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“Do you remember me?”
The question hadn’t been intentional. The words had burst from Keith’s lips far too quickly for him to stop them, nerves and curiosity pushing them from his throat.
Lance raised an eyebrow. And Keith ducked away, bangs hiding his wide eyes.
“Keith, what do you--”
“Nothing,” he interrupted, shaking his head in dismissal. “Just forget it.”
Before breakfast, before any of the others had woken up, Keith had dragged Lance out of his bedroll. His complaints of missed sleep and dark bags had been shushed by Keith with a reminder of the others sleeping a stone throws away. Quietly they had weaved through the forest, following a familiar path to the nearby river and then further to a more isolated area of willows. Lance had sunk to his knees by the bank and washed the sleep from his eyes and the dried drool covering his left cheek that he refused to acknowledge. Keith had taken a seat on a large root, staring as the sparkling water dripped from Lance’s lashes and down his cheeks in the early morning sun.
The sight would normally set off Keith’s heart, but thoughts and doubts had swirled around his head, obscuring any affection he held for Lance at the moment. Those same thoughts had led him to blurting out the one question he’d been burying since Lance had introduced himself for the second time in Keith’s life.
“No,” Lance sternly said. He whisked the water from his face with a flick of his wrist then stood and walked toward Keith, sitting across from him on a large stone. “Tell me what you meant by that.”
Keith licked his chapped lips before peering into Lance’s earnest eyes.
Stupid. He had been so stupid to say anything. Nothing good would come from talking about their history, a past Lance didn’t even recall.
“I… We have met before,” Keith admitted.
“Before we rescued Shiro?” he asked. Keith nodded slowly, reluctantly.
The last time they saw each other as kids hadn’t been one of Keith’s fondest memories. In fact, their interaction had been a reminder to Keith that trusting those who even seemed the most innocent never fared well. He hadn’t trusted Lance then, by any means, but the kid had been persistent in being by Keith’s side and Keith had known then, as he knew now, that keeping Lance an arm’s length away was difficult.
“You’ve been to the Leo Coven,” Keith urged, attempting to encourage a memory, a feeling. Lance cocked his head to the side.
“Uh, yeah, my mama and papa would have business in the Witch Pocket every couple of years and they’d bring my siblings and I along,” Lance pensively said, as if his own words held the answers. He perked up. “You lived in that coven. Did we meet then? I’m sorry, I don’t…”
Keith waved his hand through the air, fanning away the guilt that spread across Lance’s face.
“It’s fine. It’s probably better if you don’t remember,” Keith quietly said.
He picked at the wrappings around his hands. The burns had spread further, past his original scars and down his wrists; far enough that his gloves wouldn’t cover all of them, the bubbled flesh brushing down the pale skin of his arm. Lance had wrapped them in white linen yesterday.
“I should probably change those,” Lance said, getting up from his stone and kneeling in front of Keith. The pyro witch shrank away for a moment before processing Lance’s tone, a hint of guilt carried between his words. Of course, he’d still feel bad about yesterday. Keith hadn’t expected him to recover easily from the ordeal, but Keith held no ill will toward Lance and he thought he had expressed the sentiment yesterday. Lance’s reaction hadn’t taken him by surprise and Keith didn’t hold it against him.
Keith carefully presented his hands.
They ached and burned, every twitch sent fire through his veins, and he would chuckle at the image if only his mind wasn’t preoccupied with the regret of dealing with this a second time and with the fluttering affection at the care Lance used as he unwrapped his hands. He hardly felt the linen peeling from his blistered skin.
Lance’s fingers flowed and water spiraled from the river, winding through the air, until settling in his palm. A few whispered words over the bubble cleansed it and Lance set to work, soothing the pain from Keith’s hands. The cool water washed over the boiling skin. Keith’s head slumped, the relief relaxing muscles he hadn’t known tensed under the strain of pain.
After a few moments of silence, Lance softly said, “I remember a boy with scars like yours. Sparks always decorated his knuckles and he hated them and hated it even more if you pointed them out.” Keith watched from between his bangs as a wistful smile settled on Lance’s face. “I don’t remember him well. I remember his hands, his violet eyes, and the weird way he acted after I tried to play a game with him.”
“Maggot Eaters,” Keith quietly supplied.
“Yeah,” Lance agreed, eyes downcast. He pulled out jar of antiseptic and a roll of linen wrapping from his pocket--must have slipped them without Keith noticing--and added the medicine to the swirling water covering Keith’s hands. “I didn’t understand then, but I think I do now. You were the boy, right?”
Keith nodded solemnly. His heart stuttered. Lance remembered him.
He had feared the day he would, anticipated it with a morbid sense of acceptance, but this situation was so unlike any scenario he had panicked about: Lance kneeling before him instead of standing above him, Lance tending his wounds instead of causing them, Lance knowing what he was instead of discovering it. Bitterly Keith thought the only similarity between his expectations and this reality was the racing of his heart.
Lance dragged his eyes up for a fleeting moment before sincerely apologizing. “Keith, I’m so sorry about what I said. Honestly don’t remember all of it, but I probably said some stupid stuff.”
“Hm, yeah,” Keith thickly said. He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the cruel words and the feelings they stirred from him. “You, uh…”
He shook his head. Lance didn’t need to know.
“You can tell me what I did,” Lance encouraged. He ran the water along his hands once more before draining it into the grass. He grabbed the linen and with lithe fingers began to wrap his hands carefully. “It obviously left more of an impact on you than it did on me.”
“No,” Keith said. “You already feel guilty about yesterday.”
