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yumotohakone · 6 years

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Haunted House Hang-up (Voltron-SS) (Klance fic)

My @voltron-ss gift for Nicole!! (@nsart ) I hope you like it!! This monster of a fic is like,,,,,12k words somehow wtf

Read it on Ao3 here!! (please read it on Ao3; my italics don’t paste over right onto tumblr–the fic is the same but I just feel like it’s missing something w/o the emphasis,,,and it’s much, much too long to go through to put them all back)

Summary: Keith runs a paranormal YouTube channel with his friend Pidge. Pidge is friends with Hunk, who is friends with Lance, who is very very haunted. And also very, very pretty.

Warnings: Some violence, blood/injury, mentions of death, horror elements

“Shit, shit, shit!” Keith hissed under his breath. He cringed when he heard the equipment clang noisily from where it had been thrown haphazardly back into the bag. He yanked open the drivers’ side door and barely had time to chuck his luggage into the back before Pidge was clambering into the seat next to him and screaming.

“Drive! Drive!” Pidge gasped, glasses skewed on their face.

“I thought you said the place was abandoned?” Keith yelled, foot slamming down on the pedal. The strain on the old, beaten-up truck was not lost on him, and he gave a silent apology to the well-loved car.

“It was!” Pidge said back, their face bright red. “They hadn’t been back there for at least a decade! How was I supposed to know they would take their cute little anniversary vacation at their shitty, rotting cabin?”

Keith groaned, heart still drumming with adrenaline.

“Go check the equipment,” Keith said, exhausted. “It got a little rough back there.”

“Keith, I swear to god if you broke anything I–”

“It wouldn’t be my fault! Did you want me to get shot by an 80 year old lesbian couple??”

“I mean.”

“Pidge!”

“C’mon dude! It would be so funny!” Pidge climbed into the backseat to check the equipment.

“We didn’t get any data from that, so unless we can find a new hotspot in like, two days, we’re not gonna have anything for the channel.”

Keith and Pidge ran a YouTube channel together called Paranormal_InfoDump, where they went to supernatural hotspots for evidence on paranormal activity. That, or they posted unedited, hour-long rants of them infodumping about their favorite cryptids. The channel was moderately popular, kinda, at least among the supernatural niches of the internet.

Their current attempt at a video was in an old cabin that was rumored to be haunted by some triplets from the 18th century. The legend went that they were killed in a freak horseriding accident and their father, who they were riding with, just hid their bodies instead of telling anyone the truth. So they were pissed at him. And now they were ghosts.

“We can just edit a blooper reel, or like, make it a vlog.”

“But I hate vlogs,” Keith grimaced, “Whatever. We can go back to the cabin later. What’s the next spot on our list?”

The car pulled up into the parking lot of IHOP, where the duo waltzed in for some pancakes. As usual, Matt glared at them when he had to serve them because they always went to IHOP for the explicit purpose of bugging him.

“Y’all gonna get into sugar comas.” Matt grumbled, ruffling Pidge’s hair when he approached. He didn’t even have to take their orders–they always got the same thing. Double-blueberry pancakes for Keith, and french toast for Pidge. Neither of them got sides, because sides were for posers. So were drinks, but that was where they disagreed, so Pidge would just order Sprite and Keith just ate his meals without drinking anything which Pidge makes fun of him for sometimes. It was all good though because Keith would just make fun of them back for the way their feet couldn’t touch the ground in the chair even though they were almost 17. But whenever he did, they would always clap back with–

“Yeah, well you’re 19 and you still don’t know how to swim even though you grew up in Florida.”

And then Keith would reply–

“Is it really ‘growing up’ in Florida when I was only there from ages 13 to 18?”

And then the topic would change.

“Okay, so the next place we should hit up should definitely be something big,” Pidge said through a bite of french toast, “Like, real big. Like…St. Zarkon’s Estate big…”

“Pidge…” Keith drawled, “You know we can’t. That place is too much for us. You remember what Allura said, right?”

“Yeah, but we both know you’re dying to take up the challenge–no pun intended.”

Keith sighed, knowing Pidge was right. St. Zarkon’s was the oldest building in town–a huge mansion that dated back centuries and belonged to an insanely rich family that got their fortune from some seriously shady means. There were rumors that the family performed fucked up medical experiments in the basement, and that they were teamed up with the orphanage/hospital/asylum/whatever place the source said, because the story changed all the time. Either way, that place was notorious. And also illegal to get into because of “safety regulations”–but Keith and Pidge knew it was really closed off because of the rumors.

Anyways–Allura was a psychic. They met her through Craigslist and went to her before every haunt they hit up for a consultation. That day, she told them she sensed more figures in the home than what was predicted, and that they should be aware of the color purple. Of course, they ended up ignoring the purple rocking chair on the porch that wasn’t there the week before when they scoped out the place.

When they asked her about St. Zarkon’s a few months back, she just gave them a look and asked them if they really wanted to go to a place that looked like it was gonna fall over with the next breeze. She said she foresaw the feeling of distress and injury.

Then Pidge asked:

“But do we die?”

To which Allura sighed and responded:

“No.”

