lot out of me. Hunk?”

Hunk was going to say something, he was, but Lance’s hand in his own turned his mind to static. One last look around the Castle revealed a lot of smiles. They didn’t... mind this? Then -- where was Keith?

But Lance seemed far more important at the moment and following him to the tiny room sounded like a fantastic idea.

After Hunk shut the door to the freezer box of a bedroom, Lance seemed to melt. In one second he stood grinning like a maniac, and the next his hand slid from Hunk’s and he collapsed on the cot. He brought a hand over his eyes, and his chest heaved slowly. Hunk took a cautious step forward.

“Hey Lance, you OK buddy?”

Lance took one more huge breath, then lifted a slow hand away from his face. He tossed Hunk a weak smile. “What happened to sweetheart?”

Hunk sighed in relief and joined him on the bed. Without all those eyes on him, he felt less like he was going to be sick and more like he was going to fall asleep comfortably.

“Are you OK sweetheart?”

Lance sat up, bags underneath his eyes, and leaned against Hunk’s shoulder. “That’s better.”

“You still didn’t answer my question.”

Lance just hummed in response, and Hunk decided to let it go. Instead, he gently lifted the boy’s head from his shoulder and down into his lap. Lance seemed a little confused, but all of that faded as soon as Hunk started to comb through his hair with his fingers. His eyes drooped shut.

“Oh that’s some good stuff right there.”

It was Hunk’s turn to hum. Despite the subzero temperature, mildew walls, and dried mud all over the both of them, he felt warm . Like he’d plunged into a golden pool of syrup. All the turmoil of earlier buried itself in the back of his mind. Why couldn’t every day be like this?

“Tsuyoshi?”

Oh nuts. Oh Holy Crow.

Only his mother had ever called him by his first name, and only on very specific occasions.

“Is it alright if I call you that?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah, it’s really alright,” Hunk whispered, voice hoarse.

Please never stop calling me that.

“Good,” Lance sounded so content, it was hard to believe he was real.

In all his life, Hunk had never been in love with someone. Sure, he’d had his crushes. Even insane crushes that probably went a bit too far. He’d been rejected (laughed at) by straight guys just as much as the next homo, and the short relationships he did have always ended in Hunk clinging desperately and his partner shying away in disgust.

I like you Seidou, it’s just... you’re really funny. And smart! But I don’t think this will work out.

But this felt so, so different. Hunk was usually so damn desperate for companionship and validation he’d date any creeper who said something nice to him. But Lance was Perfect, and incredibly he felt something for Hunk. It was so different , and it was making his head spin wonderfully, like a shot of caramel rum.

“What did you want to ask me?”

“Oh, right,”  Lance snuggled deeper into Hunk’s lap, and his voice changed. Like he was guarding something. “Um, what we were talking about earlier in the lab. Not the... the bad stuff, about... you know. But the stuff about you.”

Hunk’s fingers jolted in Lance’s hair.

He said nothing.

Fear ruthlessly ate at his heart. Despite Lance’s accusations that he doted on the boy, not even Keith knew about his past. Keith, who he’d known for years. Keith, who he’d saved. Keith, who he couldn’t save. The same Keith that kept Hunk company after he lost everything, never prying, never demanding -- he didn’t know. He didn’t know about Hunk.

How could Hunk tell Lance, who he’d known for a matter of months, the deepest parts about himself? What would he think? What would he do? Would he leave? How was Hunk supposed to risk the best relationship he’d ever had after only a couple hours?

“You don’t have to tell me,” Lance whispered suddenly, letting his eyes flick open. “I’m a selfish, nosy bastard I know. I really don’t want to make you uncomfortable. We can just sit here like this the whole night and I’d be happy.”

And he said it so purely, so gently, so lovingly, that Hunk said the one thing he’d been burning to say from day one.

“You can go.”

Lance’s lips parted, and his brow furrowed. His breathing increased, and he looked ready to sit up from Hunk’s lap.

“W-What?”

Oh nuts, he’d completely ruined it.

“No, no! I meant if you want to go. I won’t stop you anymore. I know I said that we’d have to stop you if you tried to leave. But, if you want, you can go. Leave the Resistance. Whatever. I... I don’t want to keep you prisoner.”

Lance was silent.

Mouth still open in shock, his eyes searched Hunk’s face with an incredulous expression.

“You...” he finally said. “You’re serious?”

Hunk nodded. “It was killing me. I want you to be here. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted something so much in my life , but I only want you to be here because you want to be. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if there was even the possibility of you staying because you were afraid we would kill you or turn you in.”

Lance sat up slowly, and Hunk felt his heart scream . But he didn’t stop him. Lance faced away from Hunk, back curved with an invisible weight, palms pressed into the filthy mattress. Hunk watched him with bated breath, feeling the string tying them together fray with every second.

Please, he begged silently. Please, please don’t go. I need you.

When Lance turned around, his eyes pooled and a smile curled on his face.

“I want to be here too,” he breathed, each syllable filled with snot and tears, and Hunk tugged him back into his lap.

This kiss was a better one. A lot softer, still just as wet, but they weren’t in such a hurry. Hunk cupped the back of Lance’s neck and sighed against his lips.

“I thought you were going to walk out.”

Lance shook his head, eyelashes brushing Hunk’s cheeks. “Never.”

Hunk resumed combing through Lance’s hair, enjoying the way he relaxed back into his lap. He’d do that all day if it meant Lance blissed out like that.

“I always wanted to be a doctor,” Hunk began, and Lance’s blue eyes flashed up at him.

He didn’t look down, but instead at the moldy wall in front of him, never ceasing his methodical stroking. If he was going to tell this, he’d better do it right.

“Ever since I was little. My family was a whole line of mechanics. My grandpa was an immigrant, and he started his own shop in Altea a couple miles outside of Arus. My parents worked the shop after he died, and since I was an only child, I pretty much figured I was next in line.”

Hunk thought of the smell of the old oil, the sound of his father cursing from underneath a car. His mother always used to bring them watered down lemonade in the garage. Hunk would swing his legs back and forth as he sat on the old shop seat, watching his father tinker.

Working away out here, are we boys? Oh, Seidou! Your gloves!

“I loved the shop. I did. But at school we did stuff like biology and it made me feel... I dunno, smart? I was top of my class. Mom and Dad were so proud of me, but they never really got it. Neither of them went to college, so me wanting to be a doctor was something they couldn’t understand. Mom supported me, but Dad never understood. He wanted me to work at the shop, and told me he wouldn’t help me pay for medical school. So I worked my ass off for scholarships and still went into loads of debt.

“Of course, when I actually got into pre med I hated it. Everything kind of hit me at once that if I became a surgeon then I would be directly responsible for the life of another human, and I didn’t... I couldn’t... what if I messed up? Snipped something wrong and boom, flatline.”

I’d been such an idiot.

Lance looked up at him patiently, but Hunk still couldn’t meet his beautiful eyes. He was afraid if he did he’d break down.

“I switched to biomedical engineering. It was much more my speed. I’d always been a good cook, and it turns out creating medicine isn’t really any different. A lot more technical and microscopic I guess, but the same kind of principles. Whenever I compared the two, though, all my professors got mad.”

Lance snorted, and Hunk grinned. His story was hard to tell, and Lance seemed to understand that. He was a really good listener. The more Hunk talked, the more it seemed to just tumble out, instead of get stuck in his throat like usual.

“I made it to the top of my class. I got chosen for this special apprentice program at the Garrison hospital in Arus, and it was a really big deal. I was one of only four students who went. We got to work with cutting edge stuff and with the top doctors in the nation. I was only nineteen.”

Lance gave a low whistle. “Damn I scored a genius.”

“Shut up.”

“I mean, I already knew that, but still.”

Hunk tapped Lance’s nose with his thumb, their faces a matching shade of pink.

“OK, so you were on the special smart people team.”

Hunk rolled his eyes fondly. “I was on the special smart people team. We were doing some crazy stuff. The head of the research was this super accomplished doctor, Alfor. He’d spent his whole life making medicine. He wanted to cure cancer.”

Lance’s eyebrow raised at Hunk’s pause. “That’s a lofty goal.”

“Yeah,” Hunk gulped. “But he thought he could do it. Not necessarily by creating a medicine that would attack the disease but by enhancing the natural immune system already in place. See, every good doctor knows the best way to fight any sickness is letting your body do the work instead, because that’s what it was designed to do. Obviously that isn’t always possible. But Alfor thought it was, if we could just vamp up what we’ve already got.”

“That sounds an awful lot like genetic manipulation,” Lance said, murmuring into Hunk’s leg.

“So you see the problem,” Hunk said.

“Um, yeah?”

“Well that’s good, because the rest of us didn’t.”

Lance looked up, blinking out the laziness. “What?”

Hunk took a deep breath. “We thought Alfor was brilliant, basically a god. Me especially. I was the youngest on the team and I thought we were going to write history. Our goal was to boost the electricity in a person’s body.”

Lance frowned. “Just boost the electricity?”

Hunk shook his head. “It sounds stupid, but it’s not. A human produces about a hundred watts of power throughout their entire body. What Alfor knew was if you could up the voltage produced in someone’s brain their immune system would skyrocket in its abilities. Not only that, but other parts would improve as well. With our math, we predicted that with an increased voltage of only .6 percent a person would live eighty years longer.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, holy shit. Except it’s easier said than done. There’s a reason humans aren’t born with that much electricity in their brains. If we tried to stimulate electricity directly it would be fatal.”

“Hold up, what about electroshock therapy, or defibrillators and stuff like that? From like centuries ago? I mean it kind of sucked ass but it didn’t kill anyone on the spot.”

Hunk shook his head. “Not the same thing. Electroshock therapy, or even getting struck by lightning, is manually running an outside electrical current through your body. What we wanted to do was literally increase the amount of electricity the brain is constantly creating.”

“Oh,” Lance said softly. “And did you?”

Hunk snorted. “What do you think? It was like something out of science fiction. After months and months of failure, everyone else in the research facility started to laugh at lab 6. After a year, every doctor in the entire city was laughing at us. It didn’t matter how many times Alfor had been published in journals, or how high he hung his Nobel prize in his office. His ideas were too far fetched. And they weren’t working.”

“I don’t even know this dude and I feel bad for him,” Lance muttered.

“Oh believe me, all of us on the team felt the same. When everyone else started to doubt, we just believed in Alfor harder. Whatever he told us to do, we did. We basically lived in the lab, making beds under tables and wearing goggles in case someone spilled something in their sleep. We’d been at it for nearly a year and a half when we had our breakthrough.”

Lance’s eyes bugged out. “Wait, you mean you actually did it?”

Hunk continued, not looking down at him. “I was in late. That was normal. Only Matt was with me and he’d fallen asleep hours ago. Alfor had given up for the day, and all of us were refusing to talk about how he might have given up for good. I was thinking like the wind, like I’d never thought before. Alfor had always tried chemical stimulation to the brain . That was his belief. The problem was that if we manipulated neurons on a molecular level into releasing greater electric pulses, then that would also simultaneously destroy the brain. I knew the answer was so close, and there was something we were just missing.”

“ So? Did you do it?” Lance was tense in Hunk’s lap, Hunk’s fingers long-since stilled.

“It hit me all at once. We’d been trying to mess with neuron voltage directly. What if we applied it to the bloodstream? We could have a double edged chemical, that would stimulate electricity in the brain and strengthen white blood cells on the back end. The blood was the key, not the brain, because that was the center of the immune system.”

“Damn you, that’s incredible. Not like I actually understand it, but I appreciate you for putting it in layman's terms,” Lance blinked at him in awe, then slow confusion. “But wait, wouldn’t you be known throughout the world for curing cancer by now?”

Hunk exhaled shakily, feeling his stomach twist and roll in knots. “Matt and I stayed up all night to make it. We called in the rest of the team in the morning and tested it on our first subject, this little mouse with lung cancer. We named him Alpha.”

“ And ?” Lance sounded impatient at Hunk’s pausing.

“It worked,” Hunk breathed. “The electricity in his brain spiked more than we thought it would. His body was able to flush out the cancer all by itself.”

Lance’s eyes shone. Hunk thought it was like looking in a mirror from four years ago.

“Wow.”

Hunk swallowed. It wasn’t over yet. “But that wasn’t all Alpha did. After the cancer, his body got rid of the mini gallstones he had, plus the slight blindness in his left eye.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Within the span of an hour, Alpha was cured, Lance. Cured of cancer, but also cured of everything. He could run ten times his usual speed. He lifted his entire wheel up and threw it against the wall of his cage when we didn’t give him more food.”

“You created a supermouse?”

“Don’t sound so excited,” Hunk whispered, and finally, finally looked down at Lance. His chest caved with nausea. “Alpha died at the beginning of the next hour.”

Lance blinked in surprise. He swallowed. “I don’t understand.”

Hunk held his gaze painfully. “His brain overloaded. The white blood cells could only keep up for so long.”

Lance held a hand to his throat. It looked like an involuntary motion. “That sounds like...”

Hunk nodded slowly. “It was a failed, miserable project, but it was the closest Alfor had ever gotten. We called it 6A. 6ALPHA.”

Lance shot up off of his lap, eyes filled with horror. He took his hands off of Hunk, and the conflict that filled his eyes was nearly tangible. Hunk felt the dread consume him as Lance realized.

“You... you created GALRA.”

“Alfor chalked the project,” Hunk choked. “He said we could keep working, but not on the electricity idea. It was too dangerous, and there was no way to make it less deadly. But... but someone got wind of it outside the lab. News spread, not loudly. Only a couple people knew, and they were all the wrong people. In two days, we had the leader of the Blade party knocking on our research doors.”

“No,” Lance siad, hushed with disbelief.

“Yes,” Hunk nodded achingly. “They threatened Alfor. Blackmail. Bribery. All of it. He was forced to hand over the formula. They told all of us that if we breathed a word our families would end up dead.”

Lance’s hand flew to his mouth.

“We didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t until months later when the first victims appeared. A new drug, not connected in any way to the government. Of course, when the bodies started to disappear discreetly, apparently off to prison, we knew what was going on. All of us were terrified, horrified, unable to do anything to stop the monster that we’d inadvertently created.

“It was Alfor that suggested the cure. After all, we were the ones that knew the research, had dedicated our lives to this project. Out of anyone, we’d be able to create a substance that could stop GALRA.”

“And you did,” Lance said. “You made the antidote.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t free. It was over the second they got Alfor.”

“They what?”

“Arrested him, for GALRA possession. Completely false accusations, but ever since the state of emergency nothing could be done. They took him and killed him and afterwards the rest of us knew we were screwed. It would only be a matter of days until someone showed up to off us too. They knew what we were up to.”

“What did you do?”

“What could we do? The antidote wasn’t finished yet. We all agreed that what we were doing was more important than our individual lives. We had to stop what we started. So we all stayed.”

Lance slowly laid back down in Hunk’s lap, twirling their fingers together as Hunk choked up. His blue eyes were watery and huge, unwavering and worried.

“We all stayed and they came for us. They gassed us out.”

“White Death,” Lance said, and those two words were so full of meaning, telling Hunk that Lance knew. Lance knew everything .

Hunk could only nod, Adam’s apple bobbing. “They destroyed our work, burned the research center. Their leader by then was Alexander Lotor. He... he knew my name.”

Are you God, Tsuyoshi Seidou? Does that vial you’re holding make you God?

“Lotor was there?”

“He wasn’t just there, Lance. He killed all of them. Matt... He... he shot...” Hunk’s voice cracked, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “He was trying to wrestle the last vial of cure from me. He couldn’t get it, so he just shot me. Right in the gut. I dropped, and played dead, and he figured he could let me go. After that they gassed the lab, and set fire to it. I escaped through the firesafe exit, hung from the side of a building for an hour until some bozo on the street noticed me bleeding out and decided to get me a ladder.”

“Holy Hell, Hunk...”

“I couldn’t go home. I couldn’t use my name. I had to hide. That was the worst freaking part, I had to hide, because I had the goddamn cure for the entire city but I wasn’t powerful enough to use it. My family thought I had died in a tragic lab accident. The fire was plastered on all the front pages, and I had nothing and no one except a stupid vile and a student ID that would get me killed.”

Lance said nothing, only bringing a hand up to brush the side of Hunk’s face. He was so gentle.

“I found Keith and decided to see if the cure would work on a person. He was about to die anyway, and I figured since I invented the drug that was about to kill him it wouldn’t hurt if I injected him with the new one I invented and it killed him faster. The cure didn’t... quite take with Keith. It’s got something to do with his blood type. It was the first time I’d tried to use it so I thought maybe something was wrong with the antidote, but I figured out later that Keith was just this one weird exception. At least he wasn’t... dead.

“After him was Pidge. Her brother was Matt Holt, who worked with me on the project. Her dad was one of the doctors at Garrison that had helped us go undercover to make the cure. Both of them were dead. She found me. Coran was next, he worked within the government, and had spoken out against the coverup. They tried to kill him, and I picked him up instead. The Pod we have is thanks to him. Then... then there was Allura. Pidge was the one who told me about her, and I went and...”

Hunk paused, and licked his lips. His eyes closed.

“It’s OK,” Lance whispered.

“She’s Alfor’s daughter,” Hunk continued haltingly. “The first time I saw her, I thought I was staring at his ghost.”

“Oh man.”

“Yeah. She took some convincing. She didn’t like to hear that the government had murdered her dad. But everyone always has to face the truth, at some point, and she came back with me.”

“What about Shiro?”

“He was last. I was on a scouting sort of deal back at Garrison for the first time since... since it had happened. Long story short, Keith and I rescued this guy who they’d been experimenting on, seeing what kind of things he could do on GALRA, how long he could last, all that stuff. Thankfully he took the cure a lot better than Keith.

“After that we started our raids. We became the lions. And, well, the rest is history.”

The silence that filled the room roared in Hunk’s ears. Each breath that ghosted out of their mouths and clouded in the air looked like an eternity. He felt... lighter, somehow. Strangely empty. And it wasn’t the worst feeling in the world.

“I don’t really know what to say,” Lance shifted in Hunk’s lap so he was sitting up, planting his legs firmly on either side of the man so he could look him in the eyes. “I just... GALRA has always been so big to me. A network, people, thousands and millions of people. I have routes memorized, every GALRA house in the city written straight into my brain. And suddenly here I am, sitting on top of the one person who created it. I never imagined it would be so... explainable.”

Hunk cringed, feeling a ball in the back of his throat.

“No! I didn’t mean it like that,” Lance brushed a lock of greasy hair from Hunk’s forehead. “I know this isn’t your fault.”

“It is my fault, really.”

“ No, it’s not,” Lance said firmly, eyes hard, like he had his index finger wrapped around a trigger. “You might have made the drug, but you were making it to help people. You didn’t know what would happen. This epidemic, this... this corrupted genocide? That’s not you, Hunk. That’s Lotor.”

“If I hadn’t made the drug then --”

“Oh crackers to that! If Lotor’s dad had pulled out then this wouldn’t have happened either. If someone hadn’t leaked the info out of your lab about GALRA in the first place then this wouldn’t have happened. If the damn Big Bang didn’t happen then Arus wouldn’t be where it is now. You can’t blame yourself. You failed at making a cure for cancer. That’s it. Lotor is the one who fucked us all to Hell. Now you’re trying to fix all of that, and I think that’s the most brilliant thing I’ve ever seen a person do.”

Hunk blinked in silence. He didn’t realize he’d started crying until Lance was kissing at his dirty cheeks. He tried to steady his breathing, say something, say anything, but it felt too overwhelming. He didn’t remember when or how it had happened but somehow Lance became the one holding Hunk.

“Do you need sana sana?”

“What?”

Lance sighed with a small smile and leaned towards him. Hunk gulped as his lips pressed against his temple. Oh wow. That had never happened before. He was so soft.

“It’s a little rhyme my mom used to say to me whenever I got upset. I said it to my little siblings whenever they got their knee scraped or something,” he informed him, close and warm and everything.

“I don’t have a scraped knee,” was all Hunk could say, tears still hot.

Lance laughed, small and musical, which turned into a beautiful hum against his cheek.

“It’s for more than scraped knees. It’s magic.”

“Magic?”

“Yeah, witch magic.”

“Well now you have to tell me.”

“Sana sana colita de rana, si no sanas hoy, sanarás mañana.”

He said it like he had said it a thousand million time. But, no matter how overused, the Spanish words reverberated in Hunk’s mind and Lance’s caramel voice seemed to dance in his ears. It sounded more natural than any English Lance had spoken. He felt like it was witch magic. Hunk thought that Lance must say it like that every single time, beautiful and magical, never getting tired of it.

“What does it mean?”

“Oh I don’t know,” Lance said dismissively. “It’s an old mom saying. It’s just to make kids think they got better.”

“You speak Spanish and you don’t know what it means?”

Lance glared at him, and Hunk felt his mood lightening by the second. “No. I could translate it for you but I don’t know what it means. The translation sounds kind of stupid anyway. I’m just not used to hearing it like that.”

“Well?”

“It’s about healing the tail of a frog and being better tomorrow.”

“I want to know the translation.”

Lance glared, obviously put off, but Hunk could see the smile behind his eyes. He felt the butter in his heart again.

He huffed, and spoke so fast Hunk almost missed it. “Heal, heal, little frog tail, if you don’t heal today you’ll heal tomorrow.”

“Why frog tail? Do frogs even have tails?”

“I don’t know Hunk. That’s why I told you I don’t know what it means. It’s like a nursery rhyme. Like... what was that English one? About eggs and moms or something?”

“Are you talking about Mother Goose?”

“See? That one makes no fucking sense! It’s just as weird as frog tails!”

Hunk laughed, shoulders shaking. His tears were all dry. “Don’t ask me. My mom never told me any of that stuff.”

“Well consider yourself lucky. I say a life without Mother Goose is a life well spent.”

Hunk agreed with another low chuckle, and pulled him a little closer. He smelled better than usual. Or maybe Hunk was just feeling better than usual.

“Lance?”

“Tsuyoshi,” he hummed.

Hunk let his eyes shut gently, and he pressed his nose into Lance’s neck.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Lance murmured against Hunk’s skin. “I’m only repaying the favor. You keep my nightmares at bay.”

Hunk chuckled, and it felt good behind his ribs. “You’d never even know you had them.”

“Yeah well, maybe that’s why we get along so swimmingly. We’re both just so good at hiding things.”

That night, Hunk slept with tears flaked on his dirty freckles and Lance held soundly to his chest.

Safe.

Chapter Text

Allura whacked Lance in the head for the fifth time in a row, and instead of yelping he only cringed.

“Oh, sorry Lance!” she worried down at him, but he waved her off.

“You’re good. Didn’t even feel it, princess. This is what, the twelve hundredth time?”

“Shut up. And don’t call me that.”

“Demasiado tarde, querida.”

Allura hit him on purpose then, bringing the towel down with a brilliant smack to the crown of his head.