“I don’t care about how I feel,” Lance argued, pausing his ministrations to look Keith in his eyes. Their ocean blue glowed in the soft rays of the sun. “I care about how you feel, how I made you feel. I should and I do feel guilty about yesterday, but if I don’t understand everything I did wrong, then how am I going to make it up to you? Please, tell me what happened. Please.”
Keith bit his lip. He couldn’t deny Lance’s plea.
“You just… You scared me. I hadn’t--I never really had any friends my age before and then you attached yourself to me. I hated it. Didn’t want you near me. I was used to being alone and I didn’t want to hurt you. You seemed so innocent, so harmless.” Though Lance never stopped tending to his burns, Keith knew he was listening intently, could see it in the hard set of his lips and the focus obscured by his lashes. “But then that day you started talking about the Purge and how much you looked up to some relative of yours for participating. You said you’d kill a necromancer. You threatened to kill me,” he mumbled, eyes wetting. He closed them, willing the tears to retreat, and blowing out a hot breath. “But you didn’t even realize.”
“I never saw you again after that,” Lance said in realization, brows up and eyes wide, the memories becoming more solid. He tied off the linen and gently took Keith’s hands into his own. “Keith, I’m so sorry. You have to believe me.”
“Lance, it’s okay,” Keith assured as he unwillingly pulled his hands from Lance’s featherlight grip. The conversation was heavy and he needed space, yet he missed the coolness of Lance’s fingertips the moment they left his burning skin. He placed his wrapped hands on his lap. “I made my peace with it long before I met you again.”
“That’s why you were so defensive when we met!” Lance exclaimed, dragging his hands down his face. Keith cringed.
After their reintroduction, Keith had spent countless, unsettling hours worrying Lance had recognized him. He hadn’t slept for a week, the panic of being discovered by the hydro-elemental’s seer magick at the forefront of his mind, demanding to be dealt with.
Shiro had noticed. Keith hadn’t been dreaming, not even nightmares.
The insomnia had taken a toll physically and mentally. He had broken the instant Shiro had asked about his lack of sleep. He had told Shiro everything, his past with Lance, the insistent worrying, the fear of being discovered again. Shiro had held him until he had calmed, spinning a dream while promising he’d protect him.
The first month as a cohesive group hadn’t been as binding for Keith. He had been unapproachable, irritable. For all the others’ attempts, they hadn’t been able to pull Keith into their forming friendships. The bickering between him and Lance had begun then, the latter becoming fed up with his attitude. Keith’s anxiety had fueled the rage he had directed at Lance, a catharsis for returning memories of his childhood as well as for the constant panic he caused by simply existing.
The month had dragged on and by the end of it Keith at the bequest of Shiro had eventually integrated into the group, an awkward transition, one met with resistance from Lance. He had hated it, hated him.
Keith had treaded lightly and continued to do so, only relying on Shiro and waiting for someone to out him. Somehow knowing it would be Lance.
“ Stars! It all makes sense.”
“Well, that’s usually how people react when someone had proclaimed they wanted to kill you.” Though Keith had attempted a light tone, the joke fell horribly flat. The silence afterwards was awkward and made Keith’s skin crawl. He berated himself. He had always been horrible at relieving tension from situations and he had to go and make it worse. He should’ve left the jokes to Lance.
Keith startled when Lance slowly rose from the floor and sat beside him, leaving a few inches of space between them. He let out a breath.
“I am sorry,” Lance sincerely said. “About yesterday, about any jokes or comments these past few months, and all those years ago. I obviously don’t know much about the whole necromancy thing and I reacted horribly and irrationally.”
“I’d say ‘I forgive you,’ but I know that you want me to let you stew. Honestly, yeah, your reaction was really bad, not unexpected,” he said, closing his eyes briefly, contemplating his next words, “but I think Shiro’s might have been worse.”
“What?” Lance gasped dramatically. His reaction pulled a small smile from Keith, a blessing during such an emotional conversation. Lance waved his arms. “Pff, no way. I threatened to kill you! Shiro would never… He would never, right?”
“Um, he didn’t do it as directly as you,” Keith admitted, the small bit of happiness from Lance’s reaction dwindled inside him as the memories flooded his mind: the yelling, the hex bag, the tears as he was left to pick himself up and run alone. “He saw me practicing and freaked out, got all stern and directive. Threatened to report me if I didn’t stop.”
“What did you do?”
“Well, I can’t just stop--” Keith shook his head. “I haven’t really explained necromancy at all. Sorry, I said today would be your day of questions.”
“It’s okay,” Lance assured. He shrugged. “I mean, yeah, I have some questions, but you can explain at your own pace. And I’m already invested in this story. So did Shiro report you?”
“No,” Keith softly said, disbelief clearly present in his tone. After all these years, it had been the most unimaginable mercy he had been granted. “He didn’t. He apparently spent a week agonizing if he should. Legally he was required to.”
“But he’s always had a soft spot for you,” Lance teased.
“Not then,” Keith mumbled, then shrugged. “But I guess in the long run.”
The conversation dipped for a moment.
Keith sighed. “And you know how publicly announced necromantic reports go.”
“Actually, not really,” Lance admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was born and raised in the Mer Pocket, so I never really had access to that stuff.”
“Oh, that makes sense. The public list is only available and really known in the Witch Pocket. Well, there’s not many necromancers left on that list,” Keith said morosely, “if you understand what I’m saying.”
Lance’s brows furrowed. “People would hunt them? Even after the Purge?”
Keith solemnly nodded. “If Shiro had put me on that list, I would’ve been isolated. Likely kicked out of my coven and spat on and avoided by everyone until some ‘hero’ would put me down.”
