Work Text:
Woahhhhh, we're halfway there
WOAH-AH!
Livin' on a prayer!
Lance jovially sings along to Bon Jovi, drumming his fingers against the old, nasty leather cover for the steering wheel as the odor of cheap, greasy pizza continues to invade his nostrils like it has for the past fifteen minutes.
Let it be known that never in a million years would he allow for someone to put such a loathsome, repulsive thing on his steering wheel, but low and behold, it was a company car.
AKA not his problem.
Until it was.
Not noticing that he was doing well over 20, Lance continued to press down on the gas pedal and speed down the highway, just wanting to finish his late night shift.
The last notes of the song fade, and when Lance checks the dim light of the clock embedded into the car’s dash, it tells him it’s just past one in the morning.
In one of the cupholders in the console, his phone pings, the screen lighting up to show a picture of him with his niece and nephew, as well as a text message that blocks their faces.
Glancing back up, Lance doesn’t see any other cars around, so he takes his foot off the gas pedal a little and snatches his phone into one of his sweaty hands, keeping the other on the wheel.
Clicking the power button on his phone, the screen once again lights up, showing the text Hunk sent him which-
SCREEEE
Lance shrieks when he looks up and sees the driver's side hugging the guardrail, the concrete barrier whizzing by at what feels like light speed.
Chucking his phone somewhere into the general direction of the backseat, Lance firmly sets both hands on the wheel, but fails to regain control as the car careens right and smashes into the guardrail on the other side.
Looking up ahead, Lance gulps when he sees that the guardrail is about to end, and all that's on the right side is the vast expanse of the Arizona desert.
Deciding it was now or never, Lance stomps on the brake and hopes for the best.
The car comes to a screeching halt, and Lance finally regains control, immediately turning his hazards on and pulling off onto the shoulder.
He peels his sweaty palms off of the wheel, and when he does he notices that they are shaking violently.
Ignoring that for now, Lance opens his door warily, before stepping out and walking to the back to check the damage which he knew for a fact there was.
Somehow, the back remains completely intact and appallingly pristine, but when he checks the side and front, his short lived relief evaporates.
He catches another lucky break when he notices that the mirrors are both still on - although one is crooked - however, the side is littered with scratches and the guardrail had ripped the red and white paint job right off in various locations.
The front is somehow even worse . The hood is dented inwards in one spot and popped up a little in another, meanwhile the headlights are cracked and the fenders smashed in.
Kneeling down next to the wheels, they don’t appear to be too damaged, but there was no way in hell the car was roadworthy anymore.
Opening up the backseat door, Lance digs around for a couple of minutes until he locates his phone, opening it and groaning when he sees the text from Hunk was some engineering joke that he just did not get as well as a stupid cat meme.
Clicking off his message thread with Hunk, he winces when he sees Sal’s contact. He was Lance’s boss and owner of Sal’s Pizzeria , but let’s just say him and Lance weren’t exactly on the best foot.
At the end of the day though, Lance desperately needed money to help pay for college, and Hunk - who works with Sal as his head chef - vouched for him. Lance has known Hunk since middle school, and he didn’t even need to ask.
He knew his best bud would help him out with anything and always back him up, but this might be it for him.
No amount of him and Hunk’s sweet talk will be able to change Sal’s mind.
As far as Lance was concerned, he was currently unemployed.
Unless…
He doesn’t tell Sal or Hunk.
Not telling Sal would be easy, but if he were to tell Hunk he’d have to tell Sal. He can already imagine telling Hunk and Hunk immediately going on to scold him how he just “ has to tell Sal”, because Hunk was an actual responsible adult, whereas Lance was not.
He just crashed his car because he wasn’t paying attention for crying out loud!
Sighing, Lance opens up the phone app and clicks on the keypad, punching in the notorious 3 digit number.
A ring later, and someone picks up.
“ 911, what’s your emergency?”
Not a second in, and Lance already feels embarrassed.
“Hi!” He greets way too loudly, wincing at his own voice. “I- um, got into a little accident.”
