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Published:
2023-04-25
Completed:
2023-05-24
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3,231
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3/3
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Now Will It Matter (After I'm Gone)

Summary:

“Do you ever wonder what happens when we die?”

Keith blinks. He opens his mouth to answer, but stops himself. He looks up at the unfamiliar stars, tracing random constellations. There’s a sword, where Orion usually is during Earth summers. And a lick of flame, replacing the Big Dipper. The brightest star in the sky shines red.

“No,” Keith says softly. “It’s — dangerous. Letting myself think about that. We’re too close, you know? I don’t want my last thought to be panicking about what’s to come. I want it to be — not that. I don’t know.”

“Oh.”

Keith waits for Lance to offer an explanation, a reason for his curiosity, or even a subject change. When nothing comes Keith shifts, propping himself up on his elbow and glancing over at the red paladin.

“Why do you ask? Just curious?”

It’s a long time, again, until Lance answers, but this time Keith knows he’s not asleep. He’s tense, lying ramrod straight, head centred on his pillow and arms hooked over his blanket. His brown eyes — almost black in the dark night — stare straight up, but there’s something off about his expression, something fixed and plastic.

“I was surprised, is all. It was — nothing like I expected.”

Notes:

i like doing multi parters bc it satisfies my constant aching need for attention but the urge to post everything at once is literally overwhelming

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

“Keith?”

Keith hums. “Yeah, Lance?”

Lance doesn’t answer right away. Keith can hear his breathing, quicker than everyone else’s, if only slightly. After all they’re the only ones awake. Everyone else is conked right out, curled up around the low-burning embers of their campfire. He’s quiet long enough that Keith is half-convinced that he isn’t actually awake, and only called out for Keith in his sleep.

(Keith couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his face if he tried. He doesn’t try, though. The idea of Lance dreaming about him is a nice one.)

There’s a sharp intake of breath from beside him, confirming Lance is not asleep, then a beat of hesitation.

“Do you ever wonder what happens when we die?”

Keith blinks. He opens his mouth to answer, but stops himself. He looks up at the unfamiliar stars, tracing random constellations. There’s a sword, where Orion usually is during Earth summers. And a lick of flame, replacing the Big Dipper.

The brightest star in the sky shines red.

“No,” Keith says softly. “It’s — dangerous. Letting myself think about that. We’re too close, you know? I don’t want my last thought to be panicking about what’s to come. I want it to be — not that. I don’t know.”

“Oh.”

Keith waits for Lance to offer an explanation, a reason for his curiosity, or even a subject change. When nothing comes Keith shifts, propping himself up on his elbow and glancing over at the red paladin.

“Why do you ask? Just curious?”

It’s a long time, again, until Lance answers, but this time Keith knows he’s not asleep. He’s tense, lying ramrod straight, head centred on his pillow and arms hooked over his blanket. His brown eyes — almost black in the dark night — stare straight up, but there’s something off about his expression, something fixed and plastic.

“I was surprised, is all. It was — nothing like I expected.”

It takes a moment for Keith to process what Lance said. He almost wishes he hadn’t, when it finally clicks. Never in his life has cold dread seeped through his bones so quickly.

“…What?” He can barely hear his own voice. He can’t at all, actually, the hoarse shock of it swallowed up by the crackling of the coals and cooing of nocturnal insects and wildlife.

Lance, though, must have heard him anyway, or been expecting his shock, because the plastic stiffness melts from his expression as he shoots straight up, scrambling to his feet and pacing back and forth barely paces away from the small flames. Bizarrely, Keith chokes down the urge to warn Lance about the uneven ground that he might trip on.

“I — I was never religious, you know?” One of his hands tugs at his hair, making the dark curls frizzy the more he messes with it. The other waves frantically back and forth, faster with every word. “None of us really were. But Mamá dragged us to church anyway. Every Sunday. Maybe to give us something to be bored about, I don’t know. She never really explained herself. I didn’t ask.” Lance stops abruptly, loud hands freezing, marching back to his bedroll and standing on it for a moment, looking lost. “I don’t — it’s not that I liked it. It was boring as hell. But I — I guess I believed some of it. I dunno.” Before Keith can blink he collapses on top of his blankets, like his strings have been cut. Both hands slide in his hair, now, dark strands clenched between his fingers, elbows resting on his knees. “It was just…dark, though,” he says softly. “Empty.”

Keith feels as if he’s encased in ice. His heart pounds, galloping against his chest, rushing blood through his ears so quickly he can hardly hear anything else. Part of him hopes Lance is playing some kind of cruel joke, but he knows he isn’t.