“My uncle was one of those people,” Lance unemotionally said. Keith glanced over to see him distantly staring at the willows around them. His eyes glistened. “I look up to him.” He released a breath, one big enough to deflate his shoulders, as if the weight of the world held them down. He blinked up at the sky. “I looked up to him. My mama and papa tried to keep us away from his stories, but we never listened. I thought he was so brave, defeating the ‘evil witches’ and keeping everyone safe. He made necromancers out to be horrendous people and I believed him. I should’ve listened to my parents.”
“But you know now.”
“That’s not the point,” Lance dismissed. He wiped at his eyes, dragging dampness from them and smearing it across his freckled cheeks. “I barely know anything. And it doesn’t change the fact that I hero worshiped someone who killed innocent people. They were normal. Or at least kinda normal, like you.”
“Hey!”
“I’m just saying that normal people don’t get up at five in the morning,” Lance stuffily chuckled. Leave it to him to lighten the mood, if only for a moment. Keith appreciated the effort, though he was more concerned about how Lance planned to cope with the realization that a praised family member murdered people for simply existing as themselves. It wouldn’t be easy despite the jokes Lance cracked. Soon they wouldn’t work to lift his spirit.
Lance continued bitterly, “My uncle would talk about the corpses he had seen, the smell of rot that clung to necromancers. But you’re not like that at all? We’ve been together for months and I haven’t seen anything death related involving you until yesterday, so either you’re really good at hiding all that or my uncle lied.”
“I don’t know what your uncle saw. Maybe there were necromancers like the ones he described. Maybe there weren’t.” Keith shrugged. “I’ve never met another one of my kind, so I can’t say for sure.”
“You haven’t?” Lance asked. He leaned in closer curiously.
“Yeah. There aren’t too many of us around, for obvious reasons. And if there were others, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were laying low.” Keith paused for a moment, wondering if sharing a little more would help Lance understand. He’s the second person Keith had ever spoken to about his necromancy and despite his reaction yesterday, he’s eager to learn and repent for his actions and beliefs. It was refreshing, but the hesitance in Keith’s voice remained when he said, “I think… I’m pretty sure my ma was one. My pops wouldn’t talk about her often, but when I started to present necromantic magick, he didn’t shy away. He actually encouraged it, probably because it reminded him of her.”
Lance remained silent. Keith could see him considering his next words, the thoughts running through his head visible in his furrowed brows and unfocused eyes. His mouth quickly worked over his next words. “What happened to your parents? You grew up in the Leo Coven as an orphan?”
Keith clenched his eyes shut, turning his face away from Lance as he tensed. Memories of his pops drowned him in sorrow. Out of all the questions to ask… He shook his head. “Yeah, but please… I can’t. Not that--”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Lance softly said. Slowly, he reached out and covered Keith’s hands with his own. His fingers unwrapped Keith’s, revealing moon-shaped indents covering the linens wrapped around his palms. Keith hadn’t realized how harshly he had clenched his fists at the mention of his parents. Lance gently held Keith’s hands. “Sorry, that was completely insensitive of me to ask. See, I blurt things out constantly. No filter until I’ve heard what I’ve said.”
“It’s fine,” Keith thickly said. Again, he pulled away from Lance. It added an extra ache to his heart. He released a breath, then wiped his eyes before tears could fall. He hoped Lance hadn’t caught on. “Heh, I knew this conversation wasn’t going to be easy. Should’ve prepared more.”
“No, I shouldn’t have asked. You need to stop blaming yourself, especially with things concerning your emotions.”
“I can’t do that. My emotions rule my magick.” Keith quirked an eyebrow at Lance. Sadly he said, “You know. You implied it yesterday.”
“But that doesn’t mean your emotions are things to be ashamed of,” Lance argued.
“They are when I get people hurt,” Keith sternly said. Lance leaned away at his outburst as Keith pinched the bridge of his nose, the movement irritating his burns, but he didn’t care. He’d rather feel the pain. “Look, I’ve never had anyone to teach me about my necromantic magick and because I’m so hated, I could never practice in public. It’s almost as if it’s still instinctual. But not? I’ve done necromantic spells and rituals before; they don’t always work because of my lack of control.”
Lance hummed before saying, “So what happened yesterday?”
“I… I got too emotional. My necromantic magick is triggered when I’m in danger, usually when my emotions are somewhere in the angry or scared area, but honestly, there’s not really a definitive pattern. I just know that my magick protects me, even if it means hurting someone I care about,” Keith softly finished. His gut twisted. He turned worried eyes onto Lance. “I got angry with you and you kept yelling even when I told you to stop. I didn’t want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.”
“But you didn’t,” insisted Lance, scooting toward Keith, as if his presence would calm him down. It only made his heart pump faster, his anger unexpectedly boiling.
“Yes, I did!” Keith shouted. His chest tightened in fear, in worry, in self-loathing. All of it crashing down upon him at Lance’s dismissal of the horrible things he did yesterday. “I terrified you! I saw your eyes, the fear in them. From me. I could’ve burnt you or sucked the life out of you. That peryton almost skewered you! And now you feel all this guilt from reacting how you should’ve. And you shouldn’t.” Keith heaved over his knees, pulling at his hair. “You shouldn’t! Because I’m in the one with the fucking necromantic magick. I could hurt you so easily. I could’ve killed you and it would’ve been my fault. It is my fault. I-I can’t handle someone else’s life on my hands. I c-can’t… Not again--”
Suddenly coolness engulfed Keith. Words frozen on his tongue, he sat shocked, as Lance tightened his arms around him, unsure of what to do with the witch practically on his lap. His brain stuttered, the contrast between his impending panic and the softness of Lance’s arms overriding any thought process. He sat unmoving.
