#kvgvne

Lance jolts awake in the hospital bed, drenched in a cold sweat. He groans, bringing a hand to his still healing ribs. He curls his legs up against his torso, chest heaving as his eyes slowly regain focus in the dim room. He leans forward, head falling onto his knees. He shivers, the dream still tangible at the edge of his consciousness. Cold, alone in the dark expanse of space. He screams and he screams and he screams, but no one answers. No Red, no Paladins, just him. Just Lance, lost in some forgotten corner of the universe. His screaming stops, uneasy acceptance melding with his panic. He floats, eye closed, drifting away into nothingness. The nightmare is familiar, and he forces his eyes open to keep it at bay.

He drags a deep breath through his lungs, and he shakes his head. His heart hammers in his chest, an untethered thing that nearly chokes him. He gingerly brings his feet down onto the cold sterile tiles, wrapping himself in the robe the nurses provided. He’s well enough that the doctor has allowed him movement when he needs it. He doubts that entails a midnight stroll, but sleep is definitely not an option tonight. He pads quietly through the sleeping ward, careful to avoid any lingering nurses. His fingers ghost the walls as he wanders the silent halls, grounding him.

Almost of their own accord, his feet bring him to Keith’s door. He allows himself a small smile. Of course. Doubt crowds his mind, hand raised at the handle. Would Keith even want to do this anymore? He risks it, cracking open the door.

Keith is seated on the window sill, the curtains drawn back to gaze at the stars. Lance remains unnoticed, and he finds himself drinking in the sight of him. Keith’s profile glows in the moonlight, all the sharp lines of his features softened by an exhaustion he never shows.

Head bandaged and one leg pulled up against him, he looks smaller. There’s a look on his face that Lance doesn’t recognize, something vulnerable that doesn’t suit Keith at all. For once he finally looks his age, and Lance remembers just how young they all are. A pang in his chest, and he’s clearing his throat.

Keith whips his head back at Lance, surprise melting into warm recognition. He smiles at him, a gentle thing that tugs at the corner of his eyes. Lance grins in return. He can’t remember the last time he saw that smile.

“Can’t sleep?” He says, voice hoarse. Keith shakes his head.

“Bad dreams. You?”

“Bad dreams,” Lance says. Keith beckons him over.

Lance closes the door behind him, moves forward to make himself comfortable on Keith’s bed. He crosses his legs under him, and it’s almost like they’re back in the Castle. A silence falls over them, the shared quiet of two tired boys. They stare at the stars together, and Lance pictures them back on one of the observation decks. They were each afraid of what awaited them in their dreams; of what awaited them outside the castle walls. Keith had been the Black Paladin then, too.

They’re boys; boys playing at men in a war that outdates their very civilization. They distracted each other in any way they could. They planned and trained, and, when business exhausted itself, they talked. Well, Lance talked, but Keith proved to be a very attentive listener. In those many shared nights, Lance likes to imagine they had found solace in each other. Lance enjoyed the Keith he was allowed to see in those evenings. He had feared he’d never see that Keith again when he left. He never wanted to admit it, but his presence was an anchor in the sea of war.

Heart in his throat, Lance stands to join Keith on the windowsill. He hugs him. It’s new for both of them, but it feels right, long overdue. Keith is stiff in his arms for a few awful moments, dread curling in Lance’s gut, but soon he melts into Lance’s embrace. They stay like that for a long time, listening to the beating of their hearts and the beeping of the hospital machines.

Keith is drowning. He’s drowning and he’s helpless to stop it. The panic crashes through his body in violent waves, cascading down the walls of his ribs, swallowing the breath he tries so desperately to drag through his overworked lungs. They fill with murky liquid, and he knows he’s crying, tears lost in the mass around him. His head pounds, and still he whips it around to take stock of his surroundings with bleary eyes. He searches for the team, but something in him knows they’re not there. He looks up and the dread takes hold in his stomach. The sky is all wrong, an inky sea of blacks and purples and blues that swell above him, pressing down as he barely keeps himself above water. Help. Somebody help me, please. He screams. He screams and screams and screams until his throat feels raw, until his shouts reverberate in his aching head, but no sound escapes him. His efforts are useless, he’s alone here. Alone, untethered, forgotten. He thrashes his limbs about him, fighting to stay afloat. Distantly, he registers the massive wave forming at his right, and he closes his eyes, brows furrowed. Heart in his throat, he tries to brace himself.

Clammy hands on his face, and a warm voice calls to him. His eyes snap open, and he gasps as he shoots forward. Someone curses in front of him, and his forehead hurts but it’s nothing compared to the wrenching ache in his chest. Where am I?

He blinks, tries to slow his breathing as he looks around the dim room. He grabs at the bedding beneath him, a sigh of relief leaving him. He reaches up, feels the wetness on his face and swipes it away. Not drowning, then. Safe at the Garrison. He searches the room, and his chest tightens at the sight of Lance before him, rubbing his nose.

“Lance,” he tries, voice hoarse and small. Keith frowns, clears his throat. Embarrassment courses through him, realizing Lance heard his screams. He knows about them, Keith’s told him, but he’s yet to see one unfold. “Lance, I’m- I’m sorry.”

Lance snaps his head up at him, his sore nose forgotten. Worry swims in the depth of his eyes, and guilt joins the mess of emotions that have jammed themselves into Keith’s chest.

“Idiot, apologizing after a nightmare. Come here,” he says quietly, reaching for Keith’s hand. He’s too tired to resist, and falls willingly into Lance’s open arms. Lance leans back, and Keith follows, his head on Lance’s chest. He closes his eyes and listens to the beating of Lance’s heart. He tries to match his breathing to its rhythm as the last tendrils of the nightmare slip away. Lance presses a kiss to Keith’s hairline, and the urge to quip at him gets stamped down by his exhaustion. Instead, he wraps his arms around Lance’s torso, drinks in his steadying warmth. He won’t admit it, but he’s grateful for his presence; this is leagues better than waking up from the terrors alone. The tension leaves his shoulders as he sinks into Lance, a content sigh on his lips.

“Are you all right?” He asks, a whisper. Keith swallows, pausing before he answers.

“I will be. Thank you, Lance,” he says. And he will be, he always is when Lance is here.