They had their minds set, but then Allura told them if she heard of them going to St. Zarkon’s she would start charging them for consultations again.

“Pidge, why are you bringing this up now?” Keith said, cutting up his pancakes into little triangles.

“Ok, so I have this friend–”

“I thought me and Keith were your only friends?” Matt interrupted, refilling Pidge’s Sprite.

“You’re my brother so you don’t count,” Pidge said, “but anyways I have another friend that I met in Robotics club. He’s super cool. But the reason I bring him up is because he has another friend who is apparently extremely sensitive to ghosts. Like. They’re just somehow magnetically attracted to this other friend, and they have been since forever.”

“What does that mean for us, exactly?” Keith said, trying to catch on.

“We bring a ghost magnet to a ghost hotspot–guaranteed ghosts! Ergo: guaranteed results and proof!” Pidge chugged some Sprite and burped obnoxiously after, which made Matt cringe from where he was on the other side of the restaurant. “According to Hunk, his friend is so surrounded by ghosts that weird supernatural stuff is just kinda normal for ‘em .”

“I see what you mean,” Keith said, thinking, “How do we know it’s true though? We’ve gotten lots of bullshit stories before.”

“I haven’t asked yet, but we could probably get Hunk’s friend up for some testing. We could sneak it in with our research system, yanno?”

Keith and Pidge, before any haunt, always did extensive research to make sure they were prepared. Keith thought it over. Since they were already interested in the Estate, they didn’t have to do so much research on it, and could probably dedicate some time to running a few tests.

“Plus we could test out some new gear me and Hunk were designing,” Pidge started flapping their hands at the wrists excitedly. Pidge had designed and built all the gear themselves. “It’s so cool having another brain to talk things out with in the building process! Hunk’s an engineering major and also a cook so his mind works differently than mine and he has some really cool ideas!! He’s so fun to work with.”

“That sounds awesome.” Keith finished his pancakes. “Do you know a lot about the friend? Do you think they’d say yes?”

“I mean, I’ve already got Hunk pretty involved, so I think he’d be able to talk his friend into it. We’ve got another Robotics Club meeting in two days so I can spring the question then.”

The two finished up their food, but not before demanding Matt bring them kiddie menus and crayons, which he was lawfully obligated to do seeing as he was on the clock.

It wasn’t until four days later that Keith was woken up from his blissful sleep by the obnoxious ringtone Pidge set for themselves.

“Pidge what the fuck. It’s 7AM no human should be awake at this hour. Why are you calling me and why can’t this wait until when I get up at 11?”

…Is what Keith meant to say when he picked up the phone, but between his general grogginess and the pillow shoved over his face it came out more like: “Hnnurrrghhhh,” which, thankfully, Pidge understood.

“Get your gay ass up, Keith and get over to the cafe in twenty. Hunk and his friend will meet us there.”

Keith groaned, willing himself to sit up. He knew if he wasn’t over there Pidge would end up breaking in through his broken bathroom window again. Keith threw on some sweatpants and a muscle-tee and lazily tugged his hair into a ponytail. It was too early to put effort into his appearance, and besides, it’s not like Keith really cared about what Pidge and their new nerd friends would think about his outfit. His clothes had nothing to do with anything.

Keith skipped breakfast, knowing he could just get something at the cafe. “The cafe” was just the simple name most people gave to the one cafe in the area that didn’t have a green mermaid plastered on the front. It was mostly due to that idyllic “cafe atmosphere”. Somehow, even in the middle of spring, that place always made you feel like it was the dead of fall. Not just fall, but autumn. It was nice. Keith liked it there.

The walk to the cafe was a short one. The old metal bell gave a cheerful ring when Keith opened the door. The sunlight streamed in through the faux stained-glass windows and bathed the whole cafe in a soft, orangey-yellow light. He saw Pidge sitting at their usual booth in the corner of the cafe, looking absolutely miniscule from where they sat across from a broad-shouldered, barrel-chested man also at the table. Keith gave him an appreciative once-over. Not Keith’s usual type, but the man had thick, well-built arms and a friendly smile that was very easy on the eyes.

Keith walked up to the counter, intending to order something small for breakfast. He gave a glance to the person in front of him and immediately had to pull a double-take. The man in front of him was… pretty. Keith had never used that word to describe a man, and he didn’t think he would be, well, interested in anyone fitting the description.

The man was tall, with long, long legs emphasized by strappy white wedges and high-waisted shorts. He wore a flowy crop-top, in a pastel-pink color that went well with his rich, coppery skin. When he reached over to grab his drink, Keith could see the clean white polish on the his nails, and the many bracelets and rings he wore. What really struck Keith’s attention, though, was the crown of colorful flowers that sat primly on the man’s brown hair. The flowers didn’t have a plastic sheen, and were too smooth looking to be cloth, so Keith could only assume they were real.

Keith watched in utter horror as the man turned heel and approached the familiar corner booth to sit next to the handsome, heavy-set man that was animatedly talking with Pidge. Keith stared at the back of the man’s head, swallowing thickly, wondering how in the fuck he was gonna do this. He approached the counter and picked up a pastry, contemplating just running away before Pidge saw him. But, of course, like some kind of telepathy, Pidge chose that very moment to see Keith, and excitedly waved over at him.