“I’m offering you comfort,” Lance whispered into his neck, like he could sense Keith’s confusion. His warm breath caressed Keith’s skin, sending shivers down his spine. “You’re supposed to hug back and cry in my arms.” Keith awkwardly chuckled, a strained pull on his throat, before bringing up his arms to wrap around Lance’s back hesitantly. His fingers lightly clawed into Lance’s shirt, unable to do much else with the painful burns and the wrappings.
It was nice. Different from a hug from Shiro, not as… brotherly? Yeah, that’s a good description. Shiro’s hugs were affectionate and loving and Keith didn’t know what Lance was doing any differently, but he felt cared for, loved maybe, like he was too fragile to be squeezed too tight but too important to not be embraced without a sliver of overwhelming pressure. He found himself melting into it, forgetting about why he began to freak out and focusing on the feeling of Lance’s arms and the closeness of their thighs pressed together and the coolness of Lance’s skin compared to his own. Being held by Lance transcended any physical comfort he’s ever experienced in his life.
It was hard to keep Lance at arm’s length. He had known it then and he knew it now and before he had thought he had to keep Lance at a distance because of his beliefs concerning necromancers, but now he understood that if he got too close to this witch, he may fall.
And fall hard.
With immense regret, Keith extracted himself from Lance once his breathing had calmed. The other witch held a content smile on his lips, but Keith didn’t dwell on it, not wanting to convince himself that Lance enjoyed the hug as much as he had. He did it as a comfort to Keith and nothing else. But then Lance’s smile tugged downwards. He slowly reached out to skim the wrap around one of Keith’s hands, bringing them back together again with such an innocent point of contact.
“I didn’t learn until after I met you that pyro witches can’t burn. So why do you?” he softly asked.
Keith swallowed, gathering himself. The panic continued to linger at the back of his mind, patiently waiting to break free of this calm tension between the two witches. His eyelids slightly drooped in exhaustion. Only a few moments of losing himself had drained him. He watched the way Lance reverently held his hand and he desperately wanted to be embraced again. Instead he pulled his thoughts together.
“My pyro magick and necromantic magick aren’t as compatible as my pops thought,” Keith slowly answered, tongue thick in his mouth. The soft motions of Lance’s fingertips brushing the linen, the barely-there touches, distracted him. “If I touch necromantic fire, I burn. It’s dangerous.”
“It’s not dangerous,” Lance insisted. “It’s misunderstood.”
Keith huffed in disbelief at his words, shaking his head.
“Listen to me,” Lance quietly demanded, gently squeezing his hand. “I misunderstood necromancers for the longest time, but maybe I’m not the only one. I can tell you’re scared of it, not for yourself but for other people. You need to let go of that fear.”
“It’s only safe for me to practice alone,” Keith said. He pulled away from Lance. The bubble of tension had broken, a chasm separating them.
Lance’s face fell. Keith turned his eyes at the sight.
His face had conveyed disappointment, Keith thought not in the lack of physical contact but because of Keith’s rebuttal. The pyro couldn’t afford to believe anything else.
“It’ll only be safe once you can trust your magick,” Lance countered.
Keith couldn’t believe Lance, the man who almost died from his magick, was advocating for said magick. His words were ridiculous.
Keith couldn’t trust his magick until he could control it.
With his elemental fire, his steadfast control allowed him to perform precise magick. Only heavy emotions caused minor slip ups, such as his sparks dancing across his knuckles or his fists smoking on occasion. They were harmless hiccups, ones he could reign in easily; however, the necromantic fire was not categorized as a minor loss of control.
The necromantic fire surged during high emotional situations, especially those involving fear or anger. It was unpredictable and controllable… except for yesterday when Keith had stopped the flaming peryton. It had given him hope. But attempting to control this fire was too risky. As his necromantic incidents grew through the years, Keith had realized that the fire presented itself when life energies were being transferred: either given or taken away. He couldn’t put lives in danger simply to experiment with a magick most people would care never to witness.
“I can’t trust it if every time my necromantic fire goes off someone gets hurt,” Keith pressed. “Shiro said to practice how I feel most comfortable. I don’t use the fire in spells. And I cannot practice with someone near me.”
“What I’m hearing is that you’re letting your magick control you instead of the other way around. How did you learn to control your fire? How did you bring it out of its instinctual phase?” Lance urged.
Keith gritted his teeth, knowing he was being led. “Practice.”
“Exactly!” he exclaimed, his arms shooting out and almost snagging Keith in the face. “You need to summon your necromantic fire on command, instead of waiting for it to burst from you randomly.”
“No, absolutely not,” Keith said. He stood from the root and began anxiously pacing between the willows. The simple thought of attempting to summon something he’s spent years burying inside him had jitters running through his body. “You don’t know what will happen if I try that.”
“Uh, yeah, I do,” Lance said, an obvious syrup dripping from his words. He leaned forward on the root, attempting to catch Keith’s eye as he continued to work himself up. “You finally won’t be scared of your magick! You’ll have control and you’ll be able to let go of that fear that keeps you back.”
“I’m not scared of it!” Keith yelled. Lance vaulted from the root, stomping right up to Keith, his lips curling.
“You are!” Lance insisted, poking Keith in the chest. “Why else would you neglect it? If you weren’t scared, you’d practice with it. Your magick is an asset that you’re bottling up and it leaked out yesterday because of it.”
“I can control it,” Keith seethed. Internally he winced at the utter lie he had blurted, but he couldn’t back down and wouldn’t admit himself wrong. He set his jaw.
“Control it? You barely kept that peryton from killing me. You’re stuck in a cycle of fear: you fear your magick, you stop using your magick, your magick escapes, your magick hurts someone,” Lance listed off on his fingers, “and oh, hey, look at that, you’re right back to fearing your magick!”
“I’m not scared, but you are,” Keith shouted.