“When did you —” he doesn’t even know how to phrase it. Hell, he doesn’t know what he’s phrasing, really. “What —” He trails off again, lost. He looks at Lance blankly. Something bitter floods his mouth.

He imagines, for a moment, making this trek home without Lance. It’s not something he’s allowed himself to think about before. Even with Shiro missing, he’d stubbornly refused to even entertain the idea that Shiro was gone for good. The only time he’d let himself think about it was — was Naxzela. And even then, he was the one sure would be going.

They come to him now, unbidden, thoughts. About life — without Lance. Without his loud teasing and big smiles and quiet kindness, without his begrudging but unwavering support, his steady hands and clear voice as he says we’re all behind you, Keith, we’ve got you. I’ve got you.

A tear burns hot down his cheek, startling him back to the stillness of the night, the cool air and quiet noise. Another follows, and another, and then he’s swallowing the giant lump in his throat and holding back a sob.

“You nearly…when?” He can’t bring himself to say the word, to ask directly. To ask would make it real, concrete.

“The Omega Shield,” Lance whispers. He has yet to look up, but has stopped pulling so harshly on his hair. “A blast just —” he shudders. “Right through me an’ Red. You know when — when it’s cold out, and you walk a while without gloves? And your hands get so cold they burn?”

“Yeah,” Keith says softly. His lips taste of salt.

Lance glances at him. His eyes are big and brown and desperate, aching. Glassy, wet and ready to break. “It was like that. All over. Like every molecule was tearing itself apart, like I was unravelling. I was almost grateful when it stopped.”

“And when it stopped?” Keith chokes out.

“Nothing. Endless, nothingness. For a thousand eternities. I lived and grew and died for the rest of time, alone.” Lance heaves, like he’s about the sob or throw up or both.

The first tear finally drips down Lance’s face, tracing from the corner of his eye down his nose, pausing at the tip of it before dropping, finally, into his lap. It springs Keith into action, and before he can even think he surges forward, gathering him in his arms and pulling him into his lap, squeezing tightly and rocking them back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Lance doesn’t so much as twitch, crying great hiccuping sobs into Keith’s chest.

“I’m afraid to sleep,” he chokes out. “I haven’t in days. Every time I do I’m terrified I won’t wake up.”

“I’ve got you,” Keith assures, at a total loss. He lays his hand on the back of Lance’s head, holding him tightly. He can feel Lance’s heartbeat where their chests are pressed together, stuttering and sprinting.

“I don’t want to die.”

“You’re not gonna die.”

Lance only sobs again. Keith is aghast, terrified to hold him any tighter but unsure of what else to do. Lance has never been fragile, to him. He’s more stubborn than an ox, a streak of fire lighting up his spine, dark eyes shining with fury every time his forehead’s pressed to Keith’s, screeching ‘till he’s blue in the face that he’s right and Keith’s wrong and he’s gonna show it to him, just you wait and see. He’s seen Lance angry, seen him annoyed, seen him golden with the fire of competition and glowing with the brightness of his laughter. He’s seen Lance worn and insecure. Never, not once in the years Keith has known him and fought with him and led with him, has he seen Lance fragile.

But he is, right now. Now, quivering in Keith’s arms, sobs shaking his frame, Keith feels like he’s holding him together, like if he lets go Lance will shatter to shards on the floor.

So Keith holds him. He holds him until his arms ache, and past that. He holds him until his shirt is soaked and cold in the chilly air, until his knees burn from the tiny bumps of the ground. He holds him until Lance’s sobs peter out, until the orange sun of the system they’re stopping in peeks out from the horizon, stars blinking out of sight.

Hours later, Lance shifts, pulling away slightly. Keith holds tighter, refusing to let him pull away too far.

“Don’t,” Keith says, before Lance can apologize.

That cracks a smile on Lance’s face, to his own surprise. “No?” His voice is wrecked, throat no doubt raw.

“Save your apologies for when you actually do something stupid,” Keith affirms. He hesitates a second, then reaches out, brushing the frazzled curls from Lance’s forehead and wiping the tears from his cheeks. Lance winces slightly as Keith’s thumb brushes his cheekbone.

Keith pulls away. “Sorry. Rough hands.”

But Lance’s hand darts out and grabs Keith’s. “No, it’s — I don’t mind it.” He places it back on his face, shutting his eyes, breath shuddering. His sleeve falls down his arm.

Keith narrows his eyes. Criss-crossing Lance’s arms are dozens of jagged white scars, like lightning bolts across his skin.

“I wake up with more every day,” Lance explains, noticing Keith’s expression. “I was — I died, Keith.”