Keith was intimately aware of his careless attire and suddenly regretted not dressing a little nicer. It was only when he slid into the booth next to Pidge that he was able to get a look at the man’s face.

“–this is Hunk, my friend from Robotics Club,” Pidge introduced. Keith sheepishly pulled his eyes away from the pretty, flower-covered man across from him so he could meet Hunk’s eyes.

“Nice to meet you,” Keith said, a little stiffly, but then Hunk smiled reassuringly at him, and Keith felt the tension ease from his shoulders.

“It’s great to finally meet you, Keith!” Hunk shook Keith’s hand. “Pidge has told me a lot about you!”

“Oh, and this is Lance, our resident ghost magnet!” Pidge gestured to the remaining stranger. Keith finally got a good look at the man–Lance. Along with the flowers, Lance was covered in jewelry, the soft light of the cafe bouncing off of the gemstones to dapple Lance’s skin in the reflected colors. Lance’s face tensed a little at Pidge’s words, but before Keith could analyze his expression, Lance’s face smoothed back out.

“What can I say, I’m irresistible even beyond the grave.” His voice was positively saturated in cocky confidence. “It’s more of a curse–having to fend off admirers from both planes of existence.”

Keith rolled his eyes. Lance fiddled with one of his earrings.

“Will you help us?” Keith asked, bluntly. Lance glanced at him, a thin eyebrow raised in question. “We’re paranormal investigators, and we think having you would be useful–if you’re even telling the truth about being ghost-sensitive.”

Lance bristled.

“You’re lucky Hunk talked you two up so much or I wouldn’t even be here.” Lance leaned back, arms crossed, easing into an air of cool. “You don’t even know how many wannabe ghostbusters I get trying to coax me into their bad mojo.”

“And you don’t know how many bullshit ghost stories we get from people saying they can talk to the dead or summon spirits. I can tell you I’m only here because of Pidge, because personally I hate bringing in outsiders.”

“Wow, okay, what a big hotshot we have over here.” It was Lance’s turn to roll his eyes. “You don’t even know the beginning of the bullshit I have to deal with–”

Lance was cut off by Hunk interjecting.

“Guys!” He put a hand onto Lance’s shoulder. Lance looked at his friend, then pouted and slumped back in his seat. “Lance, dude, take a breath, chill out a little bit. We already went over what they want, remember? You agreed to come.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance mumbled. He leaned on Hunk, his cheek nuzzling into his friend’s bicep. “Sorry, buddy. I’m just gonna go to the bathroom for a sec; be right back.”

Keith, still seething from Lance’s attitude, berated himself when he caught his eyes tracking Lance’s backside when he walked away.

Pidge tugged his sleeve to pull him down and whisper at him.

“Are you okay, dude? You usually don’t get worked up like that.”

“I’m fine. There’s just something about the way he talked that got under my skin.” The way Lance kept undermining Keith and Pidge and their work made Keith see red. He poured a lot into the channel, and so did Pidge; hearing someone disrespect it was like a personal attack, somehow.

“Sorry about that, guys,” Hunk said apologetically, “Some days can be a little more rough on him than others. Last night, all the hot water in the house ran out suspiciously early, and the bulb in the bathroom shattered while he was in there too. He had to spend all night in a top-to-bottom cleanse to expel the thing.”

“There was a ghost in his house?” Pidge said, eyes widening.

“Oh god, yes there was,” Lance groaned dramatically as he slid back into his seat. “I have no idea how it got in. I think this one necklace I got from Etsy was a fucking dud so the little bastard hitched a ride. It was awful.”

“You had a ghost in your house?” Pidge repeated.

“Yeah, uh,” Lance blinked, suddenly looking a little uncomfortable. “I try to prevent it as much as I can. When a spirit attaches to a home it’s so hard to get rid of, so you gotta exorcise those fuckers ASAP.”

“You’ve done that before?? You just expel ghosts often?” Pidge looked almost in awe.

“Yup,” Lance popped the ‘p’. “Hunk did tell you supernatural stuff happens to me all the time, right?”

“Yeah, but I just thought he meant, like, you go to haunted places and the ghosts come out to see you–not that they follow you around!” Pidge suddenly pulled back, “That must suck if you’re not looking for them, dude.”

“THANK YOU!” Lance exclaimed, “ Finally someone understands. Thank you, Pidgeon; I think we’ll be very good friends.”

“So will you help us?” Keith asked again.

“Sure–” Keith and Pidge sighed in relief before Lance continued, “–but only if Pidge builds me a drone that looks like the Millenium Falcon. Hunk refuses to do it for me.”

“Are you kidding? I would fucking love to do that. I can even add in a claw that you can use to pick up stuff, or like a candy dispenser.” Pidge looked giddy. Lance’s eyes lit up and he leaned over to grasp both of Pidge’s hands in his own.

“Pidge, I would die for you.”