“No, I was . There’s a difference,” Lance sootily said. “I got over my fear when I realized necromancers were different from what I was taught. You haven’t realized that there’s nothing to fear but the emotions inside you, not your magick.”
“We are done talking about this,” Keith said with finality. He hated how Lance could push him like this, how easily it was for him to get his blood boiling. Keith had an urge to embrace him for all the faith Lance had in him yet also to punch him across his face, but insisting it was Keith’s fault for the incidents instead of his magick’s hit him somewhere that had him wanting to escape the situation instead of dealing with it head on.
Lance hadn’t been there with his pops, with Shiro. Lance hadn’t seen the worst of his magick, only the first slice of control he had ever wielded against it. Keith could see how his ocean eyes shined in hope, despite the venomous quality of his words. He’d crumble if he stayed.
Keith turned away from Lance, stopping toward camp.
“Oh, stars , we are definitely not!” Lance snagged Keith’s wrist and Keith yelped at the pressure on his burns. Lance immediately released him, horror written on his face, but Keith quickly snatched his hand, twisting it behind his back in moments. Lance’s breath hitched in pain while Keith seethed through his teeth, his grip causing excruciating heat to flow through his hands.
“Remember what happened the last time you followed me?” Keith growled in Lance’s ear, low and intimidating. “I rather not repeat that.”
With a harsh tug, Keith released his arm. Lance rolled his shoulder back as Keith turned away and fled.
Keith never looked back.
---
“Hey, do you know what’s going on with those two?”
Shiro glanced to Pidge before turning his gaze to the witches on the other side of their camp. He sighed.
Shiro had noticed a shift in their relationship.
After returning to camp a few days prior, he had stumbled upon Lance diligently wrapping Keith’s hands; the very same hands that he constantly kept covered, whether with the leather gloves he had gifted him or linen wrap from the medical kit.
Shiro had jolted at the sight, frozen in the moment as the other two looked over, their gazes overlapping. Keith had never needed help, never wanted help, especially with his scars. As well as their relationship had progressed, Keith was continuously wary of showcasing them to Shiro. Seeing how relaxed his brother was with his hands, how gently they laid over Lance’s tanned palms, had sent hurt streaming through Shiro. That is, until he had taken a step closer and had seen the linen extending past Keith’s scars. His face had dropped at the sight of cooked skin and boiling blisters.
Frantic demands and frightened questions hadn’t yielded any answers from the two witches. Shiro hadn’t noticed immediately, but he had been wrong to assume he had stumbled into a quiet camaraderie between the two. Keith’s exhaustion weighed on his shoulders and tugged on his eyes. His short answers weren’t delivered with fire, but with a need to end the conversation by ways of monotonous words. Lance had sat beside him silently. Usually he made himself known, but in this moment, Shiro had to force his eyes away from his brother to seek out the other, rather than being drawn to him. Lance’s chatty personality had given way to something quieter, something almost invisible. His face had been drawn up with guilt and not a word had been uttered from his mouth.
Without any definitive answers and with insistence from Keith, he had reluctantly left.
Shiro had assumed Lance finished caring for Keith’s burns.
He hadn’t slept that night. A rare thing for a dreamwalker, but a common occurrence since his captivity. Though his deprivation hadn’t been the result of nightmares and panics, but of worry for his brother.
Shiro’s mind wouldn’t let him rest as it dragged up memory after memory of Keith panicking over being discovered as a necromancer once he had joined the group, a particular hydro-elemental seer causing the most concern. Lance’s past with Keith plus his comments and jokes about necromancers had placed him on top of Shiro’s watchlist.
So Shiro stayed up. Worried.
Until he had heard them. Keith and Lance. They had left camp that morning.
He hadn’t followed, though he had considered it. Their behavior earlier had worried him, but it wasn’t his responsibility to get involved. Keith had always been independent and inserting himself into the situation would only anger him. Instead he had waited. For a fallout? For a reconciliation? He hadn’t known then and he didn’t know now.
The pair had returned different. That day Keith had been filled with rage, often escaping to his training grounds after every interaction with Lance who continuously approached him with determination in his eyes and quick, quiet words on his tongue. As the sun fell, Keith had finally reached a breaking point, his fire giving way to his emotions. The sparks decorating his fists had finally exploded into flames that warped Keith’s arms and lashed at Lance, but the witch had done nothing but stare Keith down, not in fear but in worry.
Lance had taken a step closer to his fire.
“I’m not scared of you,” he had said.
Shiro had watched as Keith shook his head before extinguishing his flames and darting into the forest. Desperately he had wanted to follow, but he knew Keith and approaching him before he cooled down wouldn’t help anything. His heart ached, but his head knew better.
After that day, Lance had taken to looking earnestly at Keith from afar, never approaching him, while the other despondently completed his chores around camp before disappearing into the forest. The entire camp had felt the shift as Keith drew away and Lance retreated into himself. The anger had dissipated, but the hollowness remained.
It felt too much like when Keith disappeared.
“I wish I did,” Shiro replied sadly. “Keith hasn’t said anything, even when I ask him directly. It’s just something he doesn’t want to talk about.”
“Uh huh, Lance is the same way,” Hunk said, putting aside the vegetables he had been chopping for their dinner. “Usually I don’t need to search him out when drama’s happening. He comes to me to vent, just chirping like a harpy, but he’s been avoiding me, like he’s scared I’ll ask what’s up.”
Pidge huffed, crossing their arms. “I say we bind them together until they workout whatever’s going on between them.”
“Pidge,” Shiro scolded.
“What?” They crossed their arms, grumbling. “They’d either hash it out or kill each other, either way we’d be free from the weird auras they’re throwing out.”
“ Pidge! ”
“I’m kidding! I’m kidding, geesh.”