“ Hey!” Lance drew the word out into three syllables.

“Don’t call me that, either.”

Lance refocused on the bottom part of the wall he was supposed to be cleaning. Allura stood on a rickety step stool beside him, occasionally dipping her towel down into the soapy bucket. They both had to swirl up its contents often, otherwise a thin layer of ice would form over the top.

“You know what it means?”

“I’m not an idiot, as you would say.”

Lance snorted. “Well Hunk’s smart as Hell’s bells, and he still doesn’t speak Spanish, so.”

Allura stayed silent for a moment, not commenting on the soft way Lance spoke Hunk’s name. When she did speak, it was in her hard, no-nonsense way that could’ve melted the very mildew they were trying to scrub off the cement.

“I was studying to become a political science major, minoring in diplomatic relations. I had to study many languages in school, and Spanish was one of them.”

“That’s actually awesome,” Lance looked up at her. “What languages do you speak?”

Allura gave a wry grin to the cement. “None besides English fluently. I can read and understand Spanish fairly well, a little German and Russian, some Mandarin. French is nearly the same, but I can speak the others far more fluently. Honestly, unless you were born in France you’ll never speak fluent French. There’s no way any true Frenchman would allow it.”

Lance laughed, plunging his rag back into the bucket. “Well that’s more French than I know. I can say ciao.”

“That’s Italian,” Allura said from above him.

He blinked, wracking his brains. Damnit, she was right. “OK then Miss Smartypants.”

“My father used to call me that,” she said offhandedly.

She kept scrubbing for a few seconds, then froze as she seemed to realize what she just said. Lance heard alarm bells in the back of his head. He didn’t want her to panic and try to take anything back. Hunk’s words from last night floated back to him, and he suddenly wanted Allura to know she wasn’t alone.

The void chewing at his own insides scared him. What if Allura had the same feeling?

“I used to call my sister that,” Lance said, in much the same tone she had used. “Lili.”

Allura nodded. A mutual stillness fell over them. Lance didn’t feel the need to crack a joke like he did in most uncomfortable situations, and that made him realize Allura wasn’t half bad. Sure she’d scared the living daylights out of him when she decked that guard in two strokes, or when her hard eyes silently scolded him for making an inappropriate joke. But she was only a couple years older than him. And she’d lost her family.

Lance had lost his family.

He cleared his throat. “So, did you grow up in England?”

Allura shook her head. “I was born in England. But my family moved here soon after. I only kept the accent because they did.”

“My dad was from Scotland.”

“What part?”

“Glasgow, I think.”

“I hear Glasgow is lovely.”

“Uh, me too. Where are you from?”

“Leeds.”

“Ah.”

Another awkward silence that lasted way too long.

“Where did you grow up?” Allura asked cordially.

“Cuba,” Lance said, trying to dissociate all meaning with the word. Someone else’s story. “My family wanted to move for a really long time, because we kind of lived in a bad part. But getting out of Cuba isn’t really a walk in the park. It took a couple years but we eventually managed to move here and get green cards.”

“That’s... admirable.”

“Thanks.”

It took another hour to wash off the entire wall, which the two of them spent passing meaningless comments, lame jokes, and lots of silence. After they finished, Lance found himself sweating underneath the collar of Hunk’s coat. It’s not like he was hot, he was cold; how was sweating fucking fair?

“Well,” Lance looked up at the wall which had frozen over by then with soapy water. “How long do you think till it gets smelly again?”

Allura rolled her eyes. “Hopefully too far into the future for Keith to complain about it.”

Lance wasn’t sure what to make of that statement, but he frowned at Keith’s name.

“I still don’t get why we had to spend a whole morning of our lives cleaning this off just because he’s a bitch baby about the smell.”

The two of them squeezed out from behind the Pod, surveying their work. Allura didn’t meet Lance’s gaze when she answered slowly.

“Well, he does spend a lot more time back here than the rest of us. And at this point no one really has the heart to tell him to bug off,” her voice held little emotion.

Lance did not want to start talking about Keith right now. It seemed like all the conversations he had with Shiro or even Pidge eventually ended up on the topic of the stupid addict.

“Thanks for agreeing to do this dumb job with me,” Lance told Allura, trying to keep his voice upbeat.

She nodded. “It wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Besides, I wanted to spend more time with you.”

Lance blinked in surprise. “What? With me? Why?”

He’d always had the impression that she looked at him rather like an insect. It was a nasty kind of feeling in his gut, one that he’d tried hard to overcome in the past. There was a time in Lance’s life when he’d thought everyone looked at him like that. Cue nightly face masks and over-the-top class clown act. But having to take care of five siblings, and carry a gun on his hip while dealing illegal drugs to some of the sketchiest people in the city, had kind of seeped that physical insecurity out of him. He didn’t really care anymore what people thought of him; he couldn’t afford that luxury. He’d outgrown it.

But Allura brought it back to the surface, with her regal, slanted eyes and perfect nose and skin silky as chocolate even while living in squalor.

“Because Lance,” she smiled at him, impersonally but still kind. “I think we have a lot in common. And I felt like we got off on the wrong foot.”

He gave her the same sort of smile back, feeling a pang in his gut. She actually wanted to be nice to him, go out of her way to be nice to him. “Well, thanks. I didn’t have a horrible time, princess.”

“And, that’s my signal to leave.”

She turned away from Lance, picking her way through piles of wires out of the empty room. He thought her hair looked like a spider’s nest, in a pretty kind of way. For the upteenth time since he’d met her, he wondered why he hadn’t been more attracted to her.

Maybe it was because he saw her as competition, not an option.

Or maybe it was because next to Hunk, no one else compared.

*

Lance didn’t know why Pidge could’ve gone to get The Addict, since she was the one who needed him after all. But no, just because Lance had been sitting around making bad puns he was “freeloading” and “being annoying” and he should probably just “go get Keith from his room ‘cause we need him”.

He grumbled to himself all the way to the end of the hall, pushing down the fact that he was scared as Hell to actually talk to the guy. Alone. No Hunk to hide behind or even just hold hands with.

He knocked on the rotting door with a heavy fist. It was the last one in the hall. No noise from inside. Lance huffed a breath of annoyance and knocked again, a little harder.

“Who is it?”

Keith’s weak rasp came from the opposite side, sounding a little like he’d just puked his guts out. Lance gulped. Believe it or not, it was a lot harder to absolutely loathe this guy when he was as sick as he was.

“It’s Lance,” he called. “Thanks to your diva moment Allura and I just cleaned the back wall, which took two hours by the way, and now Pidge needs you by the Pod.”

Lance heard a shuffling from inside and a few muttered curses. When Keith opened the door, it was with a scathing glare and an odor like the inside of a coffin.

“Whoa, dude, smells like something died in there,” Lance raised an eyebrow at him.

Keith gritted his teeth. He had to look up to meet Lance’s eyes, something that the latter found immensely satisfying.

What was it about Keith that pissed him off so much? Well, it was the obvious fact that Keith decided to hate him for something that Lance couldn’t help, but it was more than that. If Hunk told him he didn't like the fact that Lance was a dealer, that would upset him, but he’d be able to work through it with the man. With Keith, though, he just wanted to be angry.

“Are you gonna fucking move?” Keith spat emotionlessly, shoulders slumped and eyes drooping. “Or block my doorway after you just came to get me?”

Lance shrugged. “I mean, I guess I was going to move but you kinda just put me off man. Didn’t use the magic word or anything like that.”

Keith growled low in his throat, and his bony hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Don’t fucking try me McClain. I could smash that shit-eating face of yours into the dirt in seconds flat.”

Lance snorted, feeling the hairs at the base of his neck rise. “Like Hell you could.”

“Yeah?” Keith took a step forward, acrid breath crystallizing angrily in front of Lance’s face. “You’ve lived a goddamn cushy life, you know that? I bet you couldn’t fucking throw a goddamn punch. When have you ever once had to fucking defend yourself?”

Lance felt his throat clench. This. This was why Keith pissed him off so much. He had no idea. No good-for-nothing idea what Lance’s life was like, no idea how hard Lance had had to fight just to stay alive.

“Listen here you fucking addict, you have no clue who I am or what my life has been like. You don’t get to say shit. It’s not like you’ve had any real fucking problems beside the fact that you shoot yourself up. Don’t act like that’s a big fucking problem. You’ve never cared about anyone besides yourself.”

The words felt good on Lance’s tongue, liquid fire. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d good and truly yelled at someone because he was mad at them. No responsible, older sibling restraint. No backing out with a well timed sarcastic comment. No hiding. He fucking hated Keith at that moment and nothing had ever felt better.

“Who fucking told you?”

Keith’s voice sounded broken. It sounded angry. Lance didn’t want to think about that. He wanted to yell again.

“Told me what, that you have a love affair with goddamn needles?” Lance spat it and Keith looked like he was about to hurl. “Like anyone needed to tell me. You look like a homeless skeleton and act about ten times worse.”

Instead of tearing up, as Lance expected, Keith took a step back. His purple eyes looked darker than ever. If his room was the coffin, this kid was the damn corpse.

“You filthy dealer,” Keith sneered, eyes choked up. “I knew from minute one that you were just like the rest of them. Not even human.”

“If I’m not human you’re not a carbon life form,” Lance hissed.

He imagined his words like bullets from a gun, a gun that he’d longed to fucking shoot for years and years and years.

“You hate me for something that’s not my fault. What kind of person does that make you?”

“Not your fault?” Keith blazed. “Was it not your choice when you fucking handed people on the street their death sentence?”

“Was it not your choice when you let old men fuck you for twenty bucks a pop, whore?”

As soon as Lance said it he knew he shouldn’t have. Unspoken rules dictated there were things you didn’t bring up in an argument, and a person’s whorish past, no matter how much you hated the person, was one of them. Keith’s eyes grew a little wide, and he swallowed. Lance blinked, but didn’t say anything. It’s not like he could take it back now.

Keith took a step forward then, the tears Lance had expected earlier now brimming in his eyes. He looked really small at that moment. Really small, and really fucking done.

“I can’t believe you can live with yourself,” Keith whispered. “You fucking sit there and make fucking jokes all day like you aren’t a fucking murderer. How does it feel, knowing you’ve killed all those people? How does it fucking feel knowing you killed your family, huh? They’re dead because of you. Their bodies are still probably lying in that apartment and you sit here laughing away. You killed them Lance McClain. You fucking killed them.”

His eyes burned into Lance’s, his fist in Lance’s shirt. For a split second, nothing happened. Then Lance felt the full force of Keith’s words like a knife wound cleaving his stomach open. Oh God, he was going to vomit.

Keith’s eyes slowly drained of their anger as he seemed to realize what he just said. He quickly let go of Lance’s shirt, and took a step back.

“I... I didn’t mean--”

Lance shook his head, eyes hot, cheeks red.

“I hope you rot in Hell,” he choked, and spun away from Keith’s door.

“Lance--”

Keith called halfheartedly after him, but no way would he turn back now. He squeezed down the hall, skin burning like he’d just walked through some White Death. He thought for a moment of going to get Hunk. Lance needed him right now. Needed him so badly, needed to be hugged and called pet names and consoled. But the fear of walking past the main room with tears in his eyes and snot running out of his nose won over his want for affection. He made it to his bedroom alone, shutting the door behind him before he started to sob.

He hadn’t cried, really cried, since that first day.

He’d had nightmares, of course, but they were the paralyzing kind that left him shaking and unable to sleep, not in tears. Lance had tried. He’d tried so hard not to cry, tried so hard not to let any of it out of his dreams.

And asshole Keith had just pulled out all of his shoddily constructed stitches.

Lance curled up on the cot, face shoved in the blanket that smelled like Hunk and BO. He cried. He cried and cried and cried, each sob ripping from his throat more harshly than the last. The faces of his brothers and sisters floated before him, laughing at him. Their smiles were jarring, and Lance shook all the harder.

He couldn’t think.

Thoughts wouldn’t come clearly in his head, but all jumbled up into fragments. He let them tumble around in his brain, flooding himself and not caring about anything but the pain. Nothing attached to it.

It could have been hours later or simply minutes that his door slowly creaked open and Hunk stood shocked in its frame.

“Sweetheart? Oh God, oh my God.”

In a matter of seconds Hunk scooped Lance into his arms, sitting them both back down on the cot. This in no way decreased Lance’s sobbing, in fact it probably made him cry harder. He shoved his face into Hunk’s chest. He breathed in the smell of grease and honey.

“It’s OK,” Hunk murmured into his hair, pulling him closer. “You’re gonna be OK. Let it out. Everything’s gonna be OK.”

Lance did.

He sobbed and sobbed, and slowly, pieces of thought came back to him.

“Tsuyoshi,” he hiccuped.

“I’m right here.”

“I killed them, oh G-God, I...”

Hunk just held him, not trying to argue, and Lance was so thankful. All he needed was to cry. Cry and tell someone.

“The heating w-went out an-and Camie always c-cried and--”

Lance heaved for air. His tears soaked the front of Hunk’s shirt. The man’s hands grounded him, pressing into his back. Grant’s sick face swam in his vision, little-kid moaning in the background. He’d had to get him medicine, they were running out of money. Lance had long since dropped out of school, not even halfway through Junior year, working minimum wage job after minimum wage job, unable to hold anything down. His Green Card acted like a sign of the plague painted on his forehead.

They’d had nothing left.

“I had t-to get them all ready for school,” Lance whispered feverishly. “They had to b-be ready , no one c-could know--”

Every morning Lili helped him stuff Sofia and Camilla into their too-small coats, shoving around toddler limbs amidst cries of protest. Ian slapped peanut butter on two week old bread  and shoved the slices into everyone’s hands before they filed out the door. Lili would take Grant’s mitten and walk him to the middle school with Ian sulking and pretending not to know them. That bratty eighth grader. Lance always called after them.

Don’t forget to come home as fast as possible today! We have to pack -- oh Grant, cielo, you have a tag sticking out.

“I took Sofia and C-Camie,” he felt the tears like bullets. “Sofia hated her t-teacher she always w-wanted to stay home.”

He always dropped Camie off at kindergarten first. She had a million friends, that social butterfly. Lance’s girl. Every day it took eons to get Sofia to let go of his hand, even when they were doing art projects in her second grade classroom.

I don’t like her, hermanote. She has a scary ruler.

Oh Sof, you’ll be fine. If she’s too mean I’ll talk to her with my witch fingers.

What if she gets scared and cries like me when you do witch fingers? Will you say sana sana?

I’ll never say sana sana for mean Mrs. Johnson, mija.

When had he started to call her mija? When had he turned into a parent and not a brother? When had the memories of his mom’s face blurred so much with the pictures that he could no longer know which was real?

Fuck, all of the pictures were gone. Destroyed by the gas. Would he remember what Camilla’s face looked like ten years from now? Her smile and the sound of her laughter, not her dead, glassy eyes?

“We had to m-move,” Lance told Hunk. “I couldn’t pay for our house. I got that... that shitty apartment, I th-thought it would b-be OK.”

It wasn’t OK. They’d had heat for the first month. Then they were waking up to eyelashes frozen to their cheeks and frostbitten toes. The electricity was next, then the water. At night Lili would help Lance heat bottled water on their battery powered hot plate and fill up the single, claw-footed bathtub for all six of them. It took a twenty pack. Nine months in and Lance couldn’t pay for the bottles anymore either.

Every morning, Lance prayed none of his siblings would tell a teacher at school what conditions they were living in.

“Everything was shit,” Lance gulped, feeling his crying start to calm down. The emotion didn’t ebb. “I had to start dealing. I t-told myself, I wouldn’t do it. I’d just sell. I...”

Hunk dug his fingers into Lance’s hair, and more tears leaked from his eyes. He sucked snot back into his nose.

“I knew it was wrong. That’s what made it so horrible. I knew the drug was killing people and I still sold it. My family was more important, I had to, I promised--”

Just take care of them while we’re gone mijo.

His mother’s smile floated, attached to nothing. He wasn’t paying attention, game console flashing.

We’ll be back in a couple days. If your father can ever figure his life out and actually talk to his coworkers. You’ll make them do their homework?

Yeah, yeah ma. I promise.

Good boy. I love you, we’ll call you when we get there.

“They never called,” Lance tugged on Hunk’s shirt, an empty comfort. “She never c-called.”

A police officer at the door. Asking questions, questions, more questions. English? Car crash. Maybe. It sounded like pebbles dropping in water: shh shh shh. The officer had wanted their papers. Wanted to know if they had relatives.

What could Lance do except lie?

No one cared about them. The city was crumbling, GALRA just being discovered, state of emergency recently declared.

“It was three years without them,” Lance murmured, tears finally abated.

Three years of slowly, surely spiralling into Hell.

He stared vacantly at the dripping walls, nose crusty with frozen snot. His fingers were numb curled in Hunk’s shirt.

In his head, Lance was target practicing on the roof of the apartment building.

One shot for Lotor, one for GALRA, one for death. Thwp, thwp, thwp -- the low-grade, M&P handgun burned in his hands. The rotten plywood target he’d leaned up against an old chair took all it could take, each shot hitting home flawlessly. The air was frozen, the gun was shit. He needed this; he needed it more than anything. But no matter how steady he held the weapon or how many bullseyes he hit, the trembling in his stomach never ceased. He pretended it was the lack of food. Lance kept shooting. Up there with the stars, he had nothing but snow, a gun, and the plywood target. It was the only sanctuary he had ever known.

Lance ignored the needs of his siblings down in the apartments below, ignored the angry banging of his landlord to shut the Hell up already!, ignored the aching in his chest. He ignored the dreams he’d left behind clawing at the back of his neck.

Thwp, thwp, thwp.

Lance fell, lost in the hiss of bullets and the empty feeling of power that curled like smoke from the tip of his gun.

Beside him, Hunk felt like an apparition.

“I felt like I was forty by my nineteenth birthday. I was alone, Hunk. I was alone but I still had Camilla, and Sofia and Grant and Lili and Ian. God Ian, that brat, he complained all the damn time, made my life a living... I got so mad at him. He didn’t understand how hard I was working and... we yelled...”

Lance scrunched his eyes shut. For a second, he saw Ian’s face instead of Keith’s, the satisfaction of yelling those words he’d always wanted to yell amplified in his chest. The guilt that followed came crushing after it.

“He’d dead,” Lance felt another sob shake in his bones, and Hunk made a distressed noise in the back of his throat. “Fuck, he’s dead and I never got to say sorry. I never got to tell any of them sorry.”

“I’m so sorry Lance,” Hunk shook next to him, pulling him tight. “I am so, so sorry. You don’t deserve any of this.”

Lance shook his head. He’d never heard those words before. They sounded foreign.

“Lili wanted to be a doctor.”

Sof was going to be a famous artist, and Grant wanted to play professional baseball. Fuck, they wouldn’t grow up. Lance wouldn’t go to Camie’s wedding, or play with Ian’s children. They were gone and it was over and Lance had been the one to cause their demise.

“Keith was right,” he breathed. “He was so right.”

Hunk tensed around him. “What? What did he say?”

Lance shook his head, words clogging behind his teeth.

“Lance...”

“He told me I killed them.”

“He said that?”

“Y-Yeah,” Lance sniffed. “And I was pissed but he was right. If I hadn’t fucking sold GALRA to keep them alive they wouldn’t be dead right now.”

Hunk pulled them apart then, so he could look at Lance for the first time since his breakdown. Lance was shocked to see Hunk’s eyes swimming with tears as well.

“Lance, what did you say to me last night?”

“H-huh?” he wiped at his nose.

“You told me it wasn’t my fault. That I couldn’t do this blame thing. You didn’t release the White Death into that apartment. You didn’t kill your brothers and sisters.”

Another sob threatened to spill.

“No, it’s different Hunk. You wanted to help. I... I knew that GALRA was killing people. I knew it was dangerous. I knew they would kill me if I was found with it. But I still sold it anyway. I thought it was the only way, b-but I didn’t even try t-to find...”

“Sweetheart it was the only way,” Hunk brushed the hair back from Lance’s eyes, seeking out his gaze with cupped hands. “You did try.”

“Not hard enough,” Lance met his beautiful brown eyes.

They looked like his mother’s.

“You’re trying hard now,” Hunk said. “And that’s what matters.”

Lance sniffed again, feeling disgusting. “I don’t know Hunk. They’re dead, and at least part of it is definitely my fault.”

“Well that still doesn’t excuse what Keith said,” Hunk muttered.

“He just doesn’t get it.”

“Doesn’t get what?”

Lance gave a weak shrug. “I don’t know. Death.”

Hunk sucked his bottom lip in, averting his gaze from Lance’s.

“Well, nothing is right about what he said to you, and I don’t want you to think I’m making excuses for him, but...”

Lance’s brows furrowed. Here Hunk was, talking about Keith again. It more than stung.

“Keith’s kind of getting up close and personal with death. We’ve all been ignoring it because he gets pissed, but, yeah.”

“What?”

“He’s dying, Lance. GALRA is killing him.”

Lance swallowed. The words didn’t mean anything to him right away. “What... why? I thought he had the cure.”

Hunk shook his head. “It doesn’t work for him. It just slowed it down. He’s still going to die, just later than a normal addict. It’s gotten worse these past few months. He probably won’t make it into next year.”

Lance was silent. Fuck.

You have no clue who I am or what my life has been like. You don’t get to say shit. It’s not like you’ve had any real fucking problems beside the fact that you shoot yourself up. Don’t act like that’s a big fucking problem.

He knew he would have to apologize. And maybe consider the fact that his words could apply to more than just his own life. But in that moment, a seed of bitterness still churned inside him. Even while he was crying and sobbing and breaking down in Hunk’s lap, it still all came back to Keith.

How was that fair?

Finally, just when Lance found someone who gave a shit about him, Keith had to have the bigger problem. It made Lance feel like an asshole.

He hated it.

“Lance?”

Hunk took his arms. Lance reluctantly looked back at him, face feeling puffier than a hot air balloon. His eyes were so soft and so caring that Lance couldn’t be annoyed for long.

“I... I want you to know you’re the strongest person I know.”

Lance blinked.

“W-What?”

“I never had siblings,” Hunk spilled out in a rush, eyes darting. “I never had responsibility or any shit like that. I never even had to take of myself. I had my ass and education handed to me on a platter and... you’ve had to work so hard. And you’re so damn good. I, I just, I can’t imagine what your life has been like. All the sacrifices you had to make. I just hope you know I’m in awe of you and all you got done and how strong you stayed and I don’t think I would’ve been able to do it. I don’t know anyone who could have handled what you’ve handled. It’s one thing to keep yourself alive and put yourself through misery but it’s another to keep five other people alive and out of misery. I’m... I’m just really proud of you. And I think you’re really brave. And absolutely wonderful. Altogether. Yeah.”

The calm that washed over the both of them was overwhelming. Lance felt sleep nudging at all of his limbs. It had been so, so long since someone had been proud of him.