He hears a tired sigh over the line, and the female British accent comes back, which he hadn’t even noticed before. “ What type of accident, sir ?”
“I… wrecked my car,” Lance mumbles, hanging his head even though no one can see him.
“ Alright. I’ll send an officer as well as a tow truck over. What’s your location? ”
Lance gives her the last exit he took, and she hums as he assumes that she writes it down or something.
“ Are you hurt? ”
“No? Just a little shaken up.”
“Hmm, well that’s to be expected.”
“Right,” Lance coughs.
“ The officer should be there in a few minutes. Call back if you need anything. Have a good night sir. ”
Click.
Damn.
That sure was brisk and in a hurry.
Lance sighs sadly and crouches down at the front of his car, staring intently at the crunchy sand underneath his sneakers.
A louder crunch has his head whipping up as flashing blue and reds catch his attention, leading his eyes down to the silver and black patrol car.
Oh, shit.
Just Lance’s luck.
Of fucking course it was a State Trooper.
The door slowly opens, and a big, buff officer with a badass scar over the bridge of his nose heaves himself out of his Tahoe, brows drawn up at the sight of Lance.
“Woah. You ok there kid?”
“Y-Yeah,” Lance stutters out shakily as he stands back up, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. “Still just a little bit in shock from everything, y’know?”
“I hear you,” the officer hums, his name tag across from his badge reading ‘SHIROGANE’. “I remember how scared I was when I had my first accident.”
“Yeah, well, I never expected that it’d be tonight,” Lance grumbles as he leans against the side of his car. “But I guess that there’s a first for everything.”
“I guess there is,” Shiro agrees with a chuckle. “But I wouldn’t sweat it, it really doesn’t look as bad as you might think.”
Lance grumbles something unintelligible as he pushes himself off from the side of his car and for the upteenth time inspects the damage.
Low and behold, the long streak along the right side as well as the crooked mirror do little to wane his doubt.
“You sure about that?” Lance asks as he turns around to face the officer. “Cause to me, it looks pretty damn bad, that’s for sure.”
The officer sighs, and sets a heavy hand down on Lance’s shoulder. “What’s your name, kid?”
Lance raises a brow, but answers him nonetheless. “Uh… Lance? Lance Serrano-McClain?”
The officers look morphs from tired to amused as he smiles a little, the corner of his eyes crinkling.
“Well, Mr. Lance Serrano-McClain, you seem like a good kid. So how about this?”
When he fails to elaborate, Lance’s brow travels even further up his forehead, and he nods his head, giving the officer a sign to continue his train of thought.
“My little bro is a mechanic - the best around, mind you - and I’m sure he’d have no problem whatsoever fixing your car here from your little accident.”
Lance crosses his arms and scoffs. “What makes you so certain that he won’t have any problems?”
The officer chuckles ominously, and pats Lance’s arm as he grabs his radio mounted on his shoulder.
“1 Lincoln 5 to dispatch~” He sing songs.
“Yes Shiro?” A bored voice answers back within a second.
“Can you please send my darling brother over to my location? We have a bit of a... roadside issue that he needs to fix.”
Shiro winks at Lance as the dispatch relays some information over the radio, before it shuts off.
“He should be here in around ten or so,” Shiro hums. “In the meantime, care to tell me how exactly you crashed when you’re the only car on the road?”
Lance winces, his shoulders rising, but they soon fall with defeat, and he makes the best of it by giving Shiro a dramatic retelling of how he almost died tonight.
“Wait - let me get this straight - you were distracted because your friend sent you a cat meme? What are you, my eighty five year old grandma?!”
“It could’ve been an emergency!” Lance huffs, throwing his arms up exasperatedly.
Shiro groans as he pinches the bridge of his nose, rubbing it after to alleviate the migraine that Lance had so graciously bestowed upon him.
“Well, I do appreciate you telling me the truth, but as an officer of the law, it’s my job to uphold-”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Lance interrupts, sighing sadly. “I know I'm in trouble.”
“You are, but I’ll help you out a little bit more.” Shiro informs, smiling gently.
“No, no, no! It’s fine! You’ve done plenty enough already!”
“Nonsense,” Shiro hums. “I called my little bro over here as a favor for himself. Now, I’ll do a favor for you.”
Completely confused by Shiro’s very mysterious explanation, Lance follows him back to his patrol car, where Shiro takes the police report and rips it up.
“Um… what?” Lance squeaks.
Shiro just looks at Lance with a smile, but the sound of heavy metal music and a roaring engine pulls them from their awkward stare down, and both of them swivel their heads around just in time for Lance to squawk and shield his eyes from the blinding light that's barreling down on him.
As he lowers his hands, he sees a fire engine red tow truck with amber lights flashing pull up on the shoulder in front of his car, and the engine stops, the music also ceding with it.
Lance slowly walks up the side of it, the large truck still rumbling a little even after the ignition has been cut.
Just before Lance reaches the driver side door, it gets thrown open and-
Woah.
Woah.
Lance comes face to face with the hottest guy he’s ever seen.
A dark blue boiler suit that’s stained with black grease and oil marks is rolled all the way up to the shoulders to reveal muscular pale forearms, one covered in a sick dragon tattoo.
Looking up, Lance sees a pale face that’s also smudged with a plethora of oils and who knows what, but it’s the eyes that leave Lance breathless.
Because they’re purple .
And Lance has never seen eyes like them.
Not in movies, TV shows, paintings, edited pictures, you name it.
They are without a doubt the prettiest things Lance has ever seen in his short life.
But it’s all ruined as the man’s thick black eyebrows contort into a scowl, and he looks down on Lance from his perch on the sidestep of the truck.
“Are you the idiot that wrecked his shit into the guardrail?” He half asks, half growls .
Still enamored with his face, Lance spots the red trucker’s hat that reads ‘I BELIEVE’, with a UFO as well, which encases-
“Is- Is that a mullet?! ” Lance screeches, before he bends over at the waist, bursting out into wild laughter like a hyena.
“No, it actually isn’t!” The man growls lowly, and as he steps down, Lance is absolutely delighted that he’s taller than him, even if it’s just by a couple of inches.
“ Really? ” Lance snorts. “Coulda fooled me.”
And then Lance’s eye catches yet another fine detail to this man.
In thin black script against a white stitched background, is the name ‘Keith’, with the shittiest rendition of a smiley face that Lance has ever seen.
“Dude, your name is Keith?! Are you a time traveler from the eighties or what?”
“Lance!”
Lance’s blood runs cold at the authoritative voice that stops his laughter and beratement of Keith immediately .
That’s right, he had completely forgotten about Shiro.
Who was Keith’s older brother.
And heard all of Lance’s insults towards said younger brother.
Uh oh.
Lance suddenly gets hit with a flashback of when he was a kid, and how he would often mess with some of the neighborhood kids, just to run back home crying when their older sibling would come after Lance.
The only difference was that Lance was a good decade and a half older now, and he doesn’t have any of his older siblings or his Mamá to hide behind.
“Will you two idiots cut it out?” Shiro sighs, coming right up to Keith and gently whacking him on the shoulder.
“Let’s... just get Lance’s car all ready to go and then we can all go home, right?”
“Actually...” Lance starts, looking away bashfully as he shifts from foot to foot. “I… don't have anyone to pick me up.”
“Oh, c’mon!” Keith shouts just as Shiro barks out a laugh and slaps Keith’s shoulder again.
“Welp! Looks like you got a couple of stops tonight! Have fun, baby bro!” Shiro teases as Keith hops up on the flatbed part of his tow truck.
The next ten minutes or so pass with Lance and Shiro watching Keith from the sidelines as he gets to work lowering the flatbed so it’s at the right angle, then hooking Lance’s car up, and then flicking a lever and watch as the winch drags the car up before it stops to rest on the bed.
Once he’s all done, Shiro hops back into his SUV before waving goodbye to both Keith and Lance and then he’s gone.
Leaving Keith and Lance alone. Together.
“Hey, look man. I’m sorry about before and I really appreciate-”
“Let’s go.” Keith briskly cuts Lance right off, throwing his door open and then slamming it shut behind him.
Lance, remembering his lessons from his yoga sessions with Hunk, takes a deep breath, resets himself, and then climbs on in after Keith on the passenger side.
They pull away from the curb and then they’re off.
Driving with Keith… is an experience, to say the least.
Not that he’s a bad driver or anything, but because of how… depressing it is.
The inside of his truck looks like it’s brand new even though the model is a little outdated, and the dashboard, cup holder and backseat are all barren , devoid of any reminiscent items or even a scrap of a crumb.
And the worst part of it all?
They ride in complete silence.
Keith doesn’t talk at all , and he leaves the radio off, swatting Lance’s hand away when he tries to fiddle with it.
“This isn’t an uber,” was all he responded with when Lance accused him of being a poor ‘car host’ and not showing ‘proper car host etiquette’.
And hey, while Lance knew it was complete and utter bullshit, it was worth a try, alright?!
The only sound Lance hears now is the loud engine and the truck as it speeds down the empty highway, the only light coming from the dash and a couple of lone lamp posts, offering minimal dark orange light.
And Lance being Lance, is physically unable to bear with a silence like this or a scene this lonely and melancholy.
So, what does he do?
Turns his razzle dazzle up to the maximum setting and hopes for the best.
“Hey!” Keith yelps as Lance quickly smashes a button on the radio, and Lance gasps as he hears the opening chords of Teenagers boom from the speakers, full blast.
“Aw hell yeah!” Lance whoops, shielding the radio’s controls from Keith, and forcing Keith to keep both hands on the wheel as he had claimed he’d show Lance all the ins and outs of being a ‘good driver’.
They're gonna clean up your looks
With all the lies in the books
To make a citizen out of you
Lance starts to sing along and drum his hands against the dash, leaving the radio’s controls exposed and deciding that he’s tortured Keith enough, providing him with an out if he wants to take it.
Because they sleep with a gun
And keep an eye on you, son
So they can watch all the things you do
When the music doesn’t stop, Lance looks over and sees Keith staring at him, mouth hanging open in shock, causing Lance’s singing to abruptly come to a halt.
Keeping his eyes locked on him, Lance reaches a hand out and slowly lowers the volume, raising a brow at Keith’s completely dumbfounded expression.
“What?” Lance asks, suddenly feeling defensive.
“You… can sing.” Is all Keith’s brilliant mind can conjure up to respond with.
“Uhhh… yeah?” Lance equally intelligently responds with, feeling his cheeks heat up. “I-Is it really that surprising?”
Keith’s eyes narrow at lance, brows scrunched like he’s looking at him from under a microscope, before he looks back ahead, face relaxing, and shrugs.
“Nope.”
“Okayyyyy,” Lance says, coughing awkwardly. “How um- How far from my house are we?”
“Twenty minutes or so,” Keith hums, eyes still trained dead ahead, right out the windshield.
Lance nods even though Keith can’t see him and leans back in his seat, wiggling his hips and trying to get comfortable.
Placing his hands and his phone in his lap, he closes his eyes to get comfortable, but-
They said, ALL TEENAGERS SCARE! THE LIVIN' SHIT OUT OF ME!
Lance’s eyes snap open, and he turns his head to see a smiling Keith, tapping his gloved hands against the steering wheel as he jovially sings along, rocking his head up and down to the beat.
Grinning, Lance joins in.
So darken your clothes, or strike a violent pose
Maybe they'll leave you alone, but not ME!
Lance whoops and Keith laughs, and the rest of the ride passes by like that - the two of them singing along to Keith’s very emo playlist.
And, just for the moment, it allows Lance to let go and be free.
THE NEXT DAY
“LANCE!” Sal’s booming voice echoes throughout the pizzeria. “Where the HELL are you, ya little punk?”
Next to him in the breakroom, Pidge offers him the sympathy of wincing as Hunk mutters something under his breath.
Leaning back in his chair, Lance covers his eyes with his hands.
“Oh, fu-”
Yeah, maybe he should have told Sal right away.
But in the end, he got Keith’s number, his mobile - NOT work - number, and that was all he could care about.