“We shouldn’t meddle,” Hunk interrupted. “It’s not like they are verbally or physically fighting anymore, right? So hopefully it’s less extreme?”
“I agree that we shouldn’t get involved,” Shiro said. Keith’s burnt hands and Lance’s guilty face suddenly swamped his vision, an uneasy feeling settling in his gut. “But whether or not it’s a serious issue is up for debate.”
“ Ohohoh! Look!” Pidge demanded, leaning forward from where they’re seated on a log, pointing across the clearing. All eyes turned to Lance and Keith.
Keith had a hand around Lance’s wrist, a serious look dawned on his face. He’s dragging him away from the camp, as the other protested, though not enough to warrant Keith’s releasing of him or the use of his own magick. Keith pulled him into the forest, the foliage hiding them in seconds.
The three of them looked with wide eyes until Pidge jumped up. “If you think I’m missing this disaster, you guys have another thing coming.”
“No, Pidge,” Shiro said, placing a hand on their shoulder to gently push them back down. “I’m going to go and make sure they are alright. Not to spy on them or gather teasing material.”
“But Shiro! I can shift! And then I can be a little owl on the branch,” they pleaded. “They wouldn’t even know and I can report back.”
“C’mon,” Hunk said, placatingly. “Let Shiro go make sure they’re alright. Besides if either of them see you, you’ll be a crispy drowned owl.” Pidge deflated with a sigh and an irritated nod.
“Thank you,” Shiro said before starting off after the other two witches.
Things had been strange recently. He only hoped that Keith wasn’t intent on murder when he dragged Lance off; but knowing Keith, he’d have no qualms about taking out Lance wherever he decided, so likely he’d stormed off for some privacy.
Shiro wanted to be positive and think that his brother wanted to apologize or at least work out something amicable with Lance, but the other side of him worried that Keith wanted to get his frustration out with an elemental duel, which without supervision could be detrimental to both witches.
Shiro only wanted to make sure both of them were safe.
He’d only follow and listen in until he could prove so.
---
Keith had finally done it.
After days of breathing exercises and concentration, of failed attempts and frustration, he had done it.
And he had to show Lance.
Despite the excitement coursing through his veins, he had put on a stoick face before approaching the hydro witch and quickly snatching his wrist. Dragging him from the others had been easier than he had anticipated, but he supposed days of ignoring Lance had made the witch more receptive to Keith’s direct actions.
“You brute,” Lance said. “Let me go! I can follow all on my own.”
But Keith ignored him, too caught up in his own euphoria as a smile broke through his seriousness. He glanced behind him, his crinkled eyes catching Lance’s. The other boy stopped his complaints. Lance’s eyes widened as a soft, albeit confused, smile graced his face and he shifted his hand to capture Keith’s. Keith felt heat engulf his cheeks as he continued to lead Lance by the hand to his training ground.
Once they reached the edge, he stopped, Lance coming to stand beside him.
“Woah,” Lance whispered. He let go of Keith’s hand and the other witch immediately felt the loss, his hand quickly heating without Lance’s cold fingers.
Lance stepped into the clearing, marvelling at the burnt grass and peeling trees. The grounds, once patchy with scorch marks and burnt grass, now stood entirely engulfed in ashes, no green to be seen except along the treeline.
Lance continued forward, unaware as he stepped on a burning pile and sparks took to the sky, their lights caressing his skin as they ascended and complimenting his freckles. Keith sighed, content with the knowledge that he now had something comparable to the sun’s kisses along the bridge of Lance’s nose, his soft cheeks, and his strong shoulders. Keith watched as Lance slowly turned in the middle of the clearing as sparks danced around him before his eyes settled on him.
“Okay, hotshot, why did you drag me here? Not to show me a bunch of dead plants, I hope,” Lance said, a bit of sass rolling off his tongue. He placed his hands on his hips.
“No,” Keith confessed. He shifted on his feet, thought about taking a step toward Lance before stopping himself. “I… I brought you here to say sorry.”
“Sorry? Oh, Mister Mullet has finally seen the error of his--”
“Lance,” Keith said. Something in his tone had Lance snapping his mouth shut. He watched Keith for a moment before slowly approaching him, his slippered toes tracing the edge of the blackened grass as he came to a stop in front of him. He was close enough for Keith to catch a whiff of sea salt, something he wasn’t sure was unique to Lance or shared by hydro witches. Either way the scent danced through him, pattering his heart a tad faster.
“You were right,” he whispered, an ache present in his words.
“I was right?” Lance softly questioned.
“Y-yes, yeah, you were. And I was wrong.” Keith’s cheeks darkened at the confession, ducking his head in hopes his overgrown bangs would obscure them. He didn’t admit his faults easily, especially to Lance. “I should have listened to you the other day instead of lashing out.”
“Oh,” Lance said, blinking in surprise. “I, well… thanks?”
“You don’t thank someone for an apology,” Keith said with a teasing tone.
“I mean--sorry, I didn’t--”
Keith chuckled, waving a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just something you told me when we were younger.”
“Ah, so getting back at me are you?” Lance smirked, taking his chance to pull himself from his stumbling words and into the teasing banter they had begun forming before the week leading up to Keith’s outed secret.
“Maybe a little,”
Lance rolled his eyes, though a trace of a smile was left on his curled lips.
“So, what? You freak at me, ignore me for days, and now you expect me to swoon at your raspy voice and simple apology?” Lance asked, crossing his arms.
“Swoon?”
“Not the point!” Lance blurted, shoulders tensing to his ears before rapidly continuing with waving arms. Keith stared at his brassy pink cheeks with an odd wonder and confusion. “You can’t just ignore someone for days, then kidnap them and expect everything to be alright.”
“But what if I did it?”