The rest of the cafe meet was Pidge and Lance geeking out over the features to put on Lance’s drone, with Hunk occasionally butting in to keep things reasonable. Keith bit back some snarky remarks, but every once in a while one would slip out, and Lance would immediately snap back with another in reply before he was distracted away from a full argument.

It was…kinda nice, Keith would suppose. Hunk was very kind but would not hesitate to say something to passive aggressively put the others in their place. Lance got along incredibly with Pidge, but for some reason, whenever he would say a word to Keith it would end with the two of them bickering. After the tension of the first argument broke, though, none of the bickering in question would be openly malicious. In fact, it was kind of fun. It was like they would just try to one-up each other with every smart-ass one liner.

They eventually decided on a day to meet up so they could do some testing with Lance’s abilities, then went their separate ways.

The meet was at Pidge’s, because they had the most equipment set up and ready to go. They did a number of tests on Lance and gathered data in their chicken scratch handwriting, leaving the research element to Keith, mostly. Lance was pretty compliant, and often cracked jokes while having his body poked and prodded with strange tools.

Eventually Pidge decided to take Lance “on the field”, and take him to haunted spots to observe him there. That was how Lance and Keith ended up sitting on bean bags in the library while Pidge and Hunk fiddled with computers and machinery in the background. Keith was trying to get Lance to tell him more about the paranormal aspect of his life, but Lance got increasingly defensive about it and kept trying to dodge the topic.

It was kind of the cycle they got into whenever they were left to their own devices–Keith would prod Lance about ghosts, Lance would change the topic, they would bicker for a little bit before moving the conversation elsewhere. It wasn’t a bad thing by any means, they did learn a lot about each other. For example, both of them liked watching true crime documentaries on Netflix, or the fact that neither of them could ever sit still to read a book in silence.

“I either had someone explain it to me, or I got my siblings to read it aloud,” Lance said, reminiscing. “Obviously, I could read it myself just fine, I just got lost super easily, yanno? I’d end up thinking of some question or imagining a scene and next thing I know I’ve been on the same page for ten minutes.”

“Yeah, I always got antsy. Sometimes the words would get mixed up and it would hurt my head, and then if I wanted to keep going I would have to point at each individual word and read them separately but then I wouldn’t absorb anything that was going on. It’s gotten better as I’ve gotten older, though.”

“Yeah, same. Nowadays I just use audio books.”

Sometimes they would lapse into slightly awkward silences, especially when the topic of childhood came about. Keith was about to say something when Lance blurted out:

“Uh, do you know you have a ghost following you?”

“What? Wait, wait, what the fuck?”

Lance looked incredibly sheepish, hands flying up to backtrack.

“I, uh–it’s just that….shit this is weird to explain.” Lance bit at his thumbnail, which was a pale purple that day. “It’s like…there’s this…energy? Around you? I don’t know something about it feels really…protective? In like a loving way I guess…have you ever had a pet?”

Keith blinked. Lance usually didn’t talk about the ghosts he sensed. He said it didn’t really do anything but make him really sad, so he tried to avoid looking into the ghosts’ personalities or whatever. The one time they got him to mention something was when he had sat on a swingset at the park and almost burst into tears. The ghost was of a second-grader.

“Um…when I was a kid I had a cat?” Keith replied. He hadn’t thought about Red in years. She was a fluffy orange tabby with a grouchy personality who always sat on Keith’s head whenever he laid down. He loved her a lot and was devastated when she passed.

“Yeah, yeah…that’s kind of the feel I get,” Lance’s eyes went a little distant, as if he were lost in thought. “She’s…just kind of watching you…in a good way…”

Lance blinked.

“Uh, I haven’t mentioned this before but, um…if you could like, give me something of hers then the…connection, I guess, would be stronger.” Lance nervously fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “If you want.”

“Are you some sort of medium?” Keith asked, carefully.

“Not really? I mean I can’t summon just any spirit I want or anything, but if something is there then I can like sense it. It gets stronger whenever I’m in a spiritually charged area or I have something physical to hold. So, like a medium, just they have to come to me.”

Keith dashed thoughts of contacting his parents. Lance just said he couldn’t force any spirit to show themselves, and besides, that would be an incredibly awkward situation to force Lance into.

“Have you ever talked to a ghost?”

“Yeah, plenty.” Lance bit at his lip. “It was a lot easier when I was a kid, before I started trying to block them out.”

“Block them out?”

That pulled a chuckle out of Lance, and Keith was glad to have dashed some of that somber look in Lance’s eyes.

“Not all ghosts are good ones, Keithy–” Keith grimaced at the nickname. “What do you think all these pretty gems and flowers are for? I live for the aesthetic but not enough to bathe in it.”

Lance gestured to the flower behind his ear, and the gemstones on his amulets and necklaces. “All of this is for protection–the gems and the flowers. I even make my own incense and essential oils. It’s actually how I met Hunk.”

Hunk’s head popped up at the mention of his name.

“Are you telling him our meet-cute?” Hunk’s voice got Pidge’s attention too, for a short while. Lance laughed again, the former serious mood completely gone.