Keith flinches. Lance swallows, carrying on.

“I felt my heart stop. I don’t know how long, but it was…there was a severance. Something permanent. I felt it.” He runs his hands through his hair again, but much gentler this time. A fidget instead of a panicked tugging. The roots are white, like Shiro’s. “Allura did her best, I think. But I was gone so long. And she’d never done it before.”

“Is everything…working alright?” It’s an awkward way to say it. But Keith doesn’t know how else to say am I going to lose you? Later? Are you here to stay?

Lance shrugs. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to hear her tell me it’s not.”

“I don’t want to wake up one day and find out — find out, Lance.”

Lance swallows. “I know. I don’t — what do I —”

“We’ll talk to her,” Keith promises. “We’ll figure it out. I’ve got you, Lance.”

Lance’s chin trembles, but he slumps forward, exhausted. “Promise?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He’s silent for a moment, face tucked in Keith’s neck. The muffled sounds of the team waking up starts to fill the air. “I’m tired, Keith.”

“I’ll watch for you. I’ll make sure you wake up.”

“Okay,” Lance whispers again. Keith feels his eyelashes flutter closed, feels his heartbeat slow, his breathing even. “I trust you.”

As Lance starts to grow heavier in his arms, Keith tightens his hold. He presses a kiss to the top of Lance’s head.

“I’ve got you.”

I won’t let you fade away.

Chapter 2

Summary:

finally on the road to recovery.

Chapter Text

Keith’s eyes burn. His shirt is soaked through and cold, and Lance is a dead weight in his arms, making his limbs dead and heavy.

Keith barely registers any of it.

As the slowly rising sun gently rouses the rest of his team, the music of the birds and the bugs dragging them from the slumber, he thinks of each of them in turn: do you know what happened to him? Do you know how badly he’s hurting?

He cuts his glance to Shiro, who sits criss-cross-applesauce on his bedroll, eyes closed and head tilted towards the sun. A small smile graces his face, and it grows as Pidge complains about everything in general and Hunk repeats everything she says in a muppet voice. Maybe Shiro understands. He —

Keith swallows, rough from the dryness of his throat. Even thinking the word sends a stab of fear through his heart, a shot of adrenaline through his veins.

Lance. Dead. Not ‘nearly’, not a close call, but — dead. Gone.

He died.

“Everything alright, dear?” asks a voice, startling Keith out of his thoughts and right out of his skin, too. Coran crouches beside him, looking immaculately groomed and put-together in his ridiculous blue silk pajamas despite the fact that Keith literally saw him roll right out of his bedroll and onto the hard ground not two minutes ago.

Truly amazing, that man.

“Fine,” Keith says, half-shocked by the hoarseness of his own voice. He glances down, looking at his right hand man, face streaked with tears, scar-covered hands clenched tightly in the fabric of Keith’s sleep shirt.

Keith deflates, sighing as he slumps forward. “Rough night,” he admits. “For…both of us.”

It’s stating the obvious. As much as Lance is visibly not okay, even in sleep, Keith doubts he looks so hot, either. He feels like the fear and hurt is pouring out of him in waves.

Coran doesn’t look surprised. He reaches forward slowly, as if waiting for Keith to stop him, and brushes gentle fingers through Lance’s hair. The movement shifts the strands, clearly showcasing the white roots.

Coran frowns, something like disappointment clouding his green eyes. Keith doubts it’s directed at either of them.

“I’ve had my suspicions for a while,” he murmurs, hand stilling in Lance’s fringe for a moment before shifting to gently trace the shape of his cheekbone, the high point of his temple. His touch is gentle, wary, wracked with guilt.

Paternal.

“Lance has been…off. For movements. He usually comes to me, if he’s hurting, even if he he just wants company. But he’s only withdrawn from all of us.” He pulls away, almost as if he has to force himself, and straightens out, stretching his legs. He looks back to Keith once he’s settled, and his expression is grim.

“I think it’s high time we show him we’re not going anywhere.”

“Yeah,” Keith agrees softly. “I don’t —” He looks at Coran, helpless and desperate. “I don’t know what to do, Coran.”

“I’ll gather the team,” the advisor assures. He runs his hands through Lance’s hair one more time, and then presses a kiss to his forehead before getting to his feet. He walks over to Shiro and leans in close. Keith doesn’t keep watching to see Shiro’s face crumple. He’s not sure he can handle it. Instead he drops his gaze back down to Lance’s sleeping face.

Over the night, one of the lightning scars has crept up the side of his neck and curved over his jaw, just like Lance had said they’d been doing.