“Did what?”
“Did what you told me to,” Keith excitedly said, throwing away his smug persona. He felt giddy, a feeling he hadn’t allowed himself in so long. He yearned to run, to scream, to hug Lance until his arms numbed and their bodies died; but he restrained himself to subtly bouncing on the balls of his toes.
“No… You don’t mean…” Lance shook his head before peering at Keith in wonderment. Keith’s fluttering stomach suddenly dipped. “You tried to practice?”
“More than that. Just watch.”
Keith walked a few paces along the border of the burnt and living forest, searching. He stopped in front of two bushes: one with twisted leaves and peeling bark and the other with flourishing flora. He glanced at Lance over his shoulder before turning and closing his eyes.
Keith took a breath. He hadn’t tried summoning his necromantic fire for something this large before, only practicing with single leaves or patches of grass, but with Lance as an audience, he wanted to impress, to showcase what the witch had believed he could do if he’d simply let go of the fear. Or at least part of the fear.
Though Lance’s presence filled him with confidence, his emotions continued to rebel against him. His gut turned in anticipation as well as worry. There was a chance Lance got hurt. And if he did, Keith might not be able to stop it again, but he recalled Lance’s words, the vehmency of them. He’d been so adamant that Keith could control his magick. If Lance could place his faith in him, then he could do the same for himself.
Keith concentrated on his magick constantly moving, alive and fluid, at his center. He latched onto the part he would use when performing necromantic spells, then easily sought out his elemental fire. The first few times he had attempted summoning his necromantic fire, he hadn’t thought to mix his magicks. It had been easy, natural, like they were already intertwined within.
A saddened smile broke his face when he recalled how proud his pops had been of his combined magick.
His awareness expanded. During a few necromantic spells, he had gotten a sense of things: alive, dead, somewhere in between. They had been glimpses, little blips on his spacial radar. He hadn’t even realized what they had been, just odd feelings, until a couple days ago. As he continued to practice with his fire, his awareness of his surroundings became clearer as if his lenses had been cleaned. He could feel the bugs beneath his feet, the two bushes in front of him, and Lance taking careful steps toward his back. By any means, it’s not a clear picture, simply a sense of things. A tool that helped him pinpoint exactly where to send his magick.
He cast it out. The bushes lit and Lance gasped.
Keith choked on a breath, but refrained from coughing. He tasted smoke instead of ash, a scratchy feeling at the back of his throat instead of a clogging suffocation.
It didn’t deter him. Quite the opposite.
His magick surged as he willed it to transfer the energies of the bushes. The life of one became the other’s. Keith could feel the beginnings of rot and ash on one as the other began to sprout leaves from a dead branch.
“Keith…” Lance breathed. He had moved closer to him, practically next to him, if not peering over his shoulder.
Keith would’ve smirked at the awe carried along Lance’s voice, but all his concentration was focused on isolating his fire to the bushes and painstakingly transfering their lives. Sweat slickened his temples and his hands trembled minutely. He strained under the weight of his magick, despite the bushes not reaching his mid-thigh, and he swallowed another cough, his throat finally settling into a comfortable warmth tinged with a smoky aftertaste. His eyes lazily opened, gazing at the burning bushes.
The fluttering feeling returned.
“Keith!”
He hadn’t a moment to react before a strong body pushed him backwards behind itself. The movement and shock jarred him, an ashy cough worming its way through his throat.
“Shiro?” Keith heard Lance hesitantly ask.
“Stay away from him, Lance.”
Keith looked at the body before him, recognizing the sloping lines of his back and what remains of his black hair. Shiro stood between him and Lance, hands pulsing with energy, with magick: a warning.
Keith stuttered on a breath. He maneuvered past Shiro’s hulking form, his blurred eyes landing on a shocked Lance whose hands were out placatingly. Keith could see he was rapidly speaking to Shiro, but the words didn’t compute in his mind. And though Keith knew what he was saying was important and relevant, he didn’t have the time nor energy to linger on words forgotten the moment they’re heard. His energy and concentration were being consumed by his magick.
His eyes flickered to his necromantic fire. The two bushes continued to be engulfed in flames, their appearances a contrast to one another: where half of one bloomed with bright green leaves, the other wilted with curled branches and burnt roots. Licks of fire stuttered unnaturally. Keith could feel the push against his precarious control, another cough catching in his throat.
Keith took a step toward the bushes only for Shiro’s arm to shoot out and block him.
“Stay behind me,” he ordered, his eyes never leaving Lance.
“I’m not going to hurt him,” Lance said. “Please, Shiro.”
The fire reached for the grass lingering below it.
“You could be lying,” Shiro argued. “I won’t let you near him. Keith, we have to go. Go back to camp, get our packs--”
“No.”
Finally Shiro looked at him, his deathly serious face melting into one of concern. It was only for a moment before his steel eyes flickered back to Lance who hadn’t moved but shared the same worried look.
“Keith?” Shiro questioned.
Keith gasped as his fire spread to the grass below it, the energy draining from it suddenly filling him. His vision tunneled.
In a flash, he was a child again, clawing at the floor as his pops blazed before him, screaming and choking. His gut had clenched before being flooded with energy… his pops’ life as it had drained way. The same feeling of taking life without distributing it hit Keith presently.
He felt sick.
“My fire…” he mumbled.
“We have to get away before it spreads and does more damage,” Shiro said. “Whatever Lance did to hurt or threaten you, it’s okay now. I’m here.”
“No, Shiro. I can stop it,” Keith insisted.
Shiro froze, back tensing. “What?”
“I can… I can stop it. Trust me,” he pleaded. He grasped onto Shiro’s arm, his clean wrappings a harsh contrast to the black cloth of Shiro’s clothing. He squeezed once before looking to Shiro with a trembling smile. “Please.”