“Thank you,” his voice sounded like he was underwater. “Thank you Tsuyoshi.”

Hunk beamed gently, and pulled Lance back onto the bed with him.

“No Lance, thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You told me your story.”

“Well that doesn’t really mean anything for you.”

“Idiot. It meant everything to me.”

Chapter Text

“Hunk, I know you are a mechanical genius, medical extraordinaire, and the reason we are all here today, so I don’t wish to offend you. But, pardon my French, you need to fucking grow a pair.”

Hunk blinked at Allura, slightly unnerved. She stood an inch taller than him and twice as fierce, eyes battle hardened and stance powerful. Even though she was three years younger than him, Allura scared the absolute crap out of him.

“What do you mean, grow a pair?” he said, tapping his fingers together and trying not to squeak.

“Do I really have to explain the anatomy of a human male to you, Hunk?” she raised an eyebrow.

“No,” he sighed, defeated. “I just...”

“Shiro is livid at Lance, and Keith venting to him and only him is not helping. You need to talk to Keith.”

“I don’t know why I need to talk to him,” Hunk nearly whined. “Don’t he and Lance have to resolve their stuff?”

“You are absolutely blind if you think this is just between those two.”

“What do you mean?”

Allura crossed her arms, huff of air crystallizing before her. “Keith loathes what you and Lance have. The closer he is to the grave the more it feels like everyone is ignoring him, and he wants attention more than ever right now. You’re his oldest friend Hunk. And you’re siding with this new pretty boy instead of your friend who’s dying.”

Hunk felt his face go hot. “He’s not just some pretty boy, you actually get to know him and --”

“I know that Hunk,” Allura said softly. “But Keith doesn’t.”

He shifted in place, looking down the hallway where Keith had just stormed off to his room. Ever since their argument two nights ago, Keith and Lance had been steadfastly ignoring each other, the atmosphere between them electrically charged with animosity. It made it nigh impossible to do anything as a team. Shiro talked to Keith, and Hunk talked to Lance, but a lot of good that did. Hunk had a really hard time seeing things from Keith’s perspective, and he just couldn’t justify anything that boy had said. He ended up siding with Lance and was probably just as mad at Keith as Shiro was at Lance.

The thought of it nearly caused him an aneurism, but Hunk knew that he should be the one to offer the first olive branch. There was no way any of the other proud, stubborn bastards would do it.

“OK, OK,” Hunk sighed, conceding to Allura. “I’ll talk to him. Then I’ll come and help you plan out formations.”

“By the time you get back, you might not have to. Your boyfriend is killing it in there.”

Hunk flushed down to his chest, and flicked his eyes to the dirt floor. “H-He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Oh?” Allura bit back a smile.

“Not yet,” Hunk mumbled almost inaudibly.

Allura pretended not to hear him, and he was grateful. “Well, good luck.”

“Thanks.”

He was going to need it.

When he knocked on Keith’s door, no one called from inside. There was the sound of slowly dragging footsteps, and Keith pulled open the door with red-rimmed eyes and a sigh of relief.

“Fucking Hell, I wondered what was taking so--”

He froze when he realized who was standing outside his door. The gratefulness in his gaze shifted quickly to an angry glower, and Hunk gulped. Something inside him twinged. Since when did Keith glare at him? When had he ever wanted that?

“What are you doing?” Keith asked flatly.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Hunk said slowly, treading with care. He tried to put into his gaze how much he missed getting along with the kid.

“I don’t need to talk,” Keith tried to close the door smack in Hunk’s face.

“Hey!” he called, and stuck the toe of his rubber boot in the crack. He heard Keith groan. “Give me a shot? Since when do you not want to have a good old fashioned conversation with your best friend?”

Keith opened the door again, much to Hunk’s relief, still wearing that horrible glare behind dark eyebags.

“Since you stopped being my best friend.”

“When did I stop being your best friend?”

“Two months and seventeen days ago,” Keith spat.

Hunk swallowed. “Just let me in, Keith.”

His name seemed to work like a charm. Keith rolled his eyes, and stepped back to let Hunk in. He squeezed through the door frame, as usual, and released his gut with a huff as soon as he was inside. That’s when the stench hit him. Keith’s room smelled like a dead body, and Hunk had to keep himself from gagging. A pile of vomit dried in the back corner. Blood stained the bed sheets; from self-inflicted wounds or from the tuberculosis-like cough Keith had developed Hunk didn’t know. It looked like Keith had just stopped caring. Once upon a time he would’ve screeched at dirty bed sheets, demanding Hunk wash them (or trade them out with the bedsheets in the spare room).

Now, he’d just given up.

“OK, what do you want Bolts?” Keith used the nickname on reflex, frown deepening as he realized what he said.

It made Hunk think of the old days, running around and carelessly wreaking havoc.

He took a deep breath. “I want to talk to you about Lance.”

“Fuck no. Get the Hell out of my room.”

“You’re calling this a room now? Looks more like a rat’s nest to me.”

Keith scowled vigorously, clearly trying to keep his lips from twitching. “Not funny.”

“Oh come on. I think you peaked in that rat’s nest.”

“Oh fuck you,” Keith rolled his eyes, expression lightening with every word. “I did not. It was your fault we got into that bullshit in the first place.”

Teasing. Hunk could do teasing. He’d been teasing this kid since day one.

“It might’ve been my fault but you sure didn’t make it any easier on the both of us. You’re the one that had to wrestle the damn rat.”

“Nuh uh! I was just curious! How was I supposed to know they’d be twice the size of any sewer rat I’d ever seen?”

Hunk laughed then, feeling the weight lift off his chest piece by piece. “It wasn’t the principle of knowing. It was the fact that you just wanted to fight the stupid thing.”

“I didn’t want to fight it,” Keith seemed to pout. “I just wanted to...”

“You wanted to fight it.”

“Screw off Bolts.”

“God. Every raid you went on was absolutely wild.”

“Yeah, they were.”

Keith bit his lip; the mood popped like an overinflated balloon. Hunk felt his stomach perform a floor routine. He probably shouldn’t have brought that up, damn it. He moved to speak, fix it, say anything, but Keith was faster. His purple eyes flicked up to meet Hunk’s and they burned with intensity.

“What did you want to say about Lance?”

Hunk gulped. “Just, the two of you are kind of making everything hard. I think you should probably talk to each other about it.”

“Are you fucking shitting me?” Keith snapped. “You didn’t hear what he said to me before. I guarantee he’d say it again. We can’t just talk. I know that’s hard for you to comprehend since you’re fucking him and all, but he was a dick to me.”

Hunk felt his hackles raise, and he jumped to defend Lance. A part of him in the back of his mind screamed to avoid conflict, avoid conflict ! But he didn’t listen. For the first time in his life, he didn’t listen.

“I’m not fucking him, you jealous asshole. Just because I spend my time with him now doesn’t give you the right to make accusations you know aren’t true. And for your information I don’t hang out with you anymore because you’ve gotten depressing as shit. I’m not Shiro who can spend his whole life freaking doating on your moody ass. And let the record take note that what you said to him was so bad I almost couldn’t believe you were the one that said it.”

His voice came out fast and dark, at dozens and dozens of people he had always been too scared to use it on.

At his father, for telling him to forget about all the silly doctor stuff and just work at the shop. At Alfor, his kind face full of regret, for not doing anything, for not noticing sooner, for not stopping it. At Andrew for dating him then dumping him because Hunk was too fat. At Lotor for killing Matt. At Lotor for killing Keith. At Lotor for killing Tsuyoshi. At Shiro for being too high and mighty, for being close mindedly humble and for thinking Hunk didn’t care enough. At Lance for being blind, for blaming and not listening. At Keith for being weak, for losing himself even when he swore to Hunk before it all that he wouldn’t -- he wouldn’t ever be like the rest of the GALRA victims. Hunk yelled at himself, for everything.

Keith took a step back in the face of Hunk’s desperate anger.

The breath in his chest felt like a dragon.

“I know,” Keith whispered, eyes not leaving Hunk.

“What?”

“I know what I said to Lance was wrong.”

“Don’t tell me ‘I know’,” Hunk said. “If you know, then why haven’t you told him sorry?”

Keith shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Why?” Hunk couldn’t take any more bullshit answers.

Suddenly, Keith squeezed his eyes shut and moved past Hunk. He sunk down onto his cot, springs creaking as he wrapped his bony arms around his knees.

“I’m just mad,” Keith whispered, looking at the dirt. “I’m just too mad.”

Hunk had the urge to throw his hands up in the air. “Keith that’s not a freaking excuse.”

He looked up, then, and glared. “I can’t talk to him because I’m scared, alright?” he snapped with the ferocity of an alligator. “I’m a fucking pussy but it’s true. I’m scared I’ll get so mad that I’ll say something else that will make me feel even less human. I’m scared of him hating me even more and then I die and then what? He hates me when I’m dead? That’s balls Hunk. I’m scared of dying, and I’m scared of Lance... of Lance being right.”

Keith’s voice got unbearably small.

“I’m scared he’ll say something about me again.”

Hunk involuntarily brought his hands up to fiddle. His natural urge to help kicked in, anger fading rapidly. He breathed.

“What did he say?”

Keith scoffed weakly, picking at scabs on his bare arms. He’d told Hunk a while ago that he no longer felt the cold. “He called me a whore.”

Hunk’s throat closed up.

“I mean, it’s not like he’s wrong, but I don’t know how he knew. And it’s been a long time since anyone called me that. And I... I kind of had an... attack after. Because of it. I don’t know. What I said to him was a thousand times worse, but it still fucking sucked to hear that.”

Hunk let the words settle in his mind, take form a little. Shiro had probably spent the night with Keith then, trying to keep him from hurting himself, holding his hair back as he puked and screamed and... no wonder Shiro was pissed at Lance. Lance . He couldn’t picture Lance calling... saying... Then again. A couple months ago he hadn’t been able to picture Keith saying anything as nasty as the things he’d said to Lance.

“I’m sorry,” Hunk said, and Keith looked up, brows furrowed.

“You didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah I know,” Hunk breathed. He sat down beside Keith on the bloodied cot, ignoring the mess and the way the bed screamed in protest. “I didn’t say anything. You’ve been going through Hell these past couple months and I haven’t been there for you. I can’t apologize for Lance, or for being with him, because... well... he makes me happy, but I can apologize for being a dick.”

Keith stared at him, and blinked a couple times to surreptitiously keep the mist out of his eyes. “You haven’t been a dick.”

“I have, actually. A little bit,” Hunk grinned wryly, shifting in his seat. “I just, I’ve been selfish as Hell. I wanted to be happy, and not have to think about, about you... dying.”

Keith snorted, looking down as his voice grew even more hoarse. “You deserve to be happy you lug. I don’t want to take that away from you.”

“You’re not,” Hunk told him. “I was.”

A silence passed between them, full of things they wanted to say and didn’t know how. Eventually, the sound of the cracked ice sighing behind them unnerved Hunk into speaking.

“I know you don’t like Lance.”

“Under-fucking-statment of the century, Seidou.”

Hunk swallowed. It had been awhile since he’d heard that name.

“OK, yeah. But I just... I want to know why.”

Keith whipped his gaze around, eyes painfully hard. “You know why.”

Hunk shook his head. “No, I want you to explain it to me. I want to hear it from you.”

“He’s a damn dealer,” Keith spat.

“I know, Keith. Explain to me why that hurts you.”

He nearly growled, and looked down at his gloved hands. The gloves had been a gift from Hunk. In his opinion, every fugitive of the law needed a good pair of fingerless gloves. Keith had taken to them as if he’d popped out of the womb with the black things glued to his palms.

“He gave people a deadly drug. Knowingly. Willingly. He fucking knew that they would die. How many of his customers were first time users? How many people were clueless, thought they could just overcome GALRA? Didn’t believe the rumors? Did he tell them? Tell them that what they were buying would kill them? Or did he just keep selling it with no conscious and pocketing the fucking money like all the rest of them?”

Hunk didn’t say anything, biting back all his defense. Keith needed this. He needed to get it all out, no matter how wrong Hunk thought he was.

“It’s just like he doesn’t care,” Keith’s voice cracked. “He doesn’t care about those people. He doesn’t care about anything. Doesn’t care about what other people feel, what I fucking feel. He didn’t think it mattered. It didn’t make a fucking difference to him. He took advantage of people, that spoiled little fucking... he doesn’t... he didn’t... just... care .”

Keith put his face in his hands. His body shook. Hunk knew from experience not to place a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s not fair,” he muttered, muffled. “How come he got a family and how come he didn’t get addicted and how come he got away scot free with no consequences for how bad he’s fucked up?”

Hunk waited, to make sure he was done, then started in a low voice.

“I know it might seem like it from the outside, but Lance did not get off scot free,” Hunk said. “He cares more than anyone. Every night he wakes up paralyzed. He cried for three full hours yesterday. It plagues him Keith, the fact that he sold all that GALRA.”

“I don’t fucking--”

“Let me finish,” Hunk said firmly. “It was... one of the most painful things I’d ever seen.”

Keith gave a snort of indignation.

“Listen to me Keith. You grew up without a family. And that sucks. Man, I’ve told you that before. That sucks. Hard. And you had to provide for yourself alone. But Lance did grow up with a family. A lot of family. And then he lost his parents and then he lost his siblings and it’s so much freaking harder to lose something, Keith, than it is to never have it in the first place.”

Keith stayed silent, looking at his spindly hands.

“I’m not trying to justify what he said. That was mean. What you said was mean too. But him being a dealer, that’s not sone diabolical vendetta, Keith. He’s not a bad person for that. Yeah, it was a bad thing. But sometimes good people do bad things for mixed up reasons. Nothing is black and white like that, and you know it.”

Hunk blinked in surprise at the big, fat teardrops that began to fall from Keith’s eyes. Keith hardly ever cried. He always said it made him look ten years littler and about eighty years uglier.

“I do know it,” Keith mumbled, still not looking at Hunk. “Fuck. I... do you think he knew Haggie?”

Oh.

It all clicked into place in Hunk’s head suddenly, and he felt a wave of relief as he finally understood.

“No, I don’t think he knew her. You were buying a couple years before his time.”

Keith’s gaze traced the bruises on his forearms.

“Keith.”

He didn’t look up, but Hunk decided to keep going anyway.

“Keith, Lance isn’t Haggie.”

Keith visibly tensed. “I know that.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” Hunk said. “He isn’t Haggie. Haggie took horrible advantage of you and tricked you into GALRA. She wasn’t a normal dealer, Keith. She wasn’t after the money. She was doing it to be a sadistic little hellhound, and to screw you big time. She was with the government. Lance isn’t like that, Keith. He’s done bad things. But he’s not evil.”

Keith made a little noise of distress, and finally looked up at Hunk. He looked the worst Hunk had ever seen him. And Hunk had seen him pretty bad. “That’s the worst fucking part Hunk. He’s not fucking evil and I can’t really hate him because he makes you happy damnit, and he was a dealer to feed his fucking family and why can’t I just hate him? Why can’t I just...”

“Make it his fault?”

Keith looked at him, silent, chapped lips slightly parted miserably.

“Keith, it’s not his fault.”

“I know.”

“It’s mine.”

“ Wha-- ”

“It’s mine,” Hunk interrupted, eyes hard and willing Keith to just get it. “It’s my fault for creating GALRA. It’s Alfor’s fault for not sensing the trouble sooner. It’s Lotors fault for corrupting it all. It’s the entire party’s fault for staying silent. It’s Haggie’s fault for telling you GALRA would make you stronger. And it’s your fault Keith, for taking the damn needle. But it’s not Lance’s. He didn’t do this to you. He might have helped do this to someone else, we’ll never know. But not to you.”

Keith broke down then, and Hunk knew that was his cue. He enveloped the boy in his grip, and easily surrounded him. He was a skeleton by now, a snotty, smelly skeleton further ruining Hunk’s shirt. Hunk couldn’t imagine dying, and he couldn’t imagine knowing he was dying. He couldn’t imagine knowing that it was his own fault. He hugged Keith tighter.

“I’d never replace you, Keith,” Hunk whispered. “You’re my best friend. The Nuts to my Bolts. You’re my little freaking brother, and no one will ever take that spot. Not even after you’re gone.”

Keith sobbed harder, shoving his face into Hunk’s chest.

“I don’t want to die,” he cried, muffled, fear in his sad voice. “I don’t want to die Seidou, please. Please don’t let me die.”

Hunk felt strings tugging his heart up and out of his throat, eyes leaking as they had when he first told Keith he couldn’t cure him. He couldn’t save him. This was hard. This was too damn hard.

“I’m sorry Keith,” his voice cracked horribly. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

*

“Keep them closed,” Lance’s voice led him almost as much as his hands, fingers laced tight in Hunk’s.

“They’re closed! So totally closed!” Hunk grinned, screwing his eyes further shut for greater effect.

“Good,” he huffed, and Hunk heard the smile. “We’re almost there.”

The wind whipped around the both of them, sticking tendrils of icy fingers underneath Hunk’s thin sweater. He’d bought the nasty thing from a corner thrift shop a couple weeks ago because he finally decided he couldn’t stand the cold. (And there was no way he’d be asking for his coat back from Lance.)

“How almost there is almost?” Hunk called over the wind.

He nearly tripped over himself as his foot caught on a bad cobblestone, but Lance quickly shot out his extra arm. Hunk breathed in the smell of him, and gripped his hands tighter.

“About forty five seconds if you can keep your dick on for that long.”

“I don’t know you might have to check it for me.”

“Shut up you big oaf.”

Lance pressed a kiss to his cheek, and Hunk felt his grin stretch involuntarily. After the shit-filled, emotionally draining day he’d had with Keith, this was a welcomed blessing. Lance had accosted him in the garage, knocking bluntly on the hood of the car Hunk was under. He then proceeded to roll him out by his feet.

Come on big guy, we’re going.

What? Where?

It’s a surprise you beautiful dumbass. You need to get out of here. I’m taking you on a date.

Hunk let himself be pulled down the alleyway, hoping they weren’t passing a lot of people. He probably looked ridiculous. Fire escapes creaked in the wind above them. Cold snapped at Hunk’s nose. He loved the feeling of warm hands in his and the thrill of not having to worry for once.

When Lance stopped in front of him he did trip this time, right on top of the boy.

“Oof -- holy--”

“Ah! Sorry!”

Hunk scrambled on the ground, rolling off of Lance. His back instantly soaked through with the frigid sludge that piled up on the streets. But he didn’t even care, too focused on Lance who was cringing and trying to push himself off the ground.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, oh nuts Lance are you OK? Did I crush you?”

Lance sat up, rubbing the back of his head with a small wince. “No Hunk, the cement did most of the crushing, not you. And when will you understand that your size is only a perk for me in this relationship? I fucking love when you roll on top of me during your sleep it’s like, the safest I’ve ever felt in my life.”

“You... wha... you do?”

“Yeah, I do you big idiot. We’re here, by the way.”

Hunk had to stop for a moment, looking around dumbly. Lance’s words still bounced around in his brain and rattled too much for him to really process anything right away. But then he realized they were standing in a kind of dead-end alleyway, sheltered from the wind by tall buildings. The bricks here were twice as pocketed and the blue door he faced stood chipped and rotting.

“Well are you gonna go in or what?”

Lance slipped his hand into Hunk’s at his side, and Hunk felt himself come back to life.

“Uh, yeah! Yeah, after you.”

He yanked the old door open, and led Lance through by the tips of his fingers. Lance held his hand delicately, mimicking a princess, and nodded graciously to him.

“Sir.”

“M’Lady.”

“You ass, I am a highness.”

“My apologies high--”

Hunk cut himself off with a gulp as he witnessed what they’d stepped into. His jaw nearly hit the floor. Lance took his hand nervously back to himself, and looked at him with those mesmerizing blue eyes.

“Do you... do you like it?”

They’d walked into a gutted out apartment building. Hunk could easily see the place being a GALRA house, and at one point it probably was (before the police cleared it out). But the cement floors weren’t covered in debris and frozen rat shit. They were covered in snow . The center of the giant, crystal-draped room had an area blocked off with a pile of blankets. Fairy lights strung up on the huge metal support beams, circling the nest. It was an oasis in the center of a snow field, the room so big that the light from the small LED bulbs didn’t reach the corners.

Hunk found unbidden tears spring into his eyes.

“Lance,” he whispered. “I love it.”

He turned to the boy to say so, and watched Lance’s shoulders slump with relief. His features grew soft as he took Hunk’s hand again.

“You should, dork.”

They trekked through the snow to the center, and Hunk marveled at its purity.

“Lance how did you get this snow? This is crazy, this is straight up crazy. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen this much clean snow.”

“Pidge helped me,” he muttered sheepishly. “We kinda took it from the roof of the garage, so I hope you didn’t need that for any reason.”

Hunk laughed. “Well, sometimes we melt it for clean water. But this is better. Lance this is so impressive.”

“Thank you.”

The way he bit his lip told Hunk that he’d been really worried Hunk wouldn’t like it. It baffled him that Lance could possibly think Hunk would hate anything the other did. Much less this fantastic place.

They got to the middle, and Hunk gave an audible gasp. Then kicked himself for how girly he sounded.

“Where’d you get all the candles?”

Lance snorted, and pulled Hunk down to the ground with him. “The candles weren’t the hard part. You should be asking about the blankets.”

“How long have you been planning this?” Hunk looked at him, vision shimmering.

“A couple weeks,” he looked around the room. “I really wanted to do something nice for you Tsuyoshi.”

Hunk’s heart melted right there in his chest.

“You know, something kind of normal. I wanted ‘us’ time that wasn’t sobbing on my cot or yelling at each other across the lab.”

Hunk swiped a furious hand across his cheeks, sucking snot back up into his nose. Every single horrible date he’d ever had ran through his mind. Every stand up, every inevitable disappointed stare after a first meet-up. Every creeper or stoner who rejected him. He thought back to when his father sent him off to college, grudgingly proud and clueless, asking his mother (when he thought Hunk was out of earshot) if she thought Seidou would finally find a girl at school.

“No one’s ever done anything like this for me,” Hunk mumbled, embarrassed and sniffling as he hid his face in one big hand. “I... thank you Lance. This means... so much more than you could ever know.”

Lance shrugged, and scooted closer to him. He leaned his chin on Hunk’s shoulder, and wrapped his arms around Hunk’s bicep. He sighed into the nasty sweater, eyes on the snow. His hair glowed like caramel in the candlelight. The snow blinked with the fairy lights, and glimmered off Lance’s perfect skin.

He looks beautiful, Hunk realized. He looks like an angel. How did I get this lucky?

“I’m glad it means something to you,” Lance hummed in contentment. “I’ve never gotten to do something like this before either, and uh, it’s nice. I wanted you to feel special.”