“Yeah! You see, Hunk’s family runs half of a flower shop.” Lance waited for the inevitable questioning ‘half?’ from Keith and Pidge before continuing. “So years and years ago, the Garretts and the Balmerans had two rival flower shops that were trapped in a bitter blood feud–Romeo and Juliet style. Then one day, completely unlike Romeo and Juliet, the antique shop owner from across the street played the flower shop owners in poker. In an embarrassing, alcohol-fueled night, the two owners had accidentally made an agreement to combine their shops if they lost to the antique shop owner. And they lost miserably, because every Garrett and Every Balmeran I have ever met have zero poker-face skill.

“So now Hunk’s family is half the owner of the best flower shop in town–well, the only one in town–and I met my best buddy because I’d just been buying all of my plants like a moron and Hunk finally decided to save me and show me how to make my own garden after watching me spend–how much money was it again, buddy?”

“Oh god, it was horrible. He spent, like, at least 500$ in about two weeks. I couldn’t let him do that to himself, even if he was great for business.”

The story got a laugh out of Keith. When he glanced over at Lance again, though, he found the other just kind of staring at him with a look so soft it made Keith’s stomach twist pleasantly, and he had to bite his lip to keep from grinning like a loon. The action just made Lance’s mouth twist into a smile, and in that short, quiet moment, they were both just smiling at each other, and Keith hoped that Lance was feeling the same way, even if Keith himself couldn’t explain what that feeling was.

After running through all of their equipment at least twice–which took about another week and a half–Pidge had finally decided they were ready for St. Zarkon’s. As tradition, before they could go, they would visit Allura.

“So…we’re going to meet your psychic?” Hunk asked. Despite the fact that his best friend was a ghost magnet, he was somehow skeptical of a psychic.

“Yeah, she’s amazing. We always go to her to make sure we won’t, like, die or something.” Pidge shrugged. “She’s really accurate, but not like, telling your whole future word by word stuff. It’s mostly cryptic warnings and feelings.”

“And you’re sure she’s legit and not using confirmation bias to make you think her vague statements are predictions?”

“No, dude, she’s our friend. Plus she stopped charging us ages ago.” Pidge replied.

They entered Allura’s establishment, and immediately Lance gave a long, and particularly pleased sounding breathy noise that had Keith’s face burning bright red. Hunk turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

“Buddy, are you okay?”

“Hunk I have never been better. This place is so clean. There’s a lot of good feelings around here and I can’t sense a single ghost. It’s so good. Do you think she sells any of these gems?”

“I think she does, actually. We’d have to ask her though. C’mon, she should be expecting us–”

Pidge was interrupted as the clack of heeled footsteps approached them. Allura looked stunning as usual, her voluminous silvery hair framing her dark skin and shimmery clothing to give off an otherworldly feel. She’d barely looked up to greet them when Lance had gasped loudly in surprise.

“Allura??”

At the sound of Lance’s voice, Allura’s face snapped up to meet his, a similar look of surprise on her own face.

“Lance? What are you doing here?”

“Allura!! You’re psychic??” Lance approached her, going to grab her hands familiarly. Keith’s brow furrowed.

“Wait…you guys know each other?” Pidge asked.

“Yeah! We’re in the same dance class! Allura is my partner!” Lance looked positively ecstatic. He turned back to Allura, still holding her hands with a bright smile on his face. “Why didn’t you tell me you were psychic, Lu? This shop feels so clear I might just camp out here forever!”

Keith found himself glaring at their clasped hands and the affectionate nickname. Over the time that they had gotten to know each other, Lance had been pretty open about his affections for attractive people of all sorts. Keith may have been gay, but he knew Allura was absolutely gorgeous–he had eyes. He should’ve figured Lance would be all over her, and considering they had a history–

But it’s not like Keith cared or anything. He had no reason to care about who Lance did or did not have romantic inclinations for. Keith knew he found Lance attractive but he wasn’t dumb enough to get a crush on him or anything, obviously. He liked Lance as a friend. Strictly as a friend. A friend with a heart-stopping laugh and endless blue eyes and the lightest smattering of freckles on his shoulders and–

“Well, Lance, I can’t just go around proclaiming I’m a psychic to everyone.” Allura’s voice pulled Keith out of his stupor. She had let go of his hands, thankfully.

“Yeah but didn’t you ever, like, feel anything weird about me?” Lance asked.

“…I wasn’t sure if you were aware of the happenings around you, Lance. Most people aren’t.”

“Allura, when I was five my best friend was a doctor with a noose around his neck that only I could see. It was only when I was 13 I found out he died in the house in the 1400s. I sat on a swingset last week and saw a second-grader with the upper half of their face gone. My ‘Lita basically force fed me holy water when she met me for the first time.” Lance looked at her. “I know.”

“I didn’t realize it was that serious, Lance, I’m sorry.” Allura placed a comforting hand on Lance’s shoulder. “My visions are very weak when I’m away from my crystals.”

“It’s okay, Lu,” Lance grinned at her, “It’s not your fault. Anyways though, I’m over here with the nerd squad for some ghost hunting.”

“Oh! Lovely! Well, you all should come along with me to the back and I’ll start the consultation.”