Slowly Shiro lowered his protective arm, allowing Keith to approach the fire on his own, though his guard never dropped with Lance standing so near to them. His fingertips twitched with a barely contained spell aimed for the witch.
Keith knelt before the fire. He closed his eyes, dark lashes brushing his cheeks. The fire crackled as the grass and bushes burned and the flow of energy into his center continued. He concentrated on where his magick swirled within in, tying him to the fire and the life energies being taken by it. He didn’t want the energy.
Painstakingly he drained it from himself, guiding it back to its original owner. The grass began to rise, its green hue returning within the fire, then the leaves on one of the bushes began to uncurl while the other’s turned to kindling.
Eventually Keith opened his eyes. His fire continued to burn, but the plants had returned to their original states, except for the bushes. The one originally alive now stood burnt and wilting. The other’s leaves had returned and its peeling bark had smoothed over. Keith would flush in embarrassment if the overwhelming feelings of accomplishment, of happiness, of awe, didn’t override everything else.
He had done it. He controlled his necromantic fire.
With a final cough, he forced the ash from his throat and his fire died.
Keith fell forward.
Shiro lunged for him, but Lance had been quicker. Keith landed on his chest, cradled to it, as Shiro stood above them both, swirls of magick dancing on his palms.
“Lance, let him go,” Shiro demanded, his voice slicing dangerously through the forest.
Lance’s hands tightened around Keith, pressing the necromancer’s face into the crook of his neck and pulling him into the v of his folded legs. He could feel Keith’s shallow breaths against his skin, roasting the cool flesh.
“No,” Lance said, a quiver to his tone.
Keith blearily blinked. His hands achingly grasped onto Lance as his eyes flickered to Shiro. A shiver immediately traveled down his spine, followed by a long forgotten fear blooming in his chest. His breathing picked up, harsh pants against Lance’s neck.
“Keith?” Lance softly questioned, noticing the shift.
But Keith couldn’t answer. His vision flickered between the present Shiro looming over him and the younger version poised with a hex bag over his head. He knew after all they’ve been through Shiro would never do anything to harm him, but he occasionally had nightmares of that day and the ones following. They dragged him down. They were dragging him down.
The fear spiraled. Though Shiro may be different in appearance, he was still the same man who threatened a ten year old child. The loneliness ripped open his gut. He felt hollow.
Keith buried himself further into Lance, shying away from Shiro. He didn’t want to see his crestfallen face.
“Keith?”
The soft crunch of grass sounded in front of them. Shiro had knelt down and ducked his head, putting himself on the same level as Keith.
“Please, Keith,” Shiro pleaded. “I’m sorry. Please, just look at me.”
Keith shook his head. His eyes stung.
“Shiro, maybe you should--” Lance began.
“No,” he growled. “I don’t know what you did, but that’s my baby brother and I’m not leaving him here with someone who would hurt him.”
“He didn’t,” Keith mumbled, his lips mouthing on Lance’s skin.
“What did you say?” Shiro asked, his tone soft, gentle, the complete opposite of how he’s been addressing Lance. He didn’t understand.
“He didn’t hurt me,” Keith said louder. “He helped me.”
Shiro shook his head. “You’ve heard his comments about necromancers. You can’t trust him, especially after what he just saw.”
“He’s known.” Slowly Keith attempted to sit up, Lance adjusting him to lean on his shoulder. “I… I almost killed him a few days ago.”
Shiro remained silent. Keith hadn’t had an incident in so long. His eyes remained downcast.
“I stopped it. I barely did, but I controlled it,” Keith said. He looked to Lance. “And then he convinced me that I didn’t need to be afraid of it. I needed practice. That’s what I had been doing before you came. I was showing him my progress. It wasn’t much, but I put it out. I put out my fire.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Shiro asked. “About Lance knowing? About practicing? You’ve never wanted to control your necromantic fire before. Why now?”
Keith winced at the betrayal in Shiro’s voice, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret anything, including keeping this from him. Shiro had always been a voice of reason, despite how protective and emotional he could get, but after rescuing him from captivity he had been different. Though supportive, he had shied away from his necromantic magick before, but now there was a more primal fear in his eyes that he hid well, but not well enough to fool Keith.
Shiro couldn’t remember what happened to him with the Galra, but every time Keith shook him from a nightmare, he couldn’t help but fear the look on his brother’s face. Like Shiro would hurt him. Keith knew he would never. But it served as a reminder that he could unintentionally hurt Shiro if a nightmare ever got too out of control, if Shiro lashed out viciously. His necromantic magick could react.
And he wouldn’t be able to stop it. All because he feared it.
“I thought I had accepted being a necromancer,” Keith wearily began. “Partially I had. But I kept rejecting my fire. I have to learn to control it, instead of it controlling me. I have to let go of my fear.”
Slowly Keith hunched over his knees with Lance’s aid until he could place a hand on Shiro’s, which clenched the grass under them. Shiro had been so preoccupied with protecting Keith, keeping his secret hidden. He had plans of escape and ideas for safe houses in other pockets. And he didn’t even hesitate to step between him and Lance, protecting him instead of seeking Lance’s safety from him. Something fond yet sad bloomed in his chest.
“I want to control it, so you don’t have to worry. You always worry about me instead of yourself and I can’t see you do it anymore.”
“But--” he protested.
“No, Shiro. Let me do this for you,” Keith pleaded, turning his violet gaze to him. “Please, you’re my brother too.”
Shiro’s steel eyes shined as he reluctantly nodded.
Keith glanced behind him to Lance carefully holding him with gentle hands and smiled softly at his supportive gaze and loose curls.
Things were looking up.