Hunk felt another bolt of buttery lightning in his chest. He tilted his head to the side so he could press his lips to Lance’s forehead. That was perfect. He wanted Lance to feel special too.

“I do feel special.”

“Good. I feel like an accomplished boyfriend, then.”

Hunk tensed next to him, his train of thought derailing. Lance sensed his discomfort, and unwrapped himself from Hunk’s arm.

“Tsuyoshi? Are you OK or--”

“B-Boyfriend?”

Lance’s face reddened, and he looked at the ground. He picked at the faded pills on the nearest blanket, and didn’t make a move to lean back against Hunk.

“I... sorry Hunk, I guess I just assumed... I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, and I guess I got the wrong impression, and if you don’t want to date me that’s fine I just--”

“Lance.”

Hunk grabbed his face in a hurried motion, brushing his thumbs along the bridge of Lance’s cheekbones and looking into his watery eyes. He couldn’t believe his ears.

“Of course I want to date you. You just surprised me you nut brain. There’s nothing in the world I’d want more than being your boyfriend.”

Lance smiled as wide as the Grand Canyon and threw himself forward, nearly knocking the wind out of Hunk. He caught him though, and buried his face in the crook of Lance’s neck.

“Crackers Tsuyoshi, you had me worried.”

Lance’s breath tickled his own neck, and Hunk found himself humming.

“Sorry, it took a minute to process. I don’t usually get this far with boys I care about.”

The fact that he just shared a lot of personal information with Lance didn’t really register. Or if it did, he didn’t really care. Hunk felt like sharing personal information with Lance couldn’t have a single bad outcome at this moment in time. Actually, anything with Lance couldn’t have a bad outcome at this moment. Not in that room with the sparkling snow and the candles reflecting in his eyes.

When Lance finally responded, it was muffled. Hunk could feel his face heat up.

“I care about you too.”

Hunk chuckled, feeling incredibly, incredibly warm.

“You should, dork.”

Lance sighed into his skin, and the two rested against each other for a minute. Hunk felt content to lie there for hours. But suddenly Lance bolted upright as if struck by lightning, a gasp behind his lips.

“Oh! I would have forgotten completely,” he muttered, and turned towards where an old wicker basket lay nestled in the blankets.

“Forgot what sweetheart?” the pet name tumbled off Hunk’s tongue before he could stop it. But honestly, the slight pink that skipped across Lance’s freckles was worth the sappiness.

“This,” he mumbled after digging in the basket. “I thought since your hair’s getting so long and you use that diseased scrap of God Knows What to tie it back every morning you deserved a real bandana.”

From his fingers, a rusty orange, brand new bandana dangled like forbidden fruit. Hunk’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

“Lance, are you serious?”

“Yeah you lug,” he handed it to Hunk with a smile. “It’ll look good on you.”

“But... it’s not my birthday or... or anything I... how expensive was this?”

Lance laughed then, sounding like some kind of spirit. Hunk felt the clean fabric in his hands with awe.

“I know it’s not your birthday cariño, I just wanted to do something special. And it’s not polite to ask how much money something was Tsuyoshi, did your mother teach you nothing?”

“Oh shut up.”

“The same goes to you big guy.”

Hunk reached back to shake the greasy strip of burlap from his hair, and carefully wrapped the new orange bandana around his head. He noticed, but didn’t comment on the way Lance’s eyes shone.

“Thank you,” Hunk said.

“It looks good on you,” Lance replied softly.

They stared at each other for a gentle, silent moment. Hunk thought this what Heaven must look like. A boy with moons for eyes smiling back at him in a field of snow. It was so new, so foreign, so wonderful, that Hunk felt like he could scream.

“Dork,” Lance added for good measure.

Their twin smiles lasted till morning.

Chapter Text

“Tomorrow.”

Keith slammed a knife into the planning table, sinking the blade into its surface. Lance was surprised he had enough strength to do it. His eyes sunk with bruises and a couple flecks of blood sat like poison stuck by his mouth.

“This is the biggest fucking thing we’ve ever done and I won’t get to go,” Keith swallowed. “Which kind of pisses me off but at the same time I know you guys will be able to do it.”

Ever since Hunk had talked to him a couple days ago, Keith had changed. He seemed lighter, his glares at Lance a little more empty. He smiled at Pidge the other day and had started calling Hunk Bolts again.

Lance trusted Hunk. He did. That was the absolutely most terrifying part of falling in love with the guy. He wanted to be jealous about how Hunk had talked to Keith, wanted to be jealous that Hunk wouldn’t tell him what they said. But he found it annoying that he couldn’t. He trusted that Tsuyoshi meant what he said, meant it when he kissed him, trusted Lance just as much as Lance trusted him. And having that cheesy fucking picnic in the snow had only reinforced every single feeling Lance had about the lovable idiot.

The loveable idiot that was now his boyfriend.

Lance felt tingles race down to his toes.

“Thanks for your vote of confidence Keith,” Allura spoke from her place at the corner of the map. “We will need all the luck we can get tomorrow night.”

“Luck?” Lance piped up, eyes flicking to Hunk’s for a split, warm second. It felt like he couldn’t do anything without looking at Hunk anymore. “We don’t need luck, we’ve planned this thing to a fucking T.”

“Still doesn’t hurt to ask for some luck,” Shiro said in his careful, wise tone, staring at Lance.

God. That man still despised him, though he’d never confronted Lance about it. Which somehow pissed him off more. At least Keith had the minimal balls to shout terrible insults at him. Shiro just stood behind Keith with his side glares and passive aggression.

“Well, I think we’ve covered the bases,” Hunk cleared his throat and grinned lopsidedly at the rest of them. Fuck that was adorable. “We’re ready as we’ll ever be.”

Despite everyone’s moodiness, the general cheeriness in the room went up tenfold with Hunk’s comment. Even Keith gave a wry grin. At this, Lance felt the week-old guilt inside him growl and claw at his guts. His inner monologue screamed louder than ever.

Damn it all to Hell, he was going to say something.

“Keith?”

The room slowly fell silent. All eyes swiveled to Lance, even Hunk’s, who looked about ready to shit himself. They were all worried he was going to start something, he realized. They thought he was going to start screaming Keith’s guts out. The guilt inside him full out roared.

He took a shuddery breath, and tried to look at no one but the on-guard boy with bloodshot, violet eyes.

“What,” Keith didn’t ask the word, more like spat it, voice full of cautious animosity.

“Can we talk?” Lance cringed but didn’t look away at how awkward that sounded. “I mean, not here, obviously, but, um, I feel like we should probably get over our fucking selves before tomorrow.”

No one spoke. To Lance, it seemed like no one even breathed. Beside him, Hunk’s chest seemed to puff out a little. Out of the corner of his eye, Lance saw his smile. It was a smile of pride, and it was directed solely at Lance. In fact, while the others glanced back and forth between Keith and him with worry, it seemed Hunk only had eyes for his boyfriend. It made Lance feel like he’d just had the warmest bowl of soup on the planet.

Suddenly he knew, whatever Keith said, whatever the both of them said, it wouldn’t matter. In the grand scheme of things, he had Tsuyoshi to support him no matter what.

“Uh, yeah,” Keith swallowed, and jerked up as if coming out of a trance. “Yeah, sure.”

Lance followed him out of the main room, brushing the back of Hunk’s fingers on the way and ignoring the silent eyes of everyone there.

Once they were out in the hallway, Lance gestured to the first door on the right. “C’mon, my room’s probably cleaner.”

Keith’s hackles rose. “That’s not--”

Lance held his hands up, eyes playful. “I call ‘em like I see ‘em. I hope the state of your bedsheets doesn’t reflect your character, though.”

Keith rolled his eyes. Thankfully he seemed to recognize that Lance was joking. Good. He’d put every ounce of sarcasm he had into that just so Keith wouldn’t go straight for his balls with that stupid knife.

“My room doesn’t reflect my fucking character,” Keith drawled, then stopped short on the other side of the door, mouth in the shape of an O as he saw what was on the inside. “But uh, apparently your’s does though.”

Over the last two months Hunk had sort of moved into Lance’s room, and had moved his stuff along with him. All of the posters that had previously hung above his cot in the garage were now plastered to the frozen mildew down here. They proclaimed things in faded orange letters like Save The Whales! and Remember, Safety is a Part of Science! above pictures of old white guys staring in alarm at broken beakers. Lance had gotten a good kick out of the posters, so he’d started to add some of his own, collecting them from cheap thrift stores and abandoned graffiti tunnels. Pretty soon the entire room was covered in color. Old polaroids that had nothing to do with neither Hunk nor Lance got tacked to the ceiling. The Say No to Drugs! poster held a special place of honor above the headboard. On the back of the door they’d stuck gobs of chewing gum, all different hues, some dangling with even more stickers and worthless old garage-sale photographs.

Only one picture of Hunk and Lance was in the entire colorful, hoge-podged room that felt more like a home than ever.

They’d paid precious quarters to get in a downtown photo booth a couple weeks after they’d met. It was just a tiny, grainy strip of the two of them making dorky faces that looked like it could have been taken decades ago. Lance was absolutely in love with it. He’d made Hunk take down the This Is Grandma’s Loving Kitchen tin-board, which had previously held the center position on the back wall, just so they could tack up that stupid photo strip with a piece of Tutti Frutti gum.

Lance stared fondly at that picture before turning back to Keith. “Yeah, it’s kind of a mess. But it’s cozy though.”

Keith snorted, leaning forward to look at a poster. “I bet sexily dressed Kermit the Frog over here provides some real fucking solid insulation.”

Lance grinned at the cartoon, walking over to stand shoulder to shoulder with Keith. “He’s a toasty one, all right. We found him in the back of a car some old dude brought in.”

“Oh, the poster is such a sentient entity now it gets its own pronouns?”

He looked at Keith quizzically, cocking his head. “Hey, you’re making your own jokes now?”

“Don’t push it, dealer,” Keith elbowed him, but the words lacked their usual sting.

Wow, whatever Hunk said to Keith really worked.

“Right back at you mullet.”

They stood awkwardly for a second, then Lance decided to take the initiative. He cleared his throat and brushed past the guy to sit on the bed. Keith looked at him with hesitant round eyes, not moving from his standing position. Lance was reminded of the very first time he saw him.

“Sit down.”

Keith lowered himself hesitantly onto the cot, a few safe feet between the two of them, glare starting to twitch beneath his eye. Lance could almost physically see him pulling the walls back up around himself.

“What I wanted to say first was I’m sorry,” Lance started.

He was surprised by how easy the words were to finally say. Maybe after holding in the truth for so long it just kind of spilled out at some point.

“I shouldn’t’ve said what I said to you. Even if we don’t really... get along, that was still a dick move on my part. I was offended and scared and kinda just... said it, because I knew it would hurt and right then I wasn’t really thinking about what that hurt would do. So, I’m really sorry man.”

Lance said it so easily, he could have been talking to Hunk. Actually, it felt almost like the man was sitting behind him, wrapping his arms around Lance’s midsection and whispering encouragement into his ear. Lance knew without Hunk, he would never have gone to Keith first, but instead bottled all the guilt and hate inside till he damn near exploded.

“I’m sorry too,” Keith blurted.

His face was red as he looked down at his thin hands clenched white in his lap. Lance bit back a smile at how straight-up awkward he looked when he wasn’t angry and yelling.

“I uh, shouldn’t have said... that stuff... and, um, I didn’t... mean it. I mean, I meant it but not... not really meant meant it, I didn’t--”

“I get it, dude,” Lance stopped him with a lighthearted smirk. “Should I take a picture? Because I feel like this is the closest I’m ever gonna get to a groveling Keith.”

He whipped his head up and glared, but Lance just laughed.

“You -- you are impossible,” Keith spluttered.

“Impossible is my middle name hot stuff.”

Keith frowned. “No it’s not, that can’t be anyone’s fucking middle name.”

Was he serious? “Of course it’s not my middle name, that was a, a saying. It was a joke, Keith.”

Keith’s frown never left.

“You’ve never heard that expression before.”

He shook his head, glare deepening by the second and Lance blinked, taking pity on the guy. It wasn’t his fault he quite literally lived under a rock.

“My full name’s Lance Antonio Lajos McClain. No impossibility in there, I promise.”

Keith blinked, animosity retreating from his eyes. “That’s a long ass name.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you come from a line of devout Catholics. What’s yours?”

“What?”

“Your full name, idiot.”

Keith shook his head. “I don’t have one.”

Lance opened his mouth, but no words found their way out. All he could muster was a small, “O-Oh.”

Keith shrugged, and looked down again. “I got Keith because it was on my shirt when the orphanage found me. Ken & Keith Co. At least they didn’t pick Ken. I guess they thought it’d be offensive to name a little Asian baby after a Barbie doll.”

Lance cracked a smile at that one. “Yeah, you’re not nearly blond enough to pull that one off. Imagine a yellow mullet though. Fuck.”

Keith elbowed him hard. Lance just chuckled. He kind of didn’t want to conversation to be over. He felt like he knew too much about Keith’s past that didn’t come from Keith himself. But there was no way that closed off, awkward bastard would say anything first.

“I was always kind of butt hurt about my name too,” Lance started nonchalantly. “I always got all these rude comments in school, like how come the brown kid’s name is Lance not Juan , you know? But my parents made a deal that some of their kids would have English first names and Spanish middle names and some would have Spanish first names and English middle names. ‘Cause my dad’s from Scotland. He met my mom on a mission trip thing to Cuba and that was that.”

He felt like he was babbling, but didn’t really want to stop.

“You don’t have to do this,” Keith whispered suddenly.

Lance swallowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m sorry. Like, I said it. I know... I know you’ve been through fucking Hell and back. So, it’s not like you have to prove anything to me.”

Lance felt his heart against his ribcage. No, no this is not how he’d wanted things to go. He wanted Keith to, if not like him, at least tolerate him. At least recognize him as an equal, not think Lance was trying to rub anything in.

“No, Keith, I’m not trying to... to prove anything, or excuse anything, I...” he gulped. “I wanted to just tell you stuff. So, you know, you could tell me stuff. That’s how a conversation works.”

Keith looked up at him, wary. The bones in his cheeks cast wicked shadows down his face.

“Tell you stuff?”

“Yeah. Like, if you really don’t want to, you don’t have to, but I’m here to listen, if you want.”

Keith stayed silent, looking at his hands. Alright, thought Lance. Not ready yet.

“Um, I lived on Leavenworth. You know where that is?” he continued.

Keith scoffed. “Yeah it’s a real piece of shit.”

“Don’t have to tell me,” Lance muttered. “We didn’t have water or heat.”

“Electricity though?”

“Yeah, for the most part. After everything went caput in our old house and we had to move out to the apartment I figured I wanted at least one system. And with electricity you can get a space heater and small electric stoves and stuff so it wasn’t the biggest deal.”

Keith shook his head. “Should’ve gone for the water.”

Lance furrowed his brow. “What? Why?”

“Uh, survival ?” Keith raised a brow. “You can live for days on just water. And plus, the amount of bottled water you had to buy probably ended up costing the same as a fucking water bill.”

“Dude we would’ve frozen our asses off without heat. And I worked out the math it was like four dollars cheaper to buy water bottles every month than pay the water bill. Plus all my siblings were in school. They needed electricity to do computer stuff.”

“You had a computer?”

“Well yeah we had to. It was practically a dinosaur but a student literally can’t go without it.”

Keith shrugged. “I guess I wouldn’t know. I dropped out of school.”

“Me too,” Lance said.

Keith looked up at him, something in his eyes Lance hadn’t seen before. “You did?”

“Yeah, when I was sixteen. Right after my parents died. I couldn’t take care of five kids and go to school at the same time. School’s a full time gig. I needed a job and stuff.”

“I was fourteen,” Keith mumbled, but he didn’t look away from Lance.

No hint of competition rested in his voice, just memories. It was what Lance had wanted. Finally. Maybe after this he wouldn’t have to hate the guy.

Not that he hated him now, really.

“Why’d you do it?” Lance asked, realizing that this idiot wasn’t going to say anything without a little prompting.

Keith shrugged again, as if he didn’t know. He picked at dried blood beneath his stubby fingernails.

“You don’t know why you, yourself, dropped out of school?” Lance tried to keep the sarcasm from his voice but it obviously slipped in a little bit.

Keith glared. “I was angry,” he spat.

He stopped talking, and Lance raised an eyebrow. He could feel the bitch in his own expression. Grudgingly, it seemed, Keith allowed more words to spill from his mouth.

“And... I felt pretty alone. I picked fights a lot and got booted out of schools a lot and pretty soon I’d cycled through all the ones in Arus and decided I’d just... stop. I know it’s not as noble as taking care of siblings or anything, but, I guess that was me being a fucktard.”

Lance shook his head. “No, I get it.”

He’d known a couple kids like that. They’d always pissed him off a bit; they seemed immature and stupid. Of course, he wouldn’t say that out loud to Keith. And of course, Lance had never thought about the fact that the reason some of those kids were so angry and immature was because they didn’t have anyone to teach them otherwise.

“What did you do?”

Keith shrugged again, eyes raking the posters around the room. “I ran away. I’d only had two interviews my entire life. No way was I getting adopted or anything. And I didn’t want --”

“What?”

“I couldn’t wait in that home till I was eighteen. No way.”

He looked like he was about to shudder, then fell silent again. Damnit, it was like pulling teeth.

“Well, why?” Lance asked.

“Why do you think?” Keith hissed, then immediately apologized with a soft look in his eyes. “Just because we all were fucking parent-less didn’t make any of those kids any fucking nicer. I was smaller than the rest of them and had been there the longest so they did stupid stuff like put spiders in my bed and filled my shampoo with honey.”

Lance had to keep from smiling. It kind of sounded like something he would’ve done to Ian. Maybe Keith just didn’t understand what it was like to live with siblings.

“It was annoying,” Keith mumbled, voice getting quieter with every syllable. “But it wasn’t like I couldn’t handle it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well it just got a lot worse,” Keith tucked his hands under his knees. “They started putting razors in my soup bowl and taping my nose shut when I was asleep. And whenever I tried to tell someone no one would believe me. Then they’d get me back a thousand times over for tattling. They called me... they called me rotten stuff. And no one cared. So I just... I just left. Before high school. I just fucking ran and I guess no one tried too hard to come find me.”

He ended in barely a whisper. Lance bit his lip.

“I’m sorry.”

Keith snorted. “It’s not like you were the one calling me Ling-Ling the faggot. S’not the worst thing that’s happened to me.”

He looked back from the wall to his own hands, purple eyes flickering across the bruises that decorated his translucent skin. Lance took a shaky breath.

“Yeah, I know, but it still sucks ass. I know what it’s like. I immigrated when I was twelve. I didn’t speak perfect English and I got made fun of a whole Hell of a lot.”

Keith nodded. Solidarity. The two of them sat in silence, not uncomfortable but definitely empty. Lance itched to fill it with something. He’d forgotten how hard it was to talk to people sometimes, especially people who didn’t necessarily want to talk. He’d gotten spoiled with Hunk, he supposed.

“How’d you make a living after you ran away?” Lance asked tentatively. “This was all before GALRA, right?”

“Oh yeah,” Keith nodded. “Before the fucking end of the world. I lived on the streets. Begged for a while. Thought I’d hit rock bottom. Contemplated going back to the orphanage. It took me a year to get my head out of my ass and fucking do something about it.”

“And?”

Jesus, just talk Keith.

“I did the only fucking thing I was good at I guess,” Keith mumbled. “I started streetfighting.”

Lance’s eyebrows nearly flew off his forehead. “You did not.”

“Did too. Was the youngest to ever make a league.”

Lance was instantly jealous. Ever since he was little he’d wanted to be a streetfighter. There was something incalculably alluring about the gangs and the masks and the blood and the sheer illegality of it all. Not to mention the money. Damn, Lance used to read so many threads on the latest fights, scrolling up on his phone into the wee hours of the morning just to watch shit quality videos of two masked dudes knocking each other’s brains out for cash.

“You made a league?” envy glittered in Lance’s voice. “Dude, which one?”

Keith shook his head with a small kind of smile. “Skin Slats. The first time Kcor saw me he literally laughed out loud.”

“No way!” Lance nearly pissed himself. “You were in the fucking Skin Slats? With the fucking Paladin? You have no idea how bad I wanted to be in that damn group.”

“You wanted to street fight?”

“Fuck, Keith, who didn’t want to street fight? Every single guy in my school wanted to be the damn Paladin. We all watched those videos like they were our religion.”

Lance remembered waking up at five a.m. just to see if any new fights had happened overnight before his friends could one-up him. They’d talk about every move used the next morning before class, what they thought the next fights would look like during lunch. They all had their favorite fighters, and knew their rankings, scores, top moves and salary by heart. Whenever fights would break out in the courtyard, boys would try to use the same moves they saw on the streets the night before. It was a culture. At least, it had been, before GALRA.

“Damn,” Lance breathed, not noticing the uncomfortable look on Keith’s face. “You knew Kcor. You met the legend face to face.”

“He wasn’t that big of a deal,” Keith muttered. His sallow cheeks had dusted a slight pink as he picked at the bedsheets without meeting Lance’s eyes. “He liked to brag about how much he used to win in the ‘good old days’ while he lounged around drowning himself in fucking Sam Adams. Guy could barely fucking talk most of the time. Some legend.”

Lance’s mind was being squashed flat. He’d read underground stories and watched decade old videos of Kcor knocking people’s skulls into stone. He didn’t seem like a real person. And Keith was talking about him like he was his damned uncle.

“Are you kidding? You are blowing my mind man. Who else did you know?”

Keith’s face deepened in color. “Um, I don’t know? I knew a lot of people.”

“Fuck, who did you fight?”

“... a lot of people?”

“El Diablo, you ever bash him?”

Keith made a face. “Uh, yeah. Well, he bashed me a lot first. He was one of my first fights.”

“Shit, I’m geeking out right now. What about Sendek? He was my friend Mike’s favorite.”

“From the Ghost Druids?”

Lance nodded furiously.

“Nah,” Keith said. “He never wanted to fight me. I remember Kcor asked the Druids but they said he said no.”

Lance’s brow furrowed. “You had scheduled fights?”

“Yeah. It’s when the leader of a league contacts other league leaders and pawns out their fighters so they can draw a bigger crowd. Plan things out, it’s not all go at each other’s throats like the golden days kind of thing--”

“No no, I know what scheduled fights are,” Lance said. “I’m not an idiot. I just thought leagues only offered up their best fighters for a bracket.”

Keith raised a brow. “Are you saying I wasn’t a good fighter?”

“No I wasn’t --”

“Because I was good I --”

“I’m not doubting you Keith --”

“He always scheduled me I was always on the top of that damn bracket I --”

“Good God,” Lance shut him up with a slightly raised tone of voice and a glare. “All I’m trying to say is if you had scheduled fights than I probably knew your street name. If you were ever on a bracket in the last six years I would definitely have heard of you.”