They all piled into the darkened room behind the curtains. Allura had once told them the over-the-top decorations were more for the sake of the customers than anything she actually needed. The one prop in the room that was truly necessary was the murky, indigo-colored crystal ball in the center of a table.

“So, where are you all intending on going this time?” Allura asked. When her fingers touched the stand of the crystal ball, however, she jolted, giving them all a concerned and level look. Pidge didn’t seem to notice when they responded.

“We’re finally tackling St. Zarkon’s Estate,” Pidge said confidently, “Not only do we have Lance, but me and Hunk have been working on a ton of new tech for it! We’re totally ready.”

Allura’s face was pinched.

“Alright…I can already tell I can’t stop you this time…” She took a heavy sigh and gently touched her fingertips to the smooth surface of her crystal ball. She breathed deeply, eyes shut. After a few moments, she opened her eyes with a shuddering sigh, her hands shaking.

“This…this is not going to be easy,” She mumbled, “There will be distress, there will be injury, but there will also be catharsis, and there will be the beginning of something new. Marmora will guide you.”

The room went quiet. Allura shook her head slightly.

“I don’t like this…” her voice was quiet, “But my visions are telling me this will turn out right in the end, somehow.” She gave them all a meaningful look. “I trust you all.”

“Thanks, Allura.” Keith gave her a small smile.

“What did you mean by ‘Marmora will guide us’? Who’s Marmora?” Hunk asked.

“I am…I am not sure. My visions are usually strong feelings or images of a moment, but never detailed.”

Keith frowned. The name sounded familiar, somehow.

“Welp! Time to get this show on the road! The sooner we get there the sooner I can get home to kick Hunk’s ass in MarioKart!” Lance proclaimed suddenly, breaking the soft atmosphere. Keith turned to look at Lance but the other was already marching out the door.

“I mean…he’s not wrong,” Pidge shrugged, “St. Zarkon’s is, like, an hour’s drive away. We should probably get going before it gets too dark.”

A wave of murmured agreement washed over the rest of the group. They bid their goodbyes to Allura and met Lance back at the car.

“Lance what the hell are you doing?” Keith asked, deadpan. Lance had been halfway inside the car, leaning over the driver’s side. Keith tried to force his eyes anywhere else but Lance’s…lower half was all that could be seen of him. It didn’t help that the sheer cardigan he wore had been shucked up and to the side, leaving the long line of Lance’s black leggings on full display.

“I’m just setting up some tunes for the road!” Lance laughed, suddenly. “Hunk left the AUX cord where I could find it–so I call dibs!”

Pidge groaned. Keith knew how much they loved having control of the music.

The group piled into the car, Hunk driving, Pidge in shotgun (they called it), and Lance and Keith in the backseat. As the car started up, Lance’s grin was downright devious as he held up his phone. All of a sudden, a poppy, unfamiliar music riff began, Hunk whispered a quiet “oh god” and then Lance was screaming lyrics along with the vaguely nostalgic vocals of an early 2000s boyband.

Lance’s playlist was…eclectic at best, painful at worst, jumping from cheesy musical numbers to badly autotuned pop garbage with Lance singing throughout all of them. Every song was a performance and there was no end in fucking sight. Keith had never longed for a single moment of quietmore in his entire life.

Pidge complained every two songs and Hunk tried gently to console them. Whenever they tried to turn the music down Lance would screech at them until they stopped. Keith had seen Lance act over-the-top but this just seemed downright obnoxious. Even Keith tried to say something, but Lance just ignored him completely and kept singing.

It’s not like Lance couldn’t sing, but after belting out a few songs he got lazy and whiny sounding.

Eventually, they stopped at a gas station to refill, and Lance stepped out of the car to use the bathroom, leaving the rest of them in blissful silence.

“Oh thank god.” Pidge dragged their hands down their face. They reached for the radio, but Hunk stopped them. Pidge looked at Hunk with the most abject confusion and betrayal. Hunk tried to smile at them reassuringly, but Keith could see the conflict on Hunk’s face. Hunk glanced out the window behind him before turning to Keith and Pidge.

“Look, I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you guys this, but uh,” Hunk awkwardly rubbed his neck, looking severely uncomfortable, “…this is Lance’s happy playlist. He kind of only plays it when he’s upset or nervous. He hasn’t said anything to me, but I think this whole…St. Zarkon’s ghost thing is really getting to him. I know it’s painful…believe me, I know–”

“Yo, Hunk, it’s okay dude,” Pidge put a hand on Hunk’s shoulder. “You should’ve just told us that sooner. I mean, damn, I hadn’t even noticed Lance acting that weird or anything, but….I probably should’ve. At least asked him or something.” Pidge looked sheepish. “I forget, sometimes, that not everyone is as excited over ghosts like me and Keith are.”

Keith bit his lip. Knowing that Lance was nervous kind of put things into perspective. Keith probably should’ve seen it coming, as he was the one left to talk to Lance the most while the other two worked on the tech. He knew Lance wore an overabundance of protective charms; he knew Lance cleansed his house with herbs almost religiously; he knew Lance had a history with spirits getting physical with him or his stuff. What Lance didn’t tell him, Keith had guessed. Keith suddenly felt a little guilty for not thinking of Lance more.

“We’re…kind of shitty friends…” Keith said suddenly.

“What? Oh god, no–jesus–don’t think that,” Hunk sounded distressed suddenly. “Lance tries to hide these things. It’s not your fault he does it well. Hell, I’ve known him for years and even I didn’t see it. I guess he just convinced himself to do this.” Hunk paused for a second. “I know he might have a weird way of showing it sometimes, but Lance really likes you two. And I think he even likes how into ghosts you are.”

“Really?” Keith and Pidge said at the same time.

“Yeah, I think it’s just because of how much you believe in all of it.” Hunk suddenly had a look of guilt. “He, uh, doesn’t have a good history of people believing him. Even I didn’t believe him at first. I was there for him and I supported him but I think I just told myself he was making it up somehow. I only started believing him for real after, uh…let’s just say something really bad happened.”

They could tell that Hunk didn’t want to say anything more, and just left it at that.Though Keith would bet money that Pidge was dying to ask more. Before they could, though, Lance came back, with a blue slushie and a plastic gas station bag.

“Heyo, guess who brought snacks?” Lance held up the bag. “We’ve got powdered donuts for Hunk, Nutty Bars for Pidge, and some Sour Patch Kids for Keith.”

“Thanks buddy,” Hunk said pleasantly, biting into a donut as he started the car.

“Anything for you, big guy.” Lance’s grin was lopsided and showed off the dimple on his cheek. Not that there was any reason for Keith to notice that. Keith almost didn’t hear the aggressive sound of plastic wrap being shredded to pieces.

“Woah, Pidge you eat faster than my little niece on a sugar rush.” Lance raised an eyebrow at Pidge, stifling his giggles. In the short while it had taken Lance to hand out the food and talk to Hunk, Pidge was already one Nutty Bar down out of two, and was enthusiastically working on the next. Pidge didn’t respond aside from a weird growling/hissing sound they made whenever someone tried to interrupt their snacking. Keith was used to it.

Keith looked down at his own snack, fingers running along the package. He was kind of surprised Lance remembered. Looking back, he probably only ate them once or twice in Lance’s presence, and he certainly couldn’t remember saying they were his favorite–except for once in a video.

…but Lance probably just assumed Keith liked them from those few times he saw Keith eating them. There was no way he sat through twenty minutes of Keith ranting about the Jersey Devil just to get to the part where Keith said Sour Patch Kids were his favorite candy. Probably.

Keith glanced over at Lance, only to lock eyes with him. Lance jumped and looked away suddenly, stuffing his slushie straw into his mouth. If he didn’t know any better, Keith would say Lance’s face looked a little pink before he turned away…?

“How did you know to get me Sour Patch Kids?” Keith asked, trying to keep his voice nonchalant. He traced his finger over the serrated edge of the package, feeling the plastic on his fingertips, before tearing it open and popping a gummy into his mouth. He rolled the candy around his tongue, letting himself feel the roughness of the outside before it melted. It was always his favorite part about eating them. That, and he liked the sour part.

It took Lance a second to respond. When he did, his voice was a little timid. It was almost difficult to hear over the music, which started to play again–something peppy Keith had heard on the radio before.

“Well, they’re your favorite, right? And I mean, you are eating them so I’m guessing they still are.” Lance’s face scrunched up. “You’re not one of those people who eats things they hate just to be polite, right?” Keith rolled his eyes, laughing a little at the horrified look on Lance’s face.

“Of course I’m not like that,” Keith replied, “If I hate something, you’re gonna damn well know how much I hate it. Pidge can testify.” Keith suddenly called to the front of the car, “Pidge! Remember Thanksgiving last year?”

“Oh yeah, my gross great-aunt Sheryl kept trying to get you to eat the green beans.” Pidge turned to clarify. “Keith kept telling her he hated green beans, but she wasn’t listening and wouldn’t let him leave and she kept trying to put a spoonful onto his plate. Keith ended up yelling at her. Oh god I can still hear it now: ‘I do NOT want any of your slimy white-people food Sheryl. I’ve eaten ass that tastes better than your cooking.’ Man, Sheryl shut the fuck up after that. It was amazing.”

“You did not.” Lance nudged Keith’s shoulder in amazed disbelief. “No wait, I can totally see it. Holy shit, Keith, you’re my hero.” Lance was laughing, and his eyes crinkled at the corners, and his two front teeth were just a little crooked, and the slushie had dyed his tongue blue, and he was…beautiful. Keith couldn’t help but grin back at him, a little dazedly.

Soon, Lance finished his slushie, and was free to go back to singing along with his happy playlist. Every once in a while, Pidge would pipe in when they recognized something, and the two had a lovely duet to the PokeRap together. They took turns rapping each of the verses while the other beatboxed. Neither of them could beatbox.

Eventually, though, they pulled up to the chainlink fence encircling the Estate. High on the hill, the dilapidated mansion loomed above them, looking like every cliche from every old Scooby Doo cartoon. As they approached the fence, Keith saw Lance tense up. Hunk and Pidge were working on getting the equipment out of the car, so Keith turned to Lance, concerned.

“Are you okay?” Lance looked startled at the question, eyes tearing away from the Estate to focus on Keith.

“…Yeah, um…” Lance did not look okay at all. “I’m totally fine. I’ll be fine.” Lance sounded like he was trying to convince himself as he rubbed his own arms, as if he were cold. Keith, unused to comforting but wanting to help, put a hand on Lance’s bicep. Lance’s focus was again pulled away from the Estate and was entirely on Keith. He looked a little surprised, but not displeased, and was about to say something when suddenly a loud crash startled them both.

Lance clung to Keith’s arm, eyes darting fearfully around him. He was slouched down and pressed so close Keith could feel the rapid beating of his heart. Overcome with the urge to protect, Keith had to resist the way his arm wanted to wrap around Lance’s waist and tug him closer.

“Sorry about that, guys!” Hunk said, drawing their attention to the heavy-looking piece of machinery in front of him. Though the danger was apparently gone, Lance still hadn’t let go of Keith. Not that Keith was particularly complaining.

Pidge caught sight of them, however, and gave Keith the most devious look. Keith groaned internally, knowing already he would be forced to sit through an endless barrage of teasing when they got home.

“Okay, how do we get in?” Hunk had piled up the equipment onto a metal trolley Keith had stolen from the highschool when he was in the 7th grade.

“There’s an area of fence that isn’t in the ground properly, so we can lift it to get inside,” Keith said, casually, “I marked it off with some rope, but after this we shouldn’t need to come back, so I’m probably just going to take my rope back with me.”

“How did you find that part of the fence?” Hunk asked.

“We scoped out the place a while ago.” Pidge grinned. “Allura said not to go inside but she said nothing about just circling the perimeter. We gotta be thorough.”

The group followed Keith as he walked around the edge of the fence, looking for the knot of rope.

“Oh, there it is. Farther than I remember.” The rope was eye-level, so Keith just reached into his waistband to pull out his knife and slice it off.

“Woah! Dude! Why do you just have a knife on you?” Lance’s grip on Keith’s arm had tightened, and he jumped back a little bit–without letting go of course.

“Um…I always carry this on me?”

“Just…in your pants? You just carry a knife…in your pants…at all times?” Lance was speaking slowly.

“…yes?”

“I was going to make a bad joke right now but the mojo around this place is really getting to me. Can we just get on with it?” Lance sighed tiredly. He leaned against Keith’s shoulder, his hair tickling Keith’s cheek. Keith stiffened but didn’t move. Hunk caught his eye and mouthed ‘sorry’ at him. Apparently Lance’s touchiness got worse when he was scared…?

Hunk, being the tallest, lifted the fence so they could all walk through. From inside the gate, the Estate actually didn’t look as far away. As they made their way up the hill, they went over the gameplan.

“Okay, so I’ll start recording when we get to the porch. We walk into the house and hang around the first big room recording data with the equipment until we get something, or until we don’t get something, then we move to the next room,” Pidge explained, “Whatever we do, though, we always stick with the group. No walking around on your own. I mean, this place is old as balls and is probably rotting as we speak so it’s just safer.”

With every step they tool approaching the Estate, Lance just seemed to inch himself closer and closer to Keith. Eventually Lance had stepped on the back of Keith’s shoes one time too many and Keith had to stop, which caused Lance to walk right into his back.

Keith looked back at Lance, prepared to be annoyed, but all he saw were Lance’s big blue eyes wide with terror.

“Hey, we’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay in there. You got this.” Keith’s voice was a little too quiet and stiff, but he hoped he was able to get his sincerity across. Keith pried Lance’s hands off of his arm and instead moved to clasp Lance’s hand with his own. Having Lance walking beside him was much better.

The group stood on the front porch, Lance had intertwined his fingers with Keith’s and was biting his lip as he stared at the door. Pidge took out their camera and put a hand on the doorknob.

The door creaked shrilly as it struggled open, the rusty hinges practically screaming at the strain. Pidge’s flashlight caught on the dust in the air and the gaping, moldy holes in the floorboards. They carefully tested every step before moving forward, as if they were looking for traps in an Indiana Jones movie. Everyone followed immediately behind them, not wanting to accidentally step on a weak area of the floor. Eventually, they had all piled into the front room, with a big spiral staircase to the right and doorways to the front and left.

Pidge and Hunk set up the equipment on the trolley. Lance trembled next to Keith. A long, dry scratching noise sounded from somewhere on the floor above them, like fingernails being dragged over wood. Lance whimpered.

“Guys…I really, really don’t like this.” Lance mumbled.

“That was probably just some animal or something. Hunk and I haven’t finished setting up all the way but we don’t have any super strong readings yet, at least not from this room.” Pidge turned to Hunk. “Do you think we should move on?”

The group looked around the room at their options. They had decided beforehand going upstairs was too dangerous, and the doorway to the left was blocked off by fallen ceiling beams. The only way to go was forward.

“Keith and Lance, you guys go first to scope out the area and make sure it’s safe. Pidge and I need to make sure the equipment will be okay. Can you handle that, buddy?” Hunk said the last part to Lance, mostly. Lance nodded shakily, nails digging painfully, unintentