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It was an accident. An honest-to-God mistake.
Lance had never meant for this to happen. But the moment the helmets had sparked during a mind-meld session at two in the morning, he’d panicked. He’d broken the connection but Keith (by some miracle) had kept the meld intact. And then everything went out of control from there.
There was a weird sensation - like Lance was getting lifted off of his feet - and then suddenly the world went white and he wasn’t standing in the training deck anymore. He was standing in the middle of a dingy looking office - with desks that had seen better days and a strange smell that was an odd mix between ranch dressing and dirty socks. It wasn’t pleasant.
Lance pivoted on the spot, glancing around him at the desks, the stiff-back waiting room chairs, the stairs that vanished into a second story. Every inch of this building felt wrong to him and he had no idea where he was. He made another turn and froze.
Because that was unmistakably Keith standing a few feet away.
“Keith?” He murmured but realized instantly that something was wrong. Keith didn’t seem to know he was there and he looked different than usual. His face was more round, more boyish. His mullet was shorter, and there was a dark bruise swelling on his jaw. His amethyst eyes were set in a hard glare but not, for once, at Lance. It was at someone beyond him. Lance turned to see who the recipient of Keith’s famous glare was and blanched.
He’d only seen social workers on a handful of television shows, but he did know what one looked like when he saw one. And this was definitely a social worker. Her name tag read ‘Kate’.
“Keith, this is Mr. and Mrs. Albertson. They’ll be your new parents from now on, okay?” Kate smiled but it was disingenuine. Lance’s head spun at the words. New parents? From now on? What was going on?
Keith’s eyes darted between the two adults in front of him. Mr. Albertson was tall and broad with a ridiculous buzzcut. Mrs. Albertson was small and wiry, with mousy brown hair and a thin smile. It became even thinner when Keith regarded them with a glare and resolutely shook his head. Mr. Albertson muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘brat’ under his breath. Keith’s grip tightened on the tiny duffel bag he held in his equally tiny arms.
Keith was so small. Nothing like the boy Lance had been looking at just a few seconds prior. He seemed so much meeker, so much more quiet, so much-
Younger.
Oh.
Things clicked into place instantly. The helmets. The malfunction. Keith was still connected in the mind-meld when their helmets had sparked. Lance had broken the connection in time, but Keith...he hadn’t. That meant…
Any mental walls Keith had put up to keep people from probing through his head had been torn down. What Lance was seeing was not reality, rather it was something that had already happened. He was watching Keith’s memories. No wonder Keith didn’t appear to see him - he wasn’t really there. He was an unwelcome spectator on his teammate’s private life and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to pull out.
Kate turned to Mr. and Mrs. Albertson with a thin smile. “You’ve read his file, right?”
“Yes,” Mr. Albertson said. “A troublemaker, huh? Don’t worry - I’ll whip the brat into shape.”
Kate wasn’t as concerned with the thinly veiled threat as she should have been. “Right. I sure hope so. Keith, have you got everything?” She probably thought the smile she gave Keith was kind, but it just looked wrong. Felt wrong. Lance watched Keith stiffen and nod rigidly. “Good,” Kate said. “There will be a week-long waiting period to see if these two really want you. So be on your best behavior so you can have a family again, okay?”
The words made Lance feel sick. He wondered how many times Keith had been told to ‘behave’ for the sake of a family. And how many times, no matter how hard he tried, he’d been rejected.
At first Lance thought he was getting vertigo with how much was getting piled on him. But he soon realized that the world spinning was not in his head and was actually happening. Keith’s small face blurred into colors but refocused a second later. His face had turned pink and Lance realized he was lying next to Keith on a dirty, hardwood floor. Unshed tears sparkled in his eyes which jarred Lance for a moment because as far as he knew, Keith didn’t cry.
There was a snap and Keith recoiled with a sharp cry. His eyes squeezed shut. Lance sat up very suddenly (his head brushed the top of the table he had been lying under) and instantly felt a strange mixture of horror and rage bubble in the pit of his stomach.
Keith was tied to the table leg with crude rope. It was chafing against his wrists, rubbing them raw. The back of his shirt was ripped, the skin underneath a blistering red. A whip held loosely in a hand that was unmistakably Mr. Albertson’s reared back for another blow. It collided with a growing welt on Keith’s back and he arched his back with a high-pitched whine.
“Fucking brat,” Lance wasn’t standing next to Mr. Albertson, but the stench of alcohol in the air told the whole story. “That’ll teach you to come home late-” another snap of the belt against Keith’s back. “-piece of shit.”
Lance didn’t know how long he’d sat there, watching, unable to move or even lift a finger to help. It was far too long until Mr. Albertson leaned over to untangle the ropes around Keith’s wrists. They fell flat against the floor and Keith froze, clearly afraid to move even a muscle. Mr. Albertson’s shoes stomped against the floor after a few agonizing seconds.
For a moment, there was silence as Keith lay pathetically on his side. He was chewing on his lower lip, trying to hide the way it was trembling. From who, Lance wasn’t sure. He was Keith’s only audience and he didn’t even know Lance was there.
When the world began to spin again, Keith had started to cry. The last thing Lance saw before the scenery changed was the utterly betrayed look in Keith’s eyes as he lay on his side, wrists rubbed red from the rope that he held in his clenched fists.
When things came back into focus, Lance was standing back in that office again. He nearly gagged at the ranch dressing-socks combo and looked around. He spotted Kate and Keith standing at her desk. The former of which was exasperated, pinching the bridge of her nose. Keith didn’t look ashamed in the slightest, his eyes burning with fire as a bruise swelled on his job.
“This is the fifth family this month, Keith,” Kate was saying. “What was wrong with the Johnsons? They were nice, right?”
“They didn’t feed me,” Keith shot back. “I was yelled at when I asked for more. They made me sleep in the garage.”
“So you provoked their son and got you sent back here,” Kate said without skipping a beat. “You have got to stop picking fights, Keith.”
“They start them!”
“Don’t finish them,” Kate snapped shut an enormous manilla folder with Keith’s name scrawled over it. “I’m sorry, Keith, but I’m going to have to send you back to the group home for now until we can find another family.”
Keith’s eyes went wide. “What? N-No, there has to be someone-”
“Not at the moment,” Kate interrupted him. “Make sure your stuff is in order. We’re sending you back tomorrow.”
Keith stomped the whole way up the stairs, but Lance had already seen the fear in his expression. He narrowed his eyes. What was so bad about the group home?
He got his answer the next time the world spun.
This time, Lance was standing in an even more dilapidated building, surrounded by children. Keith was sitting in the corner, hunched over a blanket that he was holding to his chest. Like he was trying to hide it. It was painfully thin and fraying at the edges, but Keith was clutching it like it was his lifeline.
Apparently, he wasn’t subtle enough.
Three boys - three boys who were much bigger than Keith - towered over him. The leader of the troupe held his hand out wordlessly for the blanket. Keith shook his head tightening his grip on the blanket.
“Kogane,” one of the boys growled. “Now.”
Keith fixed him with a defiant stare. The boy looked left and right to make sure no one was watching and then didn’t hesitate to swing. He caught Keith in the jaw with a messy right-hook and Keith blinked for a few moments. Those moments was all that the kid needed to swipe the blanket from Keith’s lap and smirk over at him.
“Thanks, Kogane,” he simpered, folding the blanket over his arm and sauntering away. His entourage trailed behind him, not at all looking sympathetic in the slightest.
Keith caressed his rapidly swelling jaw and shivered violently. He drew his thin hoodie around his shoulders a little tighter and curled into a ball. He looked even smaller like that - weak and so, so unlike the Keith that Lance was used to.
The next time the world spun, Lance was blinded by the sun.
Keith was a little taller this time when he went sprinting past Lance. His mullet was a little longer (much to Lance’s disgust) and he was clearly starting to outgrow his jeans. Regardless, his expression was lit up in a rare show of delight as he sprinted towards a figure waiting for him in the parking lot.
“Shiro!”
It took Lance a moment to realize that yes, this was Shiro he was looking at. He was so used to the shock of white hair that hung in front of his eyes that he’d forgotten that it had ever been black. There was no scar bisecting Shiro’s nose, but the smile was the same. It still crinkled the corners of his eyes as he caught Keith in a tight hug.
“Hey, buddy,” he said with a smile. He was leaning against the side of what looked like a very expensive Corvette. “How was school?”
Keith scowled and shrugged. “Almost got into another fight.” His voice was clearly in that awkward transition phase in between boyhood and adulthood, evident from the slightly high-pitched tone, but the way it cracked into a deeper volume every few words.
“ Another?” Shiro asked.
“James Griffin started it,” Keith said defensively. “He started making fun of Dad.” Shiro’s expression underwent several expression. Exasperation, anger, and then finally, a look of disappointment that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Keith,” he tried. “You need to learn to-”
“Control my temper, I know, I know,” Keith said impatiently. “Can we just go already? Bruce already threatened to tell my foster mom about it and I just want to forget about it for a little bit.”
Shiro shook his head but didn’t complain. He motioned to the other side of the car as Lance surmised that ‘Bruce’ was probably a foster sibling or something of the like. Keith tossed his backpack into the backseat of the Corvette and collapsed into the front seat. Shiro slid into the driver’s and glanced at Keith.
“Ice cream?”
The smile that lit up Keith’s face was so unfamiliar to Lance that he forgot that he was looking at the same, grumpy mullet he’d been living in space with.
The first thing Lance heard after the world spun again was a high-pitched scream.
He was sitting sprawled on the floor before Keith, who had been tackled by a man that was clearly bigger and stronger than he. Looming above him was a woman whose sunken cheeks had seen better days and had a lit cigarette in her hand. The burns blistering on Keith’s arms were all Lance needed to see to know what she had been doing with it.
The man grabbed a fistful of Keith’s hair and smashed his face into the carpet. Keith let out a high-pitched keen on pain as what Lance assumed was his foster father put weight on one of Keith’s legs. It was bleeding profusely.
In that moment, Lance forgot all about where he was and what he was witnessing. He forgot he held no power in the land of memories and instead acted purely on his instincts. His teammate - his brother - was in danger, and he wasn’t about to sit by and let it happen.
Lance launched himself forward and practically tackled Keith’s foster father, looping his arm around the other man’s neck and tugging. Nothing happened as the man acted like Lance wasn’t even there. Technically he wasn’t, but it was a blow to Lance’s self-esteem and confidence nonetheless. He tugged again as Keith let out a loud cry of pain. The fist that had previously gone unnoticed by Lance was now digging into Keith’s ribcage, enough to make his small body jerk underneath his foster father’s.
“Get...off!” Keith screamed but his only response was pressure being added onto his bad leg. He choked out a cry.
Thunder clapped from outside. It was morbidly fitting.
Lance tugged again despite knowing it was fruitless. Something terrible churned in his gut as he watched someone that was so strong reduced to a crying, struggling mess underneath someone he was supposed to trust. It made him furious, but he could do nothing about it.
Another thunderclap illuminated a familiar Corvette pulling up to the house. A moment later there was a knock on the door. Followed by another. Then a third. Each one was more frantic than the last.
Keith’s foster father exchanged a look with his wife and then rose his voice. “Who is it?” He clapped his hand to Keith’s mouth to keep him quiet as he whimpered pathetically.
“Takashi Shirogane,” Shiro’s voice was all-business, but Lance could hear the panic dripping off of every word. “I’m here to discuss Keith’s enrollment into the Galaxy Garrison with him.”
Keith’s foster father whispered a quiet “the fuck?” under his breath. As punishment for keeping him out of the loop, he pressed harder into Keith’s bleeding leg. He whined loudly.
“What was that?” Shiro asked.
“Dog,” lied Keith’s foster father smoothly. “Just the dumb mutt making noise again. Right?” He hissed the last part in Keith’s ear, who didn’t move. Instead, he turned his gaze to the door, something pleading in his eyes. Slowly, he came to a realization, came to terms with something. Without warning, he bit down hard on his foster father’s finger, who howled and released him. Keith took his chance.
“Shiro!” He cried. “ Help!”
Within a moment, the door shuddered as a powerful force thudded against it. Keith’s foster father had no time to react as Shiro kicked it again and it splintered under his boot. It swung open with so much force that the doorknob smashed a hole into the opposing wall.
For a moment there was nothing.
Shiro stood there silently, outlined by silver sheets of rain, as he took the situation in. Keith’s parents, clearly in the middle of something they hadn’t wanted to be seen. Keith, pinned painfully with his arms twisted behind his back and his leg bleeding profusely, imploring Shiro with his eyes. And Lance (though Shiro couldn't see him) hanging awkwardly off of Keith’s foster father’s neck.
The room exploded a second later. And by the room, it was Shiro.
He had his fist in Keith’s foster father’s nose in a moment and it was enough for him to recoil and knock into his wife’s legs. She shrieked and toppled over, cigarette falling from her hand. Shiro crushed it under his heel to prevent it from catching fire on the carpet as he leaned down to scoop Keith up.
Keith clung to him, trembling and in pain, squeezing his eyes shut. Shiro rubbed his hand into Keith’s back, shooting a glare at his foster parents.
“I got you,” he murmured, his voice soothing. “I got you, buddy.”
Keith shut his eyes and the world spun again. But this time, Lance was back in the training deck, sitting cross-legged in his pajamas and lion slippers. He was staring into Keith’s astonished amethyst eyes, mirrored in his own.
“What just...happened?” Keith asked hoarsely.
Lance, who had a very rough guess, shrugged and resisted the urge to break eye contact to pick at a piece of lint on his sweatpants. He swallowed thickly.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But it looks like we’ve got a lot to talk about.”