Keith feels it when all of them really get it. He can feel the air turn sharp and electric, almost, the way you can taste it before lightning strikes. Tangy, almost. Ozone and petrichor.

It’s not a nice feeling.

Allura approaches first. She hurries over, like she’s worried something will happen if she doesn’t make it to them in seconds, but she stops right in front of them. Keith can see her bare legs out of the corner of his eye, covered in doodled pen marks of flowers and stars. She hesitates for a second, pink-painted fingernails tapping her knee, then she falls on the ground in front of them faster than Keith can blink. She pulls her knees up to her her chin, long braids falling down her shoulders. The rest of the team hesitantly sits next to her.

“I didn’t realise,” she blurts eventually. Keith flicks his head up to meet her gaze head-on, and he realizes that tears are dripping steadily down her cheeks. He’s never seen her look so upset. “I knew he was — I felt that he was hurt, that it was serious. I knew the blast was dangerous. But I didn’t —” her face crumples, and she hides her face as if she’s ashamed. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I should have checked harder. I was stressed, but that’s no exc—”

“It’s not your fault,” comes a firm voice. Lance shifts in Keith’s hold, dragging himself upright and blinking the sleep from his eyes.

He doesn’t pull away, though, shifting until he’s comfortable and then leaning back onto Keith’s chest. One of Keith’s hands is clenched tightly in his.

“I’m so sorry,” Allura begs. “Lance, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry —”

“Allura,” Lance insists again. His voice is stronger, less reedy. “You didn’t — I made that choice, ‘Llura.” He reaches forward with his free hand and gently pries Allura’s apart from where they’re clenched together, squeezing gently. “I knew what was gonna happen to me.”

“Did you?” Hunk asks quietly. Keith feels Lance tense slightly before forcing himself to relax. “Did you choose to — to die?”

Lance doesn’t say anything for a moment. And then another moment, and another. Keith feels a drop hit his hand.

“I was scared,” he admits, voice as low as a whisper. “I am scared.”

Keith feels his chin tremble, the memory of Lance pacing back and forth, hands clenched in his hair, rambling in his terror flashing fresh through his mind. He squeezes Lance tightly.

“It is scary.” Shiro hunches in slightly, angling his head to catch Lance’s eyes. He smiles, a mix of sad and comforting, when Lance’s brown eyes meet his. “I was scared, too. Felt like the pins and needles you get when you come in from the cold, but all over, and it didn’t end until it didn’t. And then I was just scared.”

“…Oh.” Lance looks stunned, like he’s realizing for the first time that he’s not alone, actually. There are people who love him, someone even who knows exactly what he went through. “I — oh.” He relaxes back into Keith’s hold. “Okay.”

“We love you, Lance,” Pidge says in a small voice. Her face is streaked with tears, too, but her eyes are determined. “I love you. A lot.”

Lance’s lips quirk up. “Love you too, Pidgey.”

They all stay there, for a while. The sun has long since risen, but they all watch the sky anyways, tracking the pale green clouds, just sitting silently with each other, happy to be together and alive.

“Thank you,” Lance whispers, too quiet for anyone else to hear. Keith glances down. Lance looks back up at him, smiling softly. His eyes don’t look fragile, anymore. It’s a relief.

“I would do anything for you.” It’s a little more than he meant to say, but he can’t help himself. Not with Lance’s eyes glowing amber in the sunlight, Lance in his hold, Lance alive and better than he was yesterday.

Lance’s smile gets a little wider. “I know.”

Hoping he’s reading things right, Keith leans in close, pausing millimetres away from Lance’s face, glancing down at his lips. He means to say something smooth, something charming, a one liner in a teen movie. But he can’t think of anything. “I want to kiss you,” he blurts out instead, like a dumbass. Immediately he winces, but Lance only laughs. He hears sniggers from the rest of the team, as well. His face reddens.

Lance’s hand moves up to rest on Keith’s cheek. “Well, chop chop then, Mullet.”

Keith doesn’t waste anymore time. He moves all the way in, pressing their lips together softly. Lance tastes of salt. Keith knows it’s from his tears, but it makes him think of the ocean. He kisses Lance again, because he can’t help himself.

“We got all the time in the world, Keith,” Lance murmurs against his lips.

“Let me kiss you anyway,” Keith begs.

He feels the curve of Lance’s grin. The rest of the team has gone conspicuously silent.

“Yeah. Okay.”

Chapter 3

Summary:

art!!

Chapter Text

picture of lance from voltron, shoulders bare, covered in white lightning scars and with white hair. his expression is solemn.

 

same image, only with flat colours as there is no light source from behind

art via the talented mothmanaveue!!!

Notes:

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