“Wow, you are a geek.”

“What was your street name mullet?”

Keith didn’t respond to that one, chewing on his lip instead. Lance frowned, glare turning annoyed. This had the potential to be a Serious Bonding Moment over shared interests and Keith was being his usual emotionally guarded asshole self.

“Keith --”

“I was the Paladin, OK?” he glared at Lance, then quickly looked away. “That was my fighter name.”

Lance thought he didn’t hear right, but then replayed it over in his mind. Once he did, he nearly laughed out loud. Keith had said a lot of mean, weird things to Lance since he’d met him but this one had got to be the worst. It was like he was trying to make Lance even more jealous with a poorly concealed lie. After Lance had been the first to wave the white flag of truce, it felt kind of like a stab in the back.

“Fuck man,” Lance said. “New low. Even for you.”

Keith looked up in confusion. “What?”

Bastard.

“Were you even really a street fighter?” Lance asked slowly. “Or did you just say that so you could hurt me more later? What’s your fucking angle here man?”

Keith looked a little hurt, and that riled Lance up even more. The audacity of him.

“I don’t understand.”

“You expect me to believe you were the fucking Paladin? Vanquisher of Evil, Defender of Truth, all that propaganda bull shit? Is this your way to try and make me like you or something?”

Keith gave a quiet scoff of disbelief, eyes welling up. “No. I’m telling the truth. I thought we were having a conversation.”

Lance opened his mouth hotly, but then felt something fuzzy in the back of his head. He stopped for a second, and Hunk’s honey voice was there.

Stay calm, Lance. Just because a lot of people have tried to hurt you doesn’t mean everyone is. Keith feels the same way you do. Just breathe.

Lance breathed.

He considered.

The Paladin had a lithe build, short and fast, white skin, dark hair. When he’d first started out everyone expected him to be a nice comedic relief amidst the intense fights. Someone for the big guys to crush quick and easy to a lot of laughs. But he’d blown everyone away, taking out opponent after opponent with nothing but agility and some incredible martial arts. Lance and all of his friends had practically worshiped the guy. He was everyone’s unspoken favorite. Overtime he’d become rather mainstream, so none of them would admit it out loud. Lance had always called him a cliche underdog, but secretly watched video after video of the Paladin decking guys with more muscle than a bull and twice his size.

The timelines correlated, he supposed. It... could have been Keith.

But also there was no way.

Keith was tiny. Not lean and cutthroat like the Paladin, but sickly and bony. He didn’t go out on missions. He probably couldn’t hold a gun. Keith was weak and angry, all bark no bite, which was definitely not the Paladin Lance knew.

But he was supposed to be reconciling with the dude, giving him a chance, and fixing things to the mission wouldn’t be a total bust tomorrow.

So Lance sucked it up like a man and looked Keith in the eye.

“I want proof.”

“What?”

“You can’t just say you’re the most famous street fighter in Arus looking the way you look without something to back yourself up.”

Keith glared pointedly at Lance’s jab at his appearance. “I used to be strong you fucking asshole. And where do you think the lion mask idea came from, idiot? Hunk didn’t just pull them out of his ass. I went on raids by myself before Hunk amassed a whole fucking crew.”

Lance blinked. “The red lion mask...”

“Was mine,” Keith’s voice cracked a little. “That was the mask I fought in.”

Lance flashed back to the countless videos he’d watched, brain reeling. The Paladin always wore the same mask, one of an animal (his friends used to have heated debates over what kind, Lance had always advocated for puma), with yellow slits for eyes and red streaks of paint crudely done down its face. When he thought about it, Lance could picture the mask flawlessly.

Besides for the new paint job and cleaned up edges, it was the same.

The same stupid mask that Allura wore on every scouting trip.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lance whispered, and sat back against the wall.

Not only was he sitting next to one of his idols, he was sitting next to one of his enemies. He was sitting next to the guy who puked in the corner of his room and yelled sailor-like curses across the room because he didn’t have the strength to stand up and yell them in your face.

Fucking Keith.

Keith was the Paladin.

“Do you believe me?” Keith asked rather rudely, voice snappish.

“Yeah I believe you,” Lance felt drained.

He didn’t feel angry anymore. He just felt sad. He’d imagined the Paladin to be some sort of great hero behind that red mask. The underdog who fought all expectations and even beat leaders of other leagues. But it was just Keith. Just idiot addict Keith.

But then Lance thought of the way Keith’s eyes brimmed at the sight of Allura picking up the red lion mask, the way he gritted his teeth silently whenever they were about to leave on a mission. The way he looked almost angry at himself whenever he had to sit down after walking five feet across a room.

“What happened?” Lance asked slowly.

Keith shook his head. No words.

Lance sighed. Things had been going so well. “Hey, I’m sorry for freaking out. It’s not everyday you find out your teenage fucking idol is now your sworn nemesis.”

“We’re sworn nemeses now?” Keith tried for a grin.

“You can tell me, Keith.”

He stared blankly at the back wall for a couple seconds. Then, barely, he began to speak.

“You already know what happened.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

That’s what he’d wanted to say. That’s what Lance needed to say. The words flew like fifty pound birds from his chest. He could breathe again.

“That’s what I came here for.”

Keith looked at him then, finally. He started in a monotone, purple eyes weary.

“Well, it started with Haggie.”

A pause. Lance internally sighed. “C’mon.”

“It was the beginning of GALRA and everyone was freaking out,” Keith said. “They hadn’t made it illegal yet and apparently this injection just made you stronger.”

He stopped again, and Lance had to keep himself from blowing a gasket. “Haggie, Keith.”

He took a deep breath and nodded. “She was a dealer. She convinced me that it would make me stronger. I had this... this idea that I wasn’t strong enough. The speed and stealth had worked for me so far, but what if it didn’t? What if someday I got in a fight and it came down to a match of brute strength and I just... wasn’t strong enough?”

“You took the drug.”

“I took the drug,” Keith sounded like his world was slipping out from under him. “And for about a week everything was perfect.”

“I remember that week,” Lance said, and he did.

In his comfortable, lower-middle-class suburbia, GALRA had not yet dug in its fingers. At that point it was just the 2:00 PM story on Channel 8. So Lance watched along with the rest of his friends as the Paladin suddenly became invincible, taking on giant-like foe and using a completely different style. It was incredible. He fought more fights in a week than some fighters had done all year. It seemed like the Paladin could do no wrong.

Then, he had disappeared.

Without a trace, the Paladin was gone. Never to fight again, or even be seen again. It was a mystery that had plagued Lance, as well as everyone else in Little Creek High School, until he’d suddenly had bigger fish to fry.

“We found out it was killing people,” Keith said. “And then I started to lose all the strength I had gained. It happened nearly overnight. I was too sick to move. Too sick to do anything. I needed more GALRA. I can remember the exact moment I realized I was fucked. I was alone in the basement with Kcor’s beer stash.”

Keith fell silent, taking Lance’s thoughts with him. He felt like he was floating. Like seeing his life being lived out in a dream state, watching from above. He’d known the Paladin. Known every single move, the signature curve of his high left spinning kicks, the schedule of every single fight he’d ever fought.

Lance hadn’t known the Paladin at all.

“I never saw Haggie after that,” Keith’s bitterness was almost tangible. “I had to switch to other dealers. A lot of the first dealers were like that. They disappeared real fucking fast. Hunk and I figured out later it’s because they were all working for the government, trying to get GALRA up and running. After it took off, dealers came up on their own. They didn’t need people like Haggie anymore.”

Me, Lance realized . I sprung up. I took Haggie’s place. When he looks at me, that’s who he sees. The woman that murdered him.

“I couldn’t fight anymore,” Keith said haltingly. “And no one would hire GALRA addicts, not even laundromats. And I needed GALRA every single day unless I wanted to die a painful twenty four hour death. So, I did what I had to do.”

Sold everything. Dropped his name, his career. When the money was gone, he sold himself instead. Lance felt the lump in his throat like a brick.

How long would it have taken for him to follow the same path?

“Well,” Lance swallowed down his sadness. “I looked up to you a whole Hell of a lot.”

Keith gave a wry grin, and shook his head. “You didn’t look up to me, you looked up to the Paladin. That was just little orphan Annie the Nutcase doing all I knew how to do.”

“Uh, yeah? Really fucking well though.”

“I guess, but I was never good at anything else. I always wanted to learn to shoot, all the other guys could do it and I never could. The kickback on a fucking handgun is enough to knock me out,” Keith admitted this in a small voice, and Lance realized it was something he’d probably felt self conscious about for a long time.

“Hey,” Lance grinned. “I’ll teach you sometime. It’s not that hard, just takes practice. And a little incentive. Like, for me, it was a necessity of self defense and therefore survival, but uh, I guess for fun would work too. As long as you show me some of your old moves.”

Keith’s eyes looked watery, but that could just be a trick of the light.

“I don’t know if I could do any of my old moves.”

Lane gulped. Fuck, save it, save it. “Eh, you don’t have to. I’m a good listener, you could just talk me through it.”

“Talk you through streetfighting?”

“Shut it Defender of Truth, I was trying to be nice.”

For a second, Keith looked softer. The air didn’t feel as cold.

“I guess you and I really aren’t that different,” Keith muttered.

“We just made our shitty choices for different, equally shitty reasons,” Lance added, voice suddenly thick.

They stared at each other for a long while, finally able to read what they saw there. Then, Lance leaned in for a hug. What could he say? He was a hugger. He’d always hugged his family and his friends. Never a GALRA addict, although he’d seen them often enough. He’d just never felt enough empathy for them.

Until now.

“Lance?” Keith mumbled weakly into Lance’s shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“I take it back.”

“What are you taking back?”

“The thing I already took back.”

“What?”

“The friend thing. I’ll be your friend here, if you want.”

Lance heaved a sigh of relief. Mission success. “Fuck Keith, that’s all I wanted to hear. I’ll be your friend too, you mullet head.”

Keith took a breath and sounded like he was going to throw an insult back at Lance, but he didn’t. Lance laughed internally, realizing that that was because he probably couldn’t think of anything to call him.

He might be the Paladin, but Keith could not pull a comeback out of his ass to save his life.

*

Lance collapsed onto Hunk’s back with a soft groan. He burrowed in almost like his boyfriend was a pillow. Below him, Tsuyoshi chuckled.

“You OK?”

Lance groaned louder.

“I’m taking that as a maybe?”

Hunk slowly tried to sit up, and Lance felt himself slip. He’d come up to the garage in search of some sane human contact. He found Hunk leaning over a workbench, fiddling with some kind of motor.

“I talked to Keith.”

Hunk sat all the way up then, causing Lance to have to drop to his feet. Right when he would’ve started to whine about it, Hunk pulled him into his lap instead. Lance settled in with a grin, curling his long legs up against his chest.

“How’d it go?” Hunk asked.

Lance sighed. “I guess it was good. I mean, we apologized and we won’t be at each other’s throats anymore. He’s a pretty cool dude, actually. Don’t tell him I said that.”

Hunk laughed, and pressed his nose into Lance’s hair.

“It was pretty draining though. He’s kind of hard to talk to.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Hunk said softly.

To Lance, it sounded a little like music.

“I don’t know,” he complained. “I kind of just want to go to bed and forget about it. And I’m feeling deprived of my time with Hunk’s Junk.”

Above him, Hunk made a little noise of protest, and Lance could just picture the blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Don’t say that.”

“Are you almost done with this?” Lance asked, ignoring him all together.

“No,” Hunk said, voice still tinged with embarrassment. “But the alignment of boxer engine pistols can wait. You’re more important.”

“Aw Hunk,” Lance cooed. “I’ve never been compared to car engine pistols before. That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Lance felt warm and comfortable even in the frigid air of the garage. Like always, there was the twinge of nerves in his gut that came with talking to Hunk. But most of it was happiness. Contentedness. Three months ago he couldn’t have imagined feeling this whole ever again.

“Alright you baby,” Hunk stood with a groan, scooping up Lance in his arms. “Let’s get you unwound.”

Lance was too busy focusing on the fact that Hunk literally just picked him up like it was no big deal to pay attention to what he actually said. He squeezed one of Hunk’s biceps in amazement. He couldn’t fit both his hands around it all the way.

“Dude, you’re fucking ripped,” Lance choked. Not for the first time, he was in awe of Hunk’s arms. “Did you start bench pressing the cars that you work on?”

Hunk rolled his eyes with a fond smile. “Not since you asked me the same thing two days ago.”

Lance was about to suggest something Hunk should bench press when he noticed their surroundings. He gave a small frown.

“Hey babe where are we going? I thought you were taking me back to our room?”

“I said I was gonna take you somewhere to unwind.”

They stood in front of the door to the roof. Hunk gently set Lance back on his feet.

“C’mon.”

Lance ascended the ladder of questionable integrity behind Hunk, feeling the cold creep into his fingers with every rung. He’d taken the same route to get all that snow with Pidge.

“Why are we going to the roof to unwind?” Lance called up to Hunk.

He’d reached the heavy metal porthole and was in the process of wrenching the wheel open which made an incredibly loud screeching noise. Alone, Lance hadn't been able to get the stupid thing open. It took both him and Pidge, plus half an hour.

After a couple grunts and about fifteen seconds, Hunk had the thing completely popped.

“Because it's a nice night,” Hunk grinned down at him and offered down a big, calloused hand.

“Nice night my ass,” Lance grumbled, and let himself be pulled up. “Pidge said it was eighteen degrees.”

Hunk heaved Lance out into the roof, balancing him with a solid arm around his waist. After Lance was steady, he didn't remove it. And Hell if Lance was going to say anything about it.

“That’s the warmest it’s been all week” Hunk smiled as if drinking in Lance’s eyes. “And without any clouds I think the view is worth it.”

Lance drew his gaze away from Hunk and gasped. He knew you could see pretty far from the roof of the garage. He just hadn’t known how far. Tonight, no wind whipped up frosty shards of snow, and no clouds mucked up the sky. The usual smog that blanketed the city had seemed to dissipate for a split second.

From where they stood, Lance could see the shimmering outline of the entire downtown area. In the minimal glow of street lamps, it was impossible to tell how shitty the city was. It looked angelic. It looked like somewhere Lance wouldn't mind living.

“Oh Tsuyoshi,” Lance breathed as he craned his neck back. “The stars.”

Lance hadn’t seen stars like that since his childhood in Havana. He felt the tears well in his eyes and was powerless to stop them.

“Some nights the smog lifts up just long enough so you can see them.”

He couldn’t bring himself to tear his gaze away, but at the same time he wanted to hold Hunk’s hand. So he kind of made a groping motion with his right arm until Hunk chuckled and wrapped his hand around Lance’s.

“There’s the big dipper,” Hunk pointed and Lance trailed the motion with his eyes. “And... the little dipper. Right above it.”

“Aren’t they called something else? You know, officially?”

“You'd have to ask Shiro, he used to want to be an astronaut. He's got every damn constellation memorized,” Hunk mumbled. “But I like the dippers.”

Lance grinned. “I like the dippers too.”

Hours later -- it must have been hours later because Cassiopeia was kissing the top of Dresden Tower -- Lance lay curled in Hunk’s arms on the flat part of the roof. They’d been playing twenty questions, which had quickly morphed into 100+ questions, and Lance couldn’t have been happier about it.

“OK,” Lance tucked himself further into Hunk’s side. “If you could wake up anywhere tomorrow, where would you wake up?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Maybe not tomorrow,” Lance conceded. “Tomorrow’s a little important. But the day after tomorrow.”

“Anywhere?” Hunk asked tentatively.

“That’s what I said dork.”

Hunk jostled him in the shoulder and Lance hummed at how easy it was. It took Hunk a while to think about it.

“Upolu,” he finally landed on.

“Why?” Lance propped himself up a bit so he could look at Hunk.

“Well I’ve never been to Samoa,” Hunk said slowly, eyes filled with the stars above them. “My grandmother also used to describe it to me. She used to talk about the empty beaches at seven in the morning, and the ocean breeze that blew in through open cabins. She said everything was white sheets and green forests and the bluest water she’d ever seen. I just... I want to wake up there. With some nice sunlight and a warm air and no worries.”

“It sounds beautiful,” Lance murmured.

He imagined Cuba, the hot sand and rickety beach cabins with walls that did nothing. He would wake up there. He’d wake up there with Hunk, too. Laying in bed with those white sheets he was talking about, listening to the waves and feeling full. Feeling whole.

“I just want to go to Samoa at some point,” Hunk meandered on. “I feel like I missed out a lot on my culture. I can’t speak the language and I can’t go back to my family anymore. I was always too busy and thought it was too stupid to ask my grandparents about where they were from. Where I was from.”

Lance sighed. He couldn’t imagine being disconnected from his culture. To his mother, their culture was everything. It had grated on his nerves more than anything; he’d wanted desperately to be a regular American teenager. But after meeting Hunk, and seeing what he’d missed out on, Lance felt kind of grateful for it. Now his culture was one of the only things that connected him to a family he had lost.

“Do you think after Lotor you’ll be able to see your family again?” Lance asked.

Hunk let out a shaky sigh. “I don’t know. I’ve been trying not to think that far into the future.”

It struck Lance then, as it sometimes did, that Hunk and the other had been doing this for years. They’d been looking towards tomorrow for a good chunk of their lives. Lance had only been there a matter of months and he still felt incredibly invested. This last mission was Hunk’s baby. He couldn’t imagine how terrifyingly nerve wracking that must be.

“Your turn,” Lance reminded him, and slipped back on a smile.

“OK, let’s see,” the mist was gone from Hunk’s voice, and Lance leaned back onto his chest with a sigh. “What’s your favorite food?”

Lance blinked. “I can’t believe we haven’t already hit that one.”

“Me neither. Food is usually the first thing I go for. I guess you’re just so distracting I can’t even think like myself.”

“Stop,” Lance felt his face burn, and he smacked Hunk in the chest. “You sappy moron.”

“Only the best for you, sweetheart.”

Lance elected to ignore him, mostly because he actually liked it. Then he had to think about the question, because he’d eaten a lot of food in his life and picking his favorite was rough.

“Plantains?” Lance cringed as he said it, unsure. “No, wait wait wait, my mom made really good ice cream. It was orange, damn it, I don’t remember what she called it.”

Hunk’s face grew serious as he lifted Lance up so they could make eye contact. “Did it taste like orange?”

“No,” Lance felt himself growing frustrated. “It tasted kinda like carmel.”

“Sweet potatoes?”

“Yeah,” Lance said. “But, that wasn’t it. It kind of tasted like them, maybe.”

He was starting to get confused. Now all he could taste was sweet potatoes, and he couldn’t bring the exact flavor of the ice cream back to mind. He could picture his mom at the stove, wooden spoon tucked inside her furious mass of hair. She flew around the kitchen like a bird when she baked.

Now mijo, the trick to every good recipe is how much you stir. Even with helado, it’s all in the movement of your hands.

“It was powder?” he said, biting his lip. “I think, that she put in the ice cream. It was orange powder... it started with a Q?”

“A Q?”

“No, maybe, I don’t know, probably not. It could have been an L, maybe.”

“An L is very different from a Q, baby.”

“I know that, idiot.”

“OK, let me think for a second.”

Hunk made an exaggerated face of concentration. Screwing his eyes shut and sticking his tongue out succeeded in making Lance crack a smile. Despite the show, it was clear the man was actually thinking pretty hard. A moment or two later, he asked Lance.

“Did your mom have to make the powder?”

Lance wracked his brains, and remembered the smell of that ice cream way before the it actually came into being. He could only smell it when she ground something up...

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance nodded. “It was this orange avocado that she’d grind up into a paste.”

“An avocado ?”

“Well it looked like an avocado Hunk. Despite my brownness I’m not well versed in South American fruits.”

“Lucuma,” Hunk said. “It had to have been Lucuma.”

Lance felt his chest swell up at the name, flashes of childhood laughter hitting him square on. “Helado de lúcuma, that’s what it was fucking called, holy balls Hunk you’re a genius.”

Hunk grinned, and settled Lance back onto his chest. Lance pressed his cheek into his sweater, and listened to his heartbeat. It was going faster than before.

“So that’s your favorite food?”

“Yeah,” Lance smiled. “Yeah it is.”

The stars blinked for a moment, and he forgot about how cold his fingers were.

“What’s yours?”

“Huh?”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Your favorite food dearest. I’m asking you a question because it’s my turn.”

Hunk’s chest rumbled with a low laugh, and Lance felt it in his bones like warm caramel.

“I’d have to say... oh God... uh... pork tenderloin with a good old fashioned lemon marinade -- no! no, snickerdoodles, I could go for a snickerdoodle right about now, God, wait but there’s wild rice soup, and bacon, and what about pine nut casserole... holy crow Lance this is hard.”

Lance laughed into his sweater. He felt all fuzzy and perfect. For a split second, he imagined a future. A future where Lance would wake up to the smell of bacon cooking downstairs and he’d get up and find Tsuyoshi standing there, humming to himself. What would that be like? To live a normal life with Hunk?

“Favorite music then,” Lance said softly, letting the warm thoughts settle in his mind’s eye for a moment before brushing them away. “I’ll give you a rain check on the food one. And this question is very important mind you.”

He feld Hunk gulp.

“How important is very important?”

Lance grinned to himself. “Might be a deal breaker cariño.”

Hunk gulped again. “Um? I--I like reggae? And old hip hop on a good day, acoustic garage shit on a bad day.”

Lance propped himself up onto Hunk’s chest. If his elbows dug in too hard, his boyfriend didn’t complain. Hunk’s eyes were wide, scared, damn he thought Lance was being serious. Lance bit back his grin.

“Reggae?”

Hunk physically paled. “W-Well--”

“Hunk, I... I’m sorry, but music means the world to me. I don’t think I can be with someone who enjoys Bob Marley.”

He tried to sit up, and Lance wouldn’t let him. Tears had begun to gather in the corners of his eyes.

“You -- you’re...”

“Tsuyoshi,” Lance shook his head and finally let that smile back onto his face.

He leaned forward to kiss Hunk’s forehead, then his cheeks, then the tip of his nose. All the while he kept grinning, snaking his fingers into Hunk’s long, greasy hair.

“I don’t care” -- kiss -- “if you listen to reggae” -- kiss -- “or country” -- kiss -- “or early 2000’s hits” -- kiss -- “I will still love you.”

Lance leaned back, eyes warm, only to see the panicked look on Hunk’s face amplified tenfold. He was confused for a second, then he slowly realized what he’d just said. He felt the blood drain from his face as if someone was sucking it out with a vacuum. Oh God, oh fuck. Had he really just dropped that? Why the Hell, why in the actual Hell...

“H-Hunk, I’m sorry, I didn’t--”

“Did you mean it?” Hunk asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Lance looked into his eyes, totally exposed, absolutely terrified. Hunk stared back at him with something like... something like hope? And Lance found that he couldn’t lie. Not to him.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah I... I did.”

Whatever was in Hunk’s eyes spilled over and all of a sudden his was crying. Lance felt his heart drop, Oh God had he done something wrong? But then Hunk pulled him in so Lance fell on top of him with a small oof.

Hunk cupped Lance’s face in his wonderfully rough hands,

“Good, because I love you too.”

Lance couldn’t breathe, and his mind went blank.

“You should, dork,” he choked out.

And then they were both crying as Tsuyoshi kissed him. It was no different from any of the other times they’d kissed, just as wet, just as sloppy, but something about it felt different.

It felt like Lance didn’t have to be afraid anymore.

Hunk pulled away, and pressed his forehead to Lance’s. Warm breath and warm skin felt nearly surreal. Lance felt himself melting.

“My turn,” Hunk breathed.

He brushed a lock of hair from Lance’s eyes and Lance forgot his own name for a second.

“What is the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

Lance grinned, and kissed him again. He felt Hunk’s teeth too. “Buzzkill.”

“I wanna know. Answer the question,” he whispered against Lance’s lips.

It’s not like it was a hard one. Hunk knew the worst think Lance had ever done. But then he thought about it, really thought about it, and tears pricked the back of his eyes. Not the good kind.

He leaned forward again, this time to press his lips to the soft crook of skin at Hunk’s neck. Hunk pulled him tighter, almost as if sensing that Lance needed it.

“This,” Lance whispered, like the words were acid. “This is the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

Hunk loosened his grip in shock, but Lance didn’t let him. He squeezed even tighter and burrowed his freezing nose further.

“What... what do you mean?”

“I’m happy, Tsuyoshi,” Lance choked. “I... I’m happy with you. I told myself... after they died... I wouldn’t ever be happy again.”

Hunk heaved a sigh the size of the Atlantic. “Lance...”

“No,” Lance sniffed, reluctant to get Hunk all snotty. “You don’t understand. After they were gone I... I was sad but there were moments...”

Could he say it? Could he dare?

The beast chained inside his stomach reared its thorny head and sank its fangs directly above Lance’s heart.

It was time to let it bleed him out.

“There were moments when I was relieved,” he breathed it into Hunk’s skin, a tainting secret, a rotten secret that had been burning him at the core. It tasted like liquid fire on his tongue and it came out so easily, so wonderfully, he’d been holding it in so long .

“I miss them more than life, I... I do I promise but part of me is so glad they’re gone Tsuyoshi. I don’t have to worry about them anymore and take care of them anymore and it’s the worst, most horrible, most selfish thought I’ve ever had ever.”

Hunk pulled him tight, nearly crushing him, and Lance let the tears leak out.

“What does that make me?” Lance whispered. “I’m glad they’re gone. What does that make me?”

A monster, Lance’s mind hissed. You’re a monster, a monster, a monster.

“It makes you human, sweetheart,” Hunk kissed the words into his hair.

“No, you d-don’t--”

“You think I don’t understand?” Hunk spoke softly, kindly. “Lance, how do think I feel everytime I look at Keith?”

Lance lifted his face from Hunk’s neck, sticky and puffy, to slowly prop himself up in confusion.

“W-What?”

“He’s my oldest friend,” Hunk said, eyes dancing with guilt. “I’m supposed to be there for him, to take care of him while he’s sick. But I can barely bring myself to look at him because he’s so different from the Keith he’s supposed to be. I don’t like to watch him get sick, it hurts and it’s hard and I think... I think about twelve times a day how grateful I’ll be when he... when it’s over... and it won’t have to hurt so much anymore.”

Lance was awed into silence. Hunk didn’t want Keith to die. Of course he didn’t want Keith to die. But at the same time he wanted it to be over, he wanted the pain to stop... and that might be selfish but it wasn’t wrong.

“You’re not a bad person for wanting a life for yourself Lance,” Hunk smiled sadly. “And you’re not a bad person for being relieved that you don’t have all that responsibility anymore. You’ll never stop loving your siblings. I promise. Even if you move on. Especially when you move on.”

Lance lunged forward at that, and kissed Hunk with everything he had in him. They kissed for a long time.

When he remembered to come up for air, fingers of sunlight were pulling Cassiopeia away from the skyline.

“I love you,” Lance told Tsuyoshi.

“I love you too,” he murmured back.

And Lance, for the first time since his parents died, knew it was OK to be happy.

Chapter Text

Pidge handed Hunk the microchip, eyes hard and mouth set.

“You cannot lose this Hunk. Not only will the mission fail, but if anyone finds it laying on the ground all our operations here are dead.”

Hunk gulped. “Uh, thanks, for that boost of confidence, Pidge. Thanks a lot.”

“No problem,” she grinned at him, all teeth, no feelings, and turned to the rest of the circled-up crew. “Now Hunk knows what to do with this, and Allura might know where to plug it in if it came down to that, but Shiro and Lance, I am giving you specific orders right now to never touch that chip.”

“It’s like you don’t trust us or something,” Lance grabbed at his chest in mock hurt. “Pidge, I don’t think I can handle this kind of betrayal.”

She glared, but Hunk could tell it was one of no real meaning. “Oh no, I trust perfectly well that if you were to try and instal that thing you’d succeed in setting the computer on fire.”

Lance pouted. Hunk thought he looked adorable. Beside him, Keith kicked Hunk in the shin. Hunk startled and looked over at him with light annoyance.

“What was that--”

“Dude you’re about to go out on the most important mission of our entire careers and all you’re doing is fucking gawking at your boy toy.”

Hunk stuck his tongue out and Keith rolled his eyes a little, smile twitching on his lips. That didn’t mean he was wrong, though.

“OK everyone, time to listen up,” Hunk cleared his throat as he felt  was six pairs of eyes swivel in his direction. “You’ve all heard the plan a million times so I’m not going to try to go over anything again unless there are any ques--”

Lance waved his hand in the air, and Hunk looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Could you possibly run through how we get from the maintenance hatch to the control hallway again, just once?”

A symphony of groans and cries rose up from around the room, even from Allura, who’d previously shown extremely high self control on the matter.

“Lance not again--”

“...like five times in a row!”

“You seriously can’t remember two left turns--”

Lance held up his hands, eyes a little wide as he flashed a small smile of disbelief in Hunk’s direction. “Jeez, OK, that was a joke. A joke, people.”

“Uh, not a good one,” Keith scoffed. “We spent all of the morning hearing Shiro talk about the fucking hallway from the maintenance hatch. My damn ears almost fell off.”

“Oh please, you wouldn’t know a good joke if it was pounding you in the ass.”

Keith just rolled his eyes, thankfully not taking Lance’s bait too seriously. It was kind of nice, actually, Hunk thought. They weren’t trying to kill each other. Took some stress off his shoulders.

“Everything about Keith’s joke detecting abilities aside, I wanted to ask if you guys were ready.”

Hunk looked at each crew member in turn, making eye contact. It felt like he’d known them all since birth. They’d risked their lives together, spent shitty cold winters together, laughed over terrible soup together, cried over the hypocrisy of the world together. Hunk had worked so hard to find all of them, to convince all of them. He didn’t want any of them to get lost tonight.

“Of course we’re ready Hunk,” Shiro gave him a reassuring smile. “We’ve planned this whole thing to a T. Kind of unusual for us, and its reassuring.”

Hunk shook his head, nervously tapping his fingers together. “No, I mean, are you guys ready? This is the last chance. I know... I know everyone is in, and everyone’s worked so hard to get here... but this one is the real thing. If you don’t want to... if you can’t...”

“Hunk,” it was Lance who spoke. His fingers matched his tone of voice as he gently grabbed Hunk’s wrist. “We all want to be here. And we know the risks. We’re here to save the world big guy, we’re not backing out anytime soon.”

Hunk set his mouth in a firm line, shoving the butterflies to the bottom of his stomach. He had eyes only for Lance.

“Then let’s do this.”

Filing out of the Castle felt like a funeral procession. They left Coran and Pidge flanking Keith, all three sharing matching expressions of fearful anticipation.

“Don’t forget to contact me if you need anything,” Pidge said a little frantically. “Only if it’s safe though, I don’t want any tracking signals, or anyone to hear it, you’d be best to just not try to talk to me at all in the control room I--”

“Katie,” Keith nudged her shoulder. “They get it.”

Pidge nodded with a blush. “I just...”

“We’ll be safe Pidge,” Allura smiled at her.

“Good.”

Hunk was the last one to leave, right behind Lance. Before he grabbed the ladder, he turned to take one last look at Keith. The boy looked like shit. His purple eyes had started to tinge yellow on the outsides, the telltale sign that the end was near. He’d lost more than ten pounds in the last couple of days and his clothes dripped off of him. Looking at him, Hunk couldn’t remember how he used to be. Were his eyes purple yet when Hunk found him on that street corner? Had the dark circles always been there?

“Seidou--” Keith tried to say something, then stopped himself. His lips became a pale crack across his face.

Keith had helped Hunk pick out his new name. Laughing and teasing, telling him to call the mechanic’s shop Hunk’s Junk. After... after he was gone, would Hunk be able to still call himself that without losing it?

“It’s gonna be OK Keith,” Hunk told him, because it was what he always said, and sometimes lies were alright to tell.

Keith bit his lip, and hugged his skeletal arms around himself.

“Just... give ‘em Hell for me Bolts, alright?”

Hunk smiled, and it felt a lot like goodbye.

“For you? Wouldn’t give them any less.”

*

Against the alabaster wall of Balmera Corp., Hunk stood shaking. The full weight of this mission had only really hit him when they’d shimmied under the electric fence five minutes ago. Now, every bone in his body screamed at him to turn back, turn around, live to fight another day, grab Lance by the hand and run .

And if not for Shiro determinedly leading the way, he just might have done it. That scared Hunk a little, that in another universe he might have actually abandoned ship.

“OK,” Shiro’s gravelly whisper forced him to swallow his fear for the moment. “Lance, Allura, you’re up. Three minutes on the clock, starts... now.”

Hunk got into position, making a cradle with his hands for Allura to step up and into the maintenance hatch several feet above them. After she slid up into the dark hole in the wall, he paused to wipe the sweat from underneath his mask. He then knelt down to do the same for Lance. As Lance stepped up, he brushed the back of Hunk’s neck lightly, grounding him.

“See you on the other side big guy,” he smiled down at Hunk, then was gone.

Hunk stood up, knees steadier, and he took a deep breath.

“Go time,” he said.

“Go time,” Shiro confirmed.

After the very first scouting trip they’d decided the septic tank entrance was a no-go. They needed somewhere without any cameras, just at first, until they could get to the control room and implement Pidge’s loop. So a few scouting trips and perilous camera checks later, they’d discovered a hatch on the west wall used by janitors to dump all their excess chemicals. It lead to an outdoor sewer system, which made sense. Hunk wouldn’t want to dump all those toxic chemicals used to create GALRA in a normal lab waste bucket either. But the important part was that the hatch itself led inside, to a hallway with zero surveillance.

The only problem was that the tunnel was a fifty foot long, two foot wide metal tube.

Shiro couldn’t fit both his legs inside, and Hunk didn’t even want to imagine where that left him. So Lance and Allura became their designated tight spaces crew, while Hunk and Shiro had to wade through chemical muck to get to the nearest door.

“You nervous?”

Shiro spoke quietly, and nearly startled Hunk into falling splat into the toxic mud at his feet.

“Uh, no? What... what gave you that idea?”

Shiro chuckled. “Nothing. I just know you always used to get nervous before we went on raids.”

Hunk huffed. “Yeah, but I still never missed one. And I’m not gonna miss one now.”

Shiro stopped at the sight of the door. It took them about thirty seconds to get there, while Lance and Allura would take another minute and a half. All he and Shiro had to do was not get caught. Hunk leaned against the wall with him, the beam of the watchtower sweeping only inches past the toes of their boots. For the sake of his fluttering heart, Hunk pretended it was feet away.

“I know you never missed one,” Shiro said. “I always admired that about you.”

Hunk blinked. “What?”

“What?”

“Did you just say you admired me?”

Shiro looked at him. His features were obscured by the black lion mask, but Hunk knew Shiro well enough to know behind it he was confused.

“Well, of course I admire you Hunk. You and Keith saved my life. And you’re the kindest, smartest guy I know.”

Hunk swallowed. His eyes swam behind the mask, and he was thankful that Shiro couldn’t see.

“I always admired you ,” Hunk told him thickly.

Shiro chuckled at that, and to Hunk it sounded a little sad.

“There's not a lot to admire, Hunk.”

Hunk almost choked on air. Was he kidding? Standing next to him, Hunk always felt like a big fat joke. How could he think he was not a lot to admire? He'd known this guy for two years and had never heard anything like this.

“Are you being serious?” Hunk asked, spluttering. “Like, you actually think there's nothing about you to admire?”

Shiro shrugged hopelessly, looking out across the daunting lawn. “I'm nothing special, Hunk. Just an ex military basket case with one fewer arm than most people. You and Pidge, even Allura sometimes, and now Lance too. You all think I'm some kind of... hero? I don't know. Some kind of leader. All I do is show up.”

Hunk couldn't believe his ears. “You do a whole lot more than show up. And you are a hero. And a leader. A really good one.”

Shiro shook his head, looking smaller than Hunk had ever seen him. “Haven't been a very good one to you lately.”

Hunk swallowed. “What?”

Shiro sighed, the noise coming out like a hiss through the mouth of his lion. “I... I haven't been taking what's going on with Keith... well, at all, and... I’ve been putting him before you. Instead of you.”

“That's not--”

“I want you to know I'm happy for you, Hunk,” Shiro said, and Hunk lost the words underneath his tongue. “You and Lance are really good together. And I don't blame you, for anything that Keith is going through. I was angry, for a while, because it seemed like I was the only one who cared.”

“He's as much a brother to me as he is to you,” Hunk said softly.

He'd known Shiro was angry. But he hasn't said anything. And here Shiro was apologizing for it, over an issue something Hunk couldn't even bring himself to confront, all the while telling Hunk he didn’t think of himself as a good leader.

“I know,” Shiro said, and Hunk watched his Adam’s apple bob. “And that's why I think you'll understand.”

“Understand what?” Hunk asked, caution lacing his tone. The back of his neck tingled. He didn't like where this was going at all.

Shiro took a deep breath, broad shoulders heaving. “After... after Keith’s gone, I'm leaving. I... I can't stay, I have to go far away. I love all of you dearly, but without Keith I--”

“What? Shiro no, you can't--”

Beside them, the door gave a jarring boom, and a loud screeching noise as the metal was pulled to the side. Hunk’s gaze darted around frantically, praying no guard heard it. They'd done all the mapping out, they'd chosen the window precisely because no guards walked this way for at least seven minutes, but the noise still terrified him.

“Hey hot stuff,” Lance peaked his steely blue lion mask through the crack in the door, and Hunk could picture his grin perfectly. “You miss me?”

Hunk shook his head, and without a further glance at Shiro pushed their conversation to the back of his mind.

“Miss you? Not on my life.”

Lance grabbed his chest and gasped, throwing his other hand to his forehead. “My own lover, my other half. What betrayal. What betrayal. I'm not letting you in.”

“Oh shut it you two,” Allura’s voice hissed from somewhere behind Lance. “We are on a tight schedule.”

After slipping through the door, (slip being a very loose term on Hunk’s part) the four of them ran down the hallway. Feet soft as they could keep them, backs low, eyes darting. They had forty seconds to get from the door to the control room, three different blind spots that lasted only two and a half seconds each.

This part of the plan has always made Hunk want to piss himself.

They'd practiced, of course they'd practiced. But practice was never the same as the real deal. In practice your heart didn't feel like it was going to rip your chest open like the bottom of a trampoline, and in practice your hands didn't sweat so bad under your gloves that they started to slip off.

Hunk panted as they ran.

It was the longest forty seconds of his life.

“OK,” Shiro’s gaze followed the arc of the last security camera they had just passed. “Ready?”

The rest of them nodded, Hunk on reflex.

“On my mark. Three...”

Hunk fumbled in his pocket for the device, fingers slippery. He'd nearly forgotten what the Hell he was supposed to do. Holy crow, pull yourself together meathead!

“...two...”

Lance looked over at him, metallic ball already in hand, head tilted in concern.

Hunk smiled nervously underneath his mask, and finally held up his device, fingers trembling and neck dripping with sweat.

“...one! Go!”

Shiro kicked open the door with a well placed heel above the weak aluminum handle, and the four of them burst simultaneously into the control room.

Lance took point, gun blazing impressively, and Hunk dropped his device in synchronization with the other three. It rolled across the floor amid yells of surprise. In less than a second, all four exploded. Hunk screwed his eyes shut, and hoped the rest of his crew had done the same.

He counted to five slowly in his head, just like Pidge had made him practice, and then opened his eyes.

Six people in sleek white suits lay unconscious on the floor, knocked clean out by the solar-like blast of light that the four little metallic spheres had emitted. Hunk breathed a sigh of relief. They had worked.

“Well,” Lance let his gun fall to his side, stepping over bodies to the center of the room. He picked up his device and inspected it. “Keith’ll be pleased to know those four days of his life payed off.”

“I'll say,” Allura joined Lance in the center and beckoned to Hunk and Shiro. “Come on. We have two minutes before they wake up.”

Crunch time.

Hunk almost tripped over himself (and like three unconscious technicians) to get to the main computer. It wasn't that hard to find. A huge, sleek white screen hovered in the center of eight other screens, all showing different security feeds from across the building. On the main computer, a map blinked with power, showing where everyone was. Hunk moved to get Pidge’s chip plugged in, but Lance stopped him with a light touch to his arm.

“Look,” he choked.

Hunk followed his finger to one of the camera screens, then felt his stomach drop.

The feed showed a giant chamber, the size of a small aircraft hangar. Pods, like the one they had back at the Castle, lined every inch of the enormous walls like glowing purple maggots. Except these looked a thousand times more evil than the one Coran fiddled with.

People were in those Pods.

People powering the entire city.

People Hunk couldn't save.

Shiro cleared his throat behind them. “Guys, we knew we would see it. We have to keep moving.”

Hunk tore his gaze away from the screen, tears burning behind his eyes, and plugged the chip in.

They watched with bated breath. A flicker of static, a terrifying millisecond, and then--

“There we go.”

Hunk watched in amazement as the four of them disappeared from the security feed in the bottom corner of a screen, the control room apparently back to normal again. Six technicians appeared to be clicking away.

“Brilliant.”

“Lance, Shiro, you're up,” Allura quipped. “Hunk, help me find Lotor.”

Hunk nodded on autopilot, and started to scan the map. The sound of Shiro and Lance noisily tugging unconscious bodies into a pile behind him tickled his ears. He shook his head, trying to concentrate.

They have everything labeled on that fucking map, Bolts. You should be able to find Lotor’s personal chambers in seconds flat. And once you do, you're home free.

The sweat dripped into his eyes. His heartbeat increased. Conference Room A, Conference Room B, Interrogation Wing, Production and Design Office... where was Lotor?

“Oh! They’re awake!”

Shiro spoke, and his words were immediately followed by six swift shots. Hunk whipped around to see Lance standing over the newly stunned control technicians.

“Nice one Lance. They probably didn't even have time to see us.”

Hunk didn't have to see his face to know Lance was glowing under Shiro’s praise.

“I mean, I know I'm a pretty big deal, but no flash photography jeez people.”

Hunk wanted to laugh, he did, but couldn't bring himself to in his current state of panic.

“Uh, can you guys come over here?” he asked frantically. “Lotor isn't on the map.”

“What do you mean he isn't on the map?”

“I mean, he isn't on the map!”

Lance walked over, clipping his gun back onto his belt as he went. It swung on his hip with each step, and Hunk’s eyes followed its motion like a hypnotist’s pendant. Lance placed his hands worriedly on Hunk’s shoulders. As he did so, he brushed his fingers against Hunk’s cheeks underneath the mask, and Hunk took a shuddering breath.

“Breathe, Tsuyoshi,” Lance whispered. “I need you to breathe.”

Hunk inhaled shakily through his nose, eyes never leaving the smooth facade of the blue lion.

“It’s gonna be OK,” Lance said. “We’ll find him.”

Hunk felt his heart flutter. He wanted to go home. He wanted to crush Lance to him and kiss him and quote their favorite movie lines back and forth rapid fire until they fell asleep. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to mess up. He didn’t want the last three years to be for nothing.

But he had to do this.

He had to do it, he knew, and when it came down to it (really came down to it) Hunk wasn’t one to back away from a challenge. People needed him. Arus needed him.

“Yeah,” Hunk swallowed, and rested a sweaty palm on top of Lance’s hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, I’m OK. It’s cool. Let’s just... check the map again.”

Behind them, Allura and Shiro looked up. He couldn’t see their faces, but something told Hunk he didn’t want to.

“We’ve both looked,” Allura cleared her throat. “Lotor’s chambers aren’t on the map.”

Silence.

“What do we do?” Lance asked in a small voice.

Sweat trickled down Hunk’s back like ice. He knew something would screw up the plan.

“OK, we can’t panic,” Shiro spoke. “We just... we should just contact Pidge.”

“She said not to do that in the control room,” Hunk said, trying to keep his voice from sounding too frantic. “Pulling up radio signals and pings in the hub of Balmera isn’t the safest thing to do if we’re trying not to get caught.”

The four of them looked at each other, almost hopelessly. Hunk felt the weight of each second tenfold, his inner clock screaming at him.

Go, go! Don’t get caught! Move, you don’t have time!

“Well, the original plan is obviously shot to pieces,” Lance spoke. He sounded normal. Collected. A hint of sarcasm. “We’ll need more people to search the whole place for Lotor now. It can’t just be one team.”

Allura fidgeted. “But who will stay behind in the control room? If someone official radios in and no one at control responds they’ll know there are invaders and we’ll be done for.”

“Pidge,” Shiro said. “Pidge will do it. I know there are risks, but we have to try something. Hunk and Lance, you’ll have to go out and search along with me and Allura.”

Hunk almost collapsed. “You mean we... w-we...”

Lance clamped onto his arm, and Hunk could tell his breathing had increased as well. “Shiro, we can’t... I can’t...”

“You can,” Shiro’s voice was hard. “You can because you have to. This is our one window where we know he’s here. It’s only a fifty percent chance that you’ll be the ones to find him anyway. You probably won’t have to do anything.”

Lance fell silent, but Hunk knew he was far from prepared. An eerie calm settled over him then, all at once. Lance was scared. That meant Hunk had to step up the confidence for the both of them.

“Alright, we have to get moving,” Hunk said a little louder than usual, and three matching lion heads looked at him. “If no one is staying behind in the control room like we originally planned, that means no one will be here to keep shooting the technicians unconscious. We’ll only have half an hour before these guys wake up.”

“That’s a good point, Hunk. I hadn’t thought of that,” Shiro glanced back at the map. “Allura, did you see...”

“Yes, two,” she said, interrupting him.

Those two operated on some weird frequency together. Hunk had always thought it was a little creepy.

“See what?”

“There are two wings of the building that seem to have whole patches missing. Not labeled at all, or even drawn into the blueprints,” Allura rushed her words. “Maybe they’re so top secret not even control can have them on the map, for fear someone like us would come through. Our guess is that Lotor is in one of these two wings.”

“Go time,” Hunk said, spelunking in his pockets for his cell. “Where are they?”

“One is down on the first underground level, above the Pods,” Allura dragged across the holographic screen with a finger, and the entire map sprung out into the air. Balmera Corp. spun suspended in purple light. “The other is up on the second level on the North side.”

Lance slid his hand down Hunk’s arm, lacing their fingers together. Hunk felt a weird wash of relief at the discovery that Lance’s hands were just as sweaty as his own.

“Can we... can we take the second floor?” Hunk asked. “I don’t want to see the...”

Shiro and Allura shared a look, debates passing between them in milliseconds.

“That’s fine,” Shiro said. “Allura and I will go check the area by the Pods. You two can stay up here.”

Hunk nodded, and gave Lance’s hand a squeeze before letting go. He heard Lance shakily exhale, then turned his focus to contacting Pidge. He vaguely understood the three of them talking behind him about how much time they would have.

Several taps and frantic shakes later, the ancient device in Hunk’s hands eventually lit up blue.

“Pidge?” he slid his thumb across the dirty screen desperately. “Pidge, c’mon, come in Pidge!”

Finally, her grainy face flickered to life. She looked a little disgruntled, albeit terrified, as she moved through the Castle.

“Hunk? What’s wrong? Did the microchip not work? I swear the loop was supposed to be bug free--”

“No, no! It worked really well, we just ran into a couple unforeseen issues,” Hunk knew everyone else was behind him now, all watching Pidge tensely.

“Unforeseen issues? This whole this is supposed to be foreseen, Hunk, that’s the point of seventeen thousand scouting missions beforehand.”

“I know, I know, but we can’t deal with that right now,” Hunk shut her up as quick as he could. “Lotor’s chambers aren’t on the map. There are two possible locations he could be, we think, so we have to split into our teams and both go searching. Lance and I can’t stay here. We need you to remotely run the control center for about half an hour so no one suspects anything.”

Pidge blanched, and Hunk saw her plop down into a pile of scraps. “I... OK, but... that’s, that’s easier said than done I--”

“ Pidge ,” Hunk’s anxiety slipped into his voice. “We’re on a tight, tight schedule here. Those stunners don’t last very long and now we don’t have Lance to reshoot them when they wake up. We have to find and kill Lotor by going in blind and unprepared, which is exactly what we thought we wouldn’t have to do. So it would be great if we could have a little help on the homefront.”

Pidge licked her lips with a scared gulp, and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Hunk didn’t see a drop of hesitation.

“Coran!” she yelled to the left. “Coran, I’m going to need my computer! And some Xanax, maybe.”

She muttered the last part under her breath, already scrambling to her feet.

“Plug me in, Hunk,” she said, and somewhere off camera Keith coughed out a wet laugh. “Oh shut up, you.”

Hunk hastily attached his cell to the main computer using an old USB cord he dug from one of his pockets. Man, it really was ancient.

“OK, you’re in,” Hunk told her, dropping the screen onto the polished white desk. “I’m gonna leave you here, we have to go.”

“Good luck.”

“If they catch us I’m blaming you.”

“If they catch you, you won’t have a tongue left to blame me with.”

“Fair point.”

Lance grabbed his hand again, and Hunk took a deep breath. The four of them stepped towards the door on the opposite end of the room, the one where they hadn’t come in.

“Ready?” Shiro asked quietly.

“As we’ll ever be,” Allura replied.

The stoic pair went out the door, already sticking low to the wall. Hunk gulped. He wasn’t made for this stealth thing. Sneaking on the grounds was one thing, sneaking around the building was another. Everything was bathed in fluorescent light and covered in shiny, squeaky surfaces and who knows who could pop up around doors--

“Tsuyoshi?” Lance pulled Hunk’s face down to look at him, and tapped the surface of his yellow lion mask. “We... we have to trust Pidge’s cameras.”

Hunk swallowed. “I know. Are you ready?”

Lance’s fingers stilled. Hunk could almost hear the smaller boy’s heartbeat. “Hunk, what if we’re the ones that find him?”

Hunk’s skin was numb, but he ignored it. This is what they had to do. This is what they planned to do. This is what Hunk had been planning to do since the very beginning.

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when -- if -- we come to it, sweetheart.”

Hand in hand, they left the control room in search of the man who controlled an empire.

*

Getting to the northern, unmapped wing on the second floor was surprisingly easy. Since they didn’t have to worry about avoiding cameras now, they only worried about avoiding security guards, and that was much easier. Human error Hunk could deal with. Only a couple close encounters hindered their process. They’d been going rather slow, so it took them a full ten minutes to get past the stairs. But that was just because Hunk’s mental map of the facility wasn’t as accurate as a picture on his cell would have been. At least, that’s what he told himself.

Tsuyoshi, if you don’t get over your extreme anxiety and take more than one step per second, I will personally shoot you with this stun gun right now. I’m saying this because I love you, but your ancestors were probably snails.

But now they faced a bigger challenge. And that was the entrance to the north wing.

Four vicious looking, uniformed women guarded the cavernous entrance with guns the size of China. They could have been made of marble, fingers already wrapped around the triggers. Hunk could see their hardened glares from all the way across the main hub.

“Lance, I don’t think those are stun guns,” Hunk whispered, eyes wide behind his mask.

“M26, military grade. A single bullet from one of those babies could spaghettify your stomach.

Hunk gulped. “Yeah, that could be a problem. I rather like my stomach.”

Lance pivoted on his crouched knees to face him, and flicked him on the center of his gut. “Me too. Now let’s get a plan.”

From their limited vantage point behind a small outcrop by the elevator, the two of them stayed relatively concealed while able to view a good chunk of the main lobby of the second floor. It was absolutely enormous. The brilliant white ceilings curved so high Hunk thought they could probably develop their own ecosystem. It was also full to the brim with people.

Hunk estimated they had less than a minute before one of the bustling figures in lab coats saw them, or before the elevator behind them dinged open and some scientist popped out with a sound the alarm! button in hand.

Overhead, loudspeakers blared instructions down at the crowds.

Dr. Levinski to Containment Lab A, Dr. Levinski to Containment Lab A. Testing Chamber 4 is currently closed due to a chemical spill, thank you for your cooperation.

And occasionally:

Balmera Corporations is the height of Arus New Energy. We are proud to have you as a core member of its function.

Hunk shivered at the metallic voice. With that in his ears, he could barely focus.

“I don’t know,” Hunk said. His eyes darted from the steely-eyed soldier that looked like she could give even Keith a run for his money to the soldier with shoulders as wide as Hunk’s gut. “We need to get back there. The fact that it’s guarded is pretty suspicious, but...”

“Those ladies look scary,” Lance whined. “The one in the center looks like she could snap me like a twig between her thighs.”

“Lance that’s not a huge feat, you’re tiny. I could snap you like a twig between my thighs.”

“Well yeah, but I wouldn’t mind if you did it.”

Hunk immediately reddened behind his mask, a new kind of sweat coating the back of his neck. Why here of all places? Oh man, Lance, could you learn to shut your mouth?

“I say we run for it,” Lance continued offhandedly, “We don’t have much longer till we’re spotted anyway, and I don’t think we have much of a choice.”

Hunk cleared his throat before speaking, face still hot. “Yeah but what do we do then? The entire place knows we’re here, alarms go off, and we have four wicked looking girls on our tail, possibly into a dead end.”

Lance groaned in distress, leaning his forehead against Hunk’s shoulder. “This is stupid. If no one would see them fall I could just stun them from here and that would be the end of it.”

Suddenly, the burn in Hunk’s thighs and the fear of the situation flew away as an idea pushed out all other thought.

“Lance you’re a genius!” he snapped up and pulled Lance with him, staying flat against the wall.

“Um, I’m not... doubting you or anything, obviously, but can I ask how you reached that conclusion?”

Hunk had already begun fishing through his pockets excitedly, knowing they didn’t have a lot of time.

“I’m gonna go make a distraction. When you can, shoot. Then we run.”

“Uh, OK? Wait, Hunk!”

Hunk was already darting from the alcove, pushinging through the crowds of clipboard wielding scientists. He was still covered in dried chemical mud from the knees down, and he hadn’t showered in a couple days since their water had frozen the pipes again. Not to mention without a lab coat he stuck out like a sore thumb.

That being said, it was a miracle no one stopped him.

Hunk shoved the lion mask into one of his huge pant pockets, and threw a determined look on his face. He marched with fists at his sides and a gaze that didn’t directly land on anyone. He didn’t stop, and no one questioned him.

On the other side of the massive hub, Hunk took out the thing he’d been trying to find.

Pidge had been working on it a long time ago. It was supposed to be a sonar detector, using echolocation to scan an object like a bat, but the last time she’d tried it had been an epic failure. Hunk had asked for the prototype. Pidge had said he was crazy for keeping that in his pocket. Hunk had replied saying he carried around much worse.

“Here goes nothing,” he whispered to himself.

A young doctor seemed to overhear him, and she gave him a strange look as she momentarily stopped in her rush.

“Hey, who are--”

Hunk pressed the button, and threw it as far as possible away from himself.

In one fluid motion, he clamped his hands over his ears and ran in the opposite direction.

The explosion that wracked the cavern was accompanied by a sonic boom that sounded how Hunk imagined a nuke would. He cringed, and hoped suddenly that Lance was OK as the fire and smoke began to fill the area. Hunk ran to the soundtrack of screams and the splutter of an alarm starting up.

“Lance!”

Hunk saw him across a sea of panicked people, all too busy swimming in smoke and running from the fire to focus on a couple scrubby boys. He stood in awe of the explosion, and only looked down at Hunk at his yell.

“Lance, now !”

Lance seemed to snap out of whatever stupor he was in, and hiked his gun up to his shoulder. At the entrance to the north wing, the four soldiers hadn’t moved from their post, only raised their guns, all looking in the direction of the blast. Lance would have to move faster than light to take any of them by surprise.

And then all of a sudden two of them were down. Silently collapsed, as if fainted. A split second later, the other two were on the ground next to them, barely having time to turn in shock.

Hunk kept running, and then Lance jumped to his feet too.

“Lance, that was amazing!” Hunk beamed at his blue lion mask, but he couldn’t tell if Lance saw him.

“Thanks man!”

The two of them shot down the large hallway, but not before stopping to shove the soldiers out of the way. Close up, they looked even prettier and even scarier. Hunk was infinitely glad Lance took them out.

Down the dark hallway, the lights changed.

Instead of the brilliant florescents of the rest of the building, the corridor flushed with a deep purple glow. It raised Hunk’s hackles to see it outside of the Castle; Keith gave them the same exact light.

“OK, where to now?”

Lance slipped the blue lion mask off his face as he spoke, shoving it in one of his jacket pockets. His face was dripping with sweat, but he looked fearfully determined. Hunk’s heart fluttered. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“I don’t know, it’s not on the map,” Hunk said slowly, looking around. “And I don’t see any cameras. So Pidge can’t tell us where to go if we try to contact her.”

Lance frowned, and wiped his brow. Faced with a fork in the purple hallway, both of the resulting corridors looked equally plausible.

“Well, this is good sign? It doesn’t look like some secret lab or anything. It looks kind of like living quarters, maybe this is where he is,” Lance said hesitantly.

Hunk tapped his fingers together, and looked at his boyfriend. “Um, yeah. A good sign.”

They held each other’s gazes for a full heartbeat, and Hunk knew Lance thought it was a ‘good sign’ just about as much as he believed the Earth was flat.

“Well, I vote left,” Lance said, breaking their eye contact.

“I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

After the chaos of the explosion in the main room, going back to sneaking around corners was rough. Hunk kept jumping everytime Lance’s boots squeaked. Thankfully, they didn’t run into any guards, or cameras. It seemed whatever was back here, Lotor or someone else, was completely content with those four female soldiers out front.

Hunk gulped as they passed yet another intimidating door, eyeing the plaque on its surface. Private Armory .

“Uh, why the Hell does Lotor need a private armory?” Hunk asked, voice coming out scared despite himself.

Lance only glanced at the door, worry clear on his face. He slipped his hand into Hunk’s without offering an answer.

“And how do we know where he is? All these doors have been locked. Which one would we even check?”

Lance pulled Hunk to a stop. With a single finger, he pointed.

“If Lotor’s as much of an asshat as you all say he is, I bet this is it.”

In front of them loomed a gateway as tall as the ceiling. A double door, with ornate silver and violet designs lacing up the entire thing. Hunk felt his jaw drop open.

“Are you kidding me?”

Lance snorted underneath his breath, and elbowed Hunk in the ribs. “You think he’s compensating for something?”

Hunk flushed. “Shut up. How do we even know it’s him?”

Lance shrugged, and unclipped his gun. He looked behind him down the hallway. No one rushed in pursuit; apparently nobody had noticed the absence of the soldiers guarding the entrance yet. Or if they had, they figured it was purposeful.

“Well, I guess we just knock.”

“No, Lance!” Hunk hissed, and lunged forward, but was too late.

Lance had already given three sharp raps on the center of the door to the right. He shouldered the gun, looking down the sights.

“Stay on your guard,” he told Hunk.

Like Hunk needed to be told that. His entire body shivered with nerves. He jumped as a huge clank boomed on the other side of the door, webbing across its surface. It slowly creaked open.

“...was wondering when you’d come down Ezor, no one at control is responding to my contact. An explosion in the--”

“Hands up, behind your head, no more words unless you want to taste test 500 watts of bi-charged uranium.”

Lance held the barrel of his gun an inch away from the tip of a pointed nose.

He was shorter than Hunk remembered, and his hair was longer. But the cruel cheekbones and slanted eyes looked exactly the same.

Alexander Lotor stood with his eyes wide yet furious, the sound of Lance clicking the gun from stun to kill echoing in the empty hallway.

“Into the room,” Lance said, completely steady, completely vicious.

Hunk took his gun out too as Lotor backed up carefully. The room they entered looked almost as beefed up as the control center down on the first level. Every surface blinked with a new light. It looked... it looked almost like...

“Lance,” Hunk breathed. “Lance, this is Arus.”

Dots moved around vast maps. Street names. Stores Hunk used to frequent. Dealers. GALRA houses. Police squadrons. Numbers, numbers, and more numbers.  From here Lotor could control the entire city. Hunk was going to puke.

“What do you want?”

Lotor’s voice was steel velvet against the barrel of Lance’s gun.

“I said stop talking,” Lance snapped. The gun in his hand didn’t shake. “Hunk grab my cell, we need to get Allura and Shiro. Up against the wall.”

Hunk saw it milliseconds before it happened. Lotor took one step back, placing his foot at a forty five degree angle. Lance was focused on his face. Hunk didn’t even have time to cry out before Lotor kicked up viciously, knocking the gun from Lance’s hands in a single stroke.

Lance cried out and stumbled backwards. Hunk lunged forward, tackling Lotor with a yell.

“Lance!”

“I’m... I’m OK!”

Lotor struggled beneath him, eyes furious. Hunk stared him down, and suddenly he was nineteen years old again.

“I know you,” Lotor’s eyes gleamed, he looked amused.

Something inside Hunk welled, and it could have been tears or it could have been rage.

“You’re one of the scientists who gave me GALRA.”

Hunk saw red, and his fists filled with strength he wasn’t quite sure he had.

“I did not create GALRA! You did!”

Lotor kicked up and against Hunk’s chest, twisting like an eel and lunging out from under him. Hunk shouted, and scrambled up after Lotor.

“Lance, he’s going to call for help!”

Hunk tried to grab him, but he felt big and meaty and unable to move fast enough. But by the time he finally got to his feet, Lance was there. He met Lotor halfway across the room. Lance’s gun lay defunct, ten feet away, sparking where it crashed into a computer. So he hit Lotor with a fist instead. The sound of skin smacking skin resounded with a yell.

Hunk felt this heart stop, then start beating again at a rapid pace.

They sparred fast.

Hunk was reminded of the early days with Keith, when they broke into the Garrison and he decked guard after guard with well placed roundhouse kicks. This seemed slower than Keith, somehow, and Lance didn’t kick nearly as much, but it was no less terrifying.

Lance looked like he was on fire. The way he glared at Lotor, the raw animosity in every cry that broke from his lips, it painted Lance in a fiercome light. Hunk could only back up and stay out of his way, wishing he had his cell to call for Shiro.

But right now, Lance didn’t seem to need Shiro.

He attacked Lotor with an inhuman barbarity, hacking and slashing with his arms. He became such a flurry of limbs it was evident Lotor could no longer keep up. A minute of furious fighting turned Hunk into a terrified mess pressed against the far wall, out of their way.

“You’re a monster!”

Lance growled, breathless, sweaty, a wicked elbow to Lotor’s chin.

Lotor’s head flew back, a glare at Lance over a bloody nose. “I’ve powered the entire city at a fraction of the cost.”

“The cost is human life!” Lance almost screamed.

“Imagine if the world had this energy,” Lotor gasped and ducked under Lance’s angry swing. “Imagine a world where no wars were fought over oil, no politics over greenhouse gas fumes--”

“A world where you’re a billionaire,” Lance gasped. “Lying,” he threw a jab to Lotor’s chest. “Stealing,” he flew forward. “ Killing!”

Lotor’s eyes widened, and he brought his knee up in a last attempt to defend himself, but Lance was ruthless. He pinned Lotor by the neck, tightening his hold. In the room, the atmosphere shrunk. It was them. Just Lance and Lotor. Hunk felt like he was in a dream, looking down at their world in horror. Lance leaned down towards Lotor’s face, ever pressing down on his neck, and screamed . He screamed, and Lotor’s eyes fluttered as he lost oxygen.

“ You killed them!” Lance wailed. “You killed all of them! And now I’m going to kill you!”

Hunk choked on air. No, no, something was wrong. Something was really wrong. They needed to kill Lotor, Hunk had wanted to kill Lotor, but not... not like this... Lance... Lance hadn’t wanted this.

“Lance...” Hunk whispered, then when nothing happened, a little louder, “ Lance!”

When Lance looked up at him, his blue eyes were overflowing with tears.

Hunk knew nothing at that moment. He was completely moved to innocence. Lance’s beauty was astounding. But his beauty had never previously robbed Hunk of his senses as it did in that moment, tears painting down his cheeks and eyes lost in the ocean. Lance was breathing, and Hunk was breathing. The world pulsed below them as it had been pulsing for billions of years before them and would be pulsing a billion years after them still.
He looked back at Hunk from across the room; he looked back at Tsuyoshi from across a millennia.

“You don’t want this,” Hunk breathed. “Please.”

For a terrifying moment, nothing happened. Then the blue in his gaze melted with the tears and Lance let up his hands.

Lotor gasped for air, eyes fluttering, neck purple. Weak with newfound oxygen, he didn’t even try to reach up and get Lance off him. With shaking hands, Hunk tried to hold his gun steady. He flipped it back to stun with two thumbs instead of one, just to make sure, and pulled the trigger. Lotor went limp underneath Lance, eyes closing. Even after he stopped responding, Lance didn’t move.

Hunk stayed frozen for a second, but then told himself to fuck it all and he crossed the room in three confident strides.

“Sweetheart,” the word bubbled from his lips. “Come here.”

He pulled Lance up from Lotor’s body and into his chest instead, heaving a shaky sigh of relief.

“You did good, you did so good.”

Lance’s tears soaked his shirt, and then the sobs followed.

“I’m so proud of you,” Hunk whispered into his hair.

Lance tried to push himself from Hunk’s chest but the larger man only held on tighter.

“W-What?” Lance gasped. “I almost k-killed h-him I... Tsuyoshi...”

Hunk tangled his fingers in the small, sweaty pieces of Lance’s hair at the base of his neck.

“But you didn’t Lance,” Hunk breathed, trembling, the events of the last minute crashing into him like a poisoned tidal wave. “You didn’t kill him and that’s why I’m proud.”

Lance sniffed, a big, gross sniff, and Hunk found himself smiling like a stranger in his own body.

“What... what’re we g-gonna do with him?”

Hunk looked down at the unconscious Lotor, and realized for the first time he didn’t want to kill the man. He wanted him gone, dead even, but Hunk couldn’t be the one to pull the trigger.

Are you God, Tsuyoshi Seidou?

“I have a plan.”

*

Things afterwards felt like one giant pencil smudge across a page of notes. Getting out of the facility with an unconscious Lotor in tow had been surprisingly easy. With a tear-stained Lance next to him to worry about, Hunk barely even remembered it. They’d met up with Shiro and Allura, who’d been fruitlessly exploring the Pod rooms, and hightailed it. Everything was chaotic, blurry, and filled with smoke alarms. One of the only things he distinctly remembered was Shiro saying he and Allura would deal with the ramifications after they got Lotor back to the Castle.

Every bone in Hunk’s body was exhausted.

He thought about his cell, which was still in the control room, he thought about the scrambling employees and the explosion they’d left behind, he thought about the anger in Lance’s eyes and he thought about the way Lotor’s body looked so weak draped across Shiro’s back. How could someone so powerful look so human?

But he wasn’t, Hunk had to remind himself. Lotor wasn’t human after what he’d done. And that’s why they had to stick to their original plan. Lotor had to die.

Shiro dropped him down the shaft with a grunt. Hunk grinned as his limbs hit each rung of the ladder, sounding like a morbid xylophone. Lotor hit the ground with a thump. From inside, the four of them heard Pidge scream.

“Oh my GOD! OH MY GOD ! WHAT THE FUCK?”

Lance laughed the loudest as they all followed the unconscious Lotor down the ladder.

“He’s pretty isn’t he?”

In the Castle, Pidge stood with her face white as a sheet, arms held out in front of her, eyes furious. She marched up to Lance, (giving Lotor a wide berth) and smacked him flat across the face. It looked and sounded like it stung, but Lance just held a hand to his face in light shock.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack Lance?”

“What? Why do you automatically blame me?”

She glared, a single eyebrow raised.

He cringed. “OK it was me but I thought it would be funny.”

Hunk bit back a laugh, and he could see the others trying to do the same. Pidge was almost half Lance’s height, and he still leaned back from her pointed finger in fear.

“You thought dropping the dead body of our biggest enemy down the ladder with no warning would be funny?”

“Well, he’s not... dead.”

Hunk could’ve heard a pin drop. Pidge’s expression morphed from anger to confusion to suspicion in less than a second. She whipped her gaze down to Lotor, who lay in a heap on the dirt floor.

“What do you mean he’s not fucking dead?”

A voice like the Grim Reaper himself rasped from the far corner, and Lance gave a small squeak of fear. He backed up towards Hunk, and Hunk automatically put an arm around him.

“It’s just Keith,” he murmured under his breath, so quiet only Lance could hear.

But ‘just Keith’ didn’t really seem to cover it, even to Hunk. Keith sat hunched in the dark, out of the purple glare. The aversion to light had started, then. Coran sat with him, a comforting hand on his shoulder, but it looked like that one hand was a thousand pounds. Keith hunched with the weight of it. His shoulder blades stuck out like knives under translucent skin, veins showing up as a brilliant purple. His eyes had completely turned yellow, now, sickly and tired. His chest heaved with the effort of breathing.

Hunk gulped.

“We decided we couldn’t kill him,” Shiro spoke gently, and Hunk could hear the pain in his voice so poignantly he almost cried.

“You what?”

Keith moved to stand, but his arms shook at the effort and he collapsed back again. He cringed, and glared up at Shiro. Those eyes. It didn’t even look like Keith. Hunk was used to seeing dying GALRA victims. He just wasn’t used to them being his friend.

“We couldn’t kill him,” Hunk stepped in, because Shiro looked too broken to speak, only staring at Keith with silent desperation. “We thought... we wanted... we knew it should be you.”

At this, Lance slithered his arm around Hunk’s midsection, at least as far as he could go, and Hunk pressed him closer.

Keith swallowed, and reached a spider-like hand up to his throat.

“Me?”

Hunk nodded.

“It really couldn’t be any of us,” Lance said slowly, looking down at his feet. “I... I tried, but...”

Keith’s gaze hardened, turning his focus solely to Lotor’s body. As if knowing he was being stared at, Lotor gave a soft groan. He didn’t stir, not yet, but it had clearly been half an hour since Hunk stunned him.

“Coran, help me up,” Keith sounded like a rattling skeleton, but his glare never wavered.

With Coran’s help, Keith slowly limped to where the five of them stood silently. Lotor gave another moan, and this time a twitch of his fingers.

Keith sneered almost impulsively in response, and let his arm slip from Coran. He immediately fell to his knees, but stayed close to Lotor.

“Keith,” Allura called in a near whisper, probably trying not to cry. “Catch.”

She tossed the red lion mask up in the air, and Keith grabbed it with wide eyes. Slightly beat up, a little mud-covered, he stared at it. No tears fell from his yellow eyes, but his knuckles were white as he clenched the mask tight.

Then, slowly, shakily, he tied the ceramic mask around his face.

When he looked back up, he was Keith again.

“Hunk, I need a syringe.”

Hunk nodded with a gulp, and slipped away from Lance to rummage in the back. Lotor groaned again, this time jerking his limbs out. He opened his eyes slowly.

Keith immediately pinned his arms down, showing strength he hadn’t had mere seconds ago. Lotor stared up at the unforgiving, blood red mask, and his eyes filled with fear.

“Where am I? Who are you? I can have you arrested,” his voice came out gravelly, confused.

“The most important question here is who are you,” Keith’s voice curled from the mask like toxic smoke. “Devil,” he growled the last word under his breath.

Hunk watched out of the corner of his eye as he searched for the syringe.

Allura was the first to leave, pulling Coran behind her. She met Hunk’s eyes, and nodded. No goodbye, but that was enough. There was a lot more than just Lotor that needed dealing with out there.

Pidge was next. She gulped, and with one last look at Lotor, spat down into his face.

“I hope you rot in Hell,” she whispered, then, to Keith; “You’re my brother. Till the end. Got that?”

Keith didn’t respond, but Hunk knew he knew.

“I hope he rips your innards out piece by piece,” she hissed to Lotor. “For Matt.”

And then she was gone too.

Shiro stayed. Hunk knew in his gut he’d be there till the end, leaning silently against the wall. The black mask dangled fromm his fingertips, eyes hooded. They never left Keith.

Hunk found one of Keith’s syringes, and filled it quickly. The deadly violet liquid hummed with the energy of an army. Hunk stared at the glass tube for a while. His life had come to revolve around it.

Then, he looked up. Lance stood over Keith and Lotor, eyes grim, mouth set. He met Hunk’s gaze in an instant, and softened. He gave Tsuyoshi a small smile.

This was it.

Hunk looked down at the GALRA.

It wasn’t going to be the center of his life anymore.

“Keith,” he walked back over to the three of them, and held out the syringe, needle end down.

Keith took it steadily, and Lotor’s fearful eyes went wild. But Hunk could tell he was trying to keep it together. Maybe give himself one last chance. His eyes darted over Keith’s clearly emaciated form.

“Are you going to kill me?” Lotor croaked, gleaming. “Shoot me with the drug that I used to kill you? Poetic.”

Keith’s red mask was unforgiving.

“Don’t fucking flatter yourself,” he spat. “You didn’t kill me. I did.”

Hunk took Lance’s hand, and followed the path that the others had taken out of the Castle. He made eye contact with Shiro, but it was fleeting, and empty. Hunk knew in his mind, Shiro was already gone.

Behind them, Lotor tried for a cracked sort of chuckled, then choked down on it as Keith pressed on his throat.

“You... you really think we’re that different? If you do this you’re just as much a murderer as I,” Lotor gasped.

Hunk turned back at this, gulping as he watched Keith. Keith didn’t look up, only tightening his grip on the glowing syringe in his left hand. The bruises on his bare arm looked like paint.

“Oh I think we’re very different, you and I,” Keith whispered.

Lotor captured every ounce of his attention. Hunk knew this was the end.

“But don’t worry. We’re about to be more alike than you ever could have imagined.”

Hunk turned around before he could watch Keith plunge the dripping purple needle into the smooth skin on Lotor’s forearm.

Instead, he took Lance’s hand and they climbed up the ladder together, Lotor’s screams dying in the background.

*

“Tsuyoshi?”

Lance’s hair glowed in the morning light, the freckles on his nose reddening with the cold. Hunk couldn’t take his eyes off him.

“Hmm?”

“What do we do now?”

Arus sprawled out before them, all its ashy, rough corners illuminated by the sun rising over the smog. Lotor was dying, Allura and Coran were off to diplomatic battle. Hunk’s family was out there somewhere, waiting, along with thousands of GALRA addicts still uncured.

But Hunk wasn’t thinking about any of that.

All he could focus on was the feeling in his chest, the soaring wonder of completeness.

“I don’t know,” Hunk said. “I guess that’s the good part now. We get to start from scratch.”

Lance sighed prettily.

“I like from scratch.”

Hunk’s smile had never come easier.

“You should, dork.”

With the light banishing the moon on the horizon, and the smell of a cold morning breezing past, they walked hand in hand towards the sun.

Chapter Text

Lance scrambled to claw a chunk of dirt out of his eyes, and shot a pointed glare in Hunk’s direction.

“Really? Are you twelve?”

Hunk grinned, eyes squinting shut. “Uh, always?”

Lance narrowed his eyes, and dug his fingers into the ground. He came up with a fistful of dirt and overgrown grass. Hunk’s eyes widened, and Lance knew he knew what was about to happen a split second before it did.

Hunk didn’t have time to even turn his face before the gob of earth smacked him right between the eyes. Lance leaned back onto his elbows, satisfied as he stretched his legs.

“There, even.”

A couple feet away, Pidge snorted. She didn’t look up from her laptop, clacking away.

“You’re both twelve.”

Lance pouted at her, but she didn’t even see. He tried kicking a leg out to knock over her computer, but she just lifted it right up so Lance’s foot passed harmlessly underneath. Cheater.

“Pidge, we’re outside, in the middle of fucking nowhere,” Lance told her. “Why do you have that thing with you?”

“I have a twenty page paper due tomorrow Lance,” she quipped. “Besides, Allura’s not even here yet.”

“Can’t you do your school math stuff like, you know, on your own time?”

She finally looked up, giving him half-lidded eyes behind her dirty glasses. “The proper term is electrical engineering? And this is my own time. It’s not like Professor Piet gave me an assignment to come hang out with you bozos.”

“Yeah, but you like us bozos,” Hunk piped up.

Lance looked over to him, and immediately felt his heart swell at the sight. Hunk had twisted together chains of wild daisies, making a small flower crown. Lance never ceased to be amazed at the precision those huge hands could accomplish.

“Tsuyo,” he sat up and made grabby hands, ignoring Pidge who had tried some kind of comeback. “That’s so pretty, I want it.”

Hunk laughed, musical, and held out the ring of wildflowers. “It was for you anyway.”

“Put it on me,” Lance demanded, his smile matching Hunk’s. As wide as the universe.

Hunk leaned across the swaying grass and gently tucked the flowers into Lance’s hair. He hummed in approval.

“How do I look?”

“Beautiful.”

“Like a princess?”

“Duh.”

Pidge made a coughing noise in the back of her throat, which sounded a lot like ‘gross! ’ . But Lance saw the smile that she tried to hide. She looked down at her screen again, then immediately back up when she realized she’d seen something.

“Hey!” her grin stretched wider, and she pointed a finger between Lance and Hunk. “Allura’s here!”

Lance whipped his head around to see that yes, it definitely was Allura crossing the brightly lit field. She looked radiant; her hair was down and combed, for once, and her posture better than ever. When she finally joined them underneath the enormous oak, Lance could see she was a little out of breath.

“Hello everyone!” she sat down beside Hunk, the dappled light sprinkling her face through the leaves. “Sorry I’m late, I’d forgotten how long of a hike it was to get to this place. I stopped for flowers and I really shouldn’t have. I know I say this every time but there are a million already here.”

Lance looked out the way she came, and internally sighed at the view. They sat at the top of a hill, grass and tall, wild daisies waving in all directions. In the glittering distance, the tips of Arus’s skyscrapers were visible. The four of them lounged under the only tree for miles, the shade a welcome blessing. The temperature had hit a balmy seventy eight degrees that afternoon, the warmest anyone in Arus remembered. It had made headlines. Lance thought it was crazy what passed as news these days. Of course, he’d been used to hearing about imminent death and crisis for so long he supposed it would take a while to get used to humdrum Channel 6 again. Even though it had been a year.

Tsuyoshi had woken him up that morning with the bedroom windows open wide, and a gust of warm air.

Come on sweetheart! We’re off work! The sun is shining! I packed lunch and we’re going to see everyone!

Lance felt himself smiling almost unconsciously, and slid closer to Hunk. He looked up him, and wondered for the thousandth, no the millionth, time how he’d gotten so lucky.

“Allura, how are you?” Pidge asked, finally setting her laptop aside.

“I am very well,” Allura glowed. “The coalition is working wonders every single day.”

“Are you still weeding out GALRA lovers?” Lance asked, picking curiously at the grass around him.

Allura shook her head brightly. “No, we think we’ve just about found all the connections left. We’re still talking to a couple Balmera people, but honestly, most of them had no idea it was all going on in the first place. They were fooled just like the rest of the city.”

Hunk dug his fingers into Lance’s hair, tugging at the flowers. He’d gotten new gloves -- well, Lance had given him new gloves -- a couple months ago. He could already recognize the feeling of them against his scalp.

“And how about all of you?” Allura asked. “Pidge, how are your classes? And Hunk, I heard your team is working on new radiation treatments?”

Lance blinked, too lazy to sit up from Hunk’s soft grip. “What am I, chopped liver?”

Allura rolled her eyes. “Lance, you work two floors below me. If you yell loud enough, I have my interns talking about the annoying guy down in the defense department.”

“Touching,” sniffed Lance. “You can tell your interns -- Sheila? Is it Sheila? -- that complaining bitch, you can tell Sheila she can fuck right the fuck off and if she doesn’t like my aggressive management strategy she better come talk to me about it.”

“It’s Jorge, actually.”

“I knew it,” Lance muttered, leaning back more into Hunk’s petting hand. “He always seemed fishy.”

“Anyway,” Hunk cut Lance off before he could say anything too weird. “You’re right Allura, we’re getting pretty close to a failsafe method I think.”

“No one asked me if I liked him working with radiation a daily basis,” Lance mumbled.

“Babe it’s perfectly safe,” Hunk said. “It’s not the twentieth century.”

“Still.”

Allura smiled at him. “Lance, if Hunk says it’s safe, then it’s safe. I wouldn’t trust anyone else to make that judgement call.”

Lance didn’t buy it deep down, well, whenever Tsuyoshi’s safety was in question he always felt uneasy deep down. But for the moment he made himself get over it quickly. The mood brightened the second Hunk produced the picnic basket.

“I made sandwiches,” Hunk beamed. “Pesto bacon pastrami on rye.”

“Jesus,” Pidge actually moaned as she eagerly took her first bite. “Fucking gourmet, Hunk. Gourmet. Remember when we used to drink water the color of elephant skin?”

They all chuckled, and Lance took a huge bite of the sandwich. He only realized he probably should’ve done that after he spoke, because when he tried to move his mouth pastrami nearly skipped down his chin.

“Mmf... ‘ou ‘ember ‘en th’ ‘oup hn ‘at ‘n ih?”

They stared at him like he was speaking Spanish. Lance tried to frown, but his mouth was too full.

“Um, can you repeat that?” Hunk asked.

“Yeah, maybe this time with all that food in your gulet not your mouth?”

Lance furrowed his brow and made a massive show of swallowing the bite. Allura rolled her eyes.

“Do you guys remember having that soup with the rat in it?”

“Oh yuck,” Pidge hunched over in revulsion, holding her sandwich away from her.

Allura looked rather pale, and Hunk groaned against Lance’s temple as he pressed a kiss there.

“Why would you bring that up while we’re eating?” he asked.

Lance shrugged. “I thought we were talking about how shitty the Castle was.”

“There were a lot of things besides the rat in the soup that were shitty, Lance,” Pidge snickered.

“Like the pipes that always fell apart,” Hunk lamented.

“Or the moldy walls that stank even when they iced over,” Allura added.

“The lack of showers? Or mirrors?” Lance quipped, remembering how nasty he’d always felt.

“The uneven dirt floors,” Pidge reminded them.

“The horrible temperatures.”

“The bedsheets.”

“The beds.”

“How about all the uninvited animals?”

“And the weird noises.”

“There weren’t any windows.”

“There were barely doors.”

The four of them lapsed into silence, staring up at the swing tree branches.

Everyday Lance woke up curled next to Hunk on the softest mattress he had ever felt. Their kitchen was modest, but covered in beautiful white granite. Their sheets were soft, their water was clear, and Lance did The Laundry every Monday night. They actually had laundry to do; their closets were full. It made Lance feel uncannily like his own mother. Every Friday was date night, every Tuesday was mandatory sappy rom-com watching.

Lance was living the dream.

But something inside him still felt melancholy.

“The doors were sometimes nice though,” Lance said quietly, staring at the pockets of sky fluttering between the swaying branches of the tree.

“Yeah, it was kinda cool having everyone right across the hall,” Pidge murmured. “Even though sometimes I hated all of you,” she was quick to add.

“And the rats really weren’t awful,” Allura said. “They made for some nice jokes.”

“Allura, you never cracked a single joke as long as you lived in the Castle,” Lance grinned at her.

“That’s not true!” Allura held a hand to her chest.

“Oh sure princess,” Lance drew out his words. “Or should I call you Deputy Mayor now?”

She reddened, and Pidge elbowed her with her non-sandwich holding arm.

“Hey, how long till you’re up there?”

“What... what do you mean?” Allura could be radiating heat for how much she was blushing.

“Till you’re mayor, obviously,” Hunk said before taking a huge bite of his sandwich.

Allura shook her head, and then put her face in her hands. “I’m still so young! It’s -- it won’t happen --”

“Of course it will,” Lance grinned and made eye contact with Pidge. “You’re a natural leader, and you saved the entire city from destruction last year, so.”

Allura looked up at him, eyes burning with a reluctant smile. “You saved it too. We all saved Arus.”

Hunk squeezed Lance tighter, and brushed his lips against Lance’s ear.

“Should I tell them?”

The whispered words sounded so nervous. Damn it, Lance thought he had gotten over that. They’d talked about it for months, and all this morning Lance had consoled him on the car ride here.

“Tsuyo,” Lance whispered. “It’ll be OK.”

Hunk took a shaky breath, and looked up at Allura and Pidge. The two hadn’t even noticed their private exchange. Lance took the hand Hunk had wrapped around him, and traced small circles of encouragement on the back of it.

“Guys?” Hunk started, clinging to Lance for support.

“What’s up?” Pidge’s gaze flicked with concern at his tone of voice.

In an instant, she was back in the Castle, younger and afraid. Lance had forgotten she could look like that. It was like the smallest sign of sadness from any of them had the power to plunge her back to when terror was a perpetual emotion.

Lance knew the feeling.

“I’m selling the shop,” Hunk blurted. Well, that was out there.

“What?”

Lance willed Hunk to keep going despite Allura and Pidge’s horrified faces. He didn’t want to jump in and save his boyfriend; he knew Hunk had to say this himself.

“I’m too busy with my job at the Garrison. And I love to tinker, but it’s just not necessary anymore. And it’s not my passion.”

He looked down at Lance nervously, and Lance smiled up at him. Tsuyoshi knew what he was doing. Lance trusted him with every fibre of his being.

“I don’t want to keep hiring people to work it, so I’m selling it instead. It needs to go to someone who wants it, who’ll love it, who has an actual career in mechanics.”

Lance felt a swell of pride inside his chest. Allura looked wary, and Pidge still shocked.

“What about our quarters?” she asked in a small voice.

“Well, that’s why I brought it up. I wanted to talk to you guys first,” Hunk took a deep breath, and Lance could feel his heartbeat. “I... I don’t really want anyone else to see it. It’s kind of... ours.”

Allura gave a franticly firm nod. “Absolutely.”

“So, I was going to fill it.”

“Fill it?”

“You know, with dirt. Concrete. Something. Destroy the whole thing.”

The four of them fell silent. The wind in the grass sounded like an ocean, and Lance closed his eyes. It must’ve been a full minute before anyone spoke.

“So we could never go back,” Pidge whispered.

In Lance’s mind, rusted pipes creaked and Keith’s curses echoed from across the dirt hall. Peeled posters curled above his dirty cot. Purple lights fizzed in and out as above, Hunk’s water pipe broke open again. From every corner, he could hear his friends arguing, planning, waiting, wondering, hoping.

“We could never go back,” Hunk confirmed slowly.

Allura let out a shaky breath. “Shiro...”

“Shiro would want it buried,” Hunk said, without a moment’s hesitation.

None of them could deny it. From wherever he was, Shiro’s presence still sat with all of them.

“I say go for it,” Pidge said with diction. “All our stuff’s gone anyway. I just have one request.”

“OK, shoot,” Hunk said.

“I want Kaltenecker.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Lance shot from Hunk’s side, jaw dropped in a smile. “Are you kidding? That is iconic Pidge. Where will you keep it?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, my dorm’s kind of small. Maybe I’ll move my bed and sleep in the trunk.”

Hunk laughed, and Lance leaned back against the rumbling. Yeah, that was some good stuff. He inhaled the warm scent of Hunk’s laundry detergent and honey cologne, remembering when he used to smell like grease and sweat. He wasn’t sure which he liked better. He just knew he liked Hunk.

“Well, consider it done Pidge,” Hunk shook his head. “If I can get the damn thing unbolted. We really did a number on him.”

“Excuse you? Kaltenecker had always been a girl,” Pidge said, hand to her chest.

“Um, on what planet?” Hunk asked. “He’s named after beer.”

“And beer can’t be a girl drink?” Pidge asked snottily.

“Beer can be anyone’s drink,” Hunk said. “But Kaltenecker is definitely a male.”

Pidge snorted, but Allura was quick to jump in. “Perhaps Kaltenecker is nonbinary. We can agree to use explicitly gender-neutral pronouns from now on, if it will appease the both of you.”

“It’s a car,” Lance deadpanned, and the rest of them cracked up.

Hunk buried his nose in Lance’s hair, pulling him into his lap. Finally. Lance had been practically climbing on top of him since he started eating his stupid sandwich.

They laughed together, joked (attempted to), reminisced, and told stories for at least another shit-eating hour. The noonday sun burned low in the tree, turning quickly to a twilight red flickering in pieces across each of them.

Lance shifted from Hunk’s lap to a tree limb, then Pidge’s lap, then dancing around the tree, then back to Hunk’s lap where Allura finally declared they should probably all head home.

“It was really good to see you guys,” Pidge got a little serious, rocking back and forth on her toes as she fiddled with her beat up messenger bag. “I... I have a ton of friends. And all my professors know me ‘cause of... ‘cause of Matt, but no one really gets me like you all.”

Lance felt tears well up, and Allura grasped Pidge’s shoulder.

“We feel the same Pidge.”

She went first, sliding awkwardly down the side of the hill, the dying light glinting on the inside of her glasses. She tried to wave, but ended up tripping again so she just continued walking in shame.

Allura followed her, lightly complaining about the walk back to her car, but Lance knew she didn’t really mind it. When he hugged her goodbye, she smelled like hope and raspberries. Before she went down the hill, she dropped her bouquet of tiger lilies off by the tree.

She always left tiger lillies. Lance never asked her why, and Allura never provided an answer.

Then it was just him and Hunk left, staring at the tree.

At its base, a carved stone.

Keith

He said he was 23

Who knows with that fucking bastard

The strongest friend any of us could have asked for

Lance took the flower crown from his head. He bent forward to curl the string around the top of the stone, where a certain red mask had been inlaid with concrete. He brushed the crudely carved letters with the tips of his fingers, pushing back the tears that always seemed to come to his eyes.

“Why’d we call him a fucking bastard on his tombstone?” Lance asked, voice cracking.

He didn’t know Hunk had knelt beside him until he felt the lips on the back of his throat.

“You say that everytime.”

“Yeah,” Lance swiped furiously at his eyes. “And everytime I think of something else we coulda put on there.”

“Well, you can’t deny the fact that he was a bastard,” Hunk tugged his face so their eyes met, and Lance saw the tears swimming down his face too. “And it would be a crime not to include his favorite word.”

Lance choked out a single laugh, and didn’t protest when Hunk lifted him to his feet. The oncoming night danced across Hunk’s nose, and Lance breathed. He loved Hunk’s eyes. He loved how deep and chocolatey and comforting they always were. He didn’t even have to say it anymore, Lance just knew; everything was going to be OK.

“You ready to go?”

“Almost.”

And Lance pulled him down for a kiss. They’d gotten a lot better at it since their first one. Under the swaying of the languid oak, the rhythm of Tsuyoshi nearly hypnotized him. Lance opened his eyes as they broke apart. The air stilled, the heat abated, the sun shone just for them.

“I love you,” Lance said, and meant it.

“I love you too,” Hunk said, and Lance believed it.

They walked down the hill together, hand in hand, and Lance didn’t look back. Ahead of them, Arus shimmered under the late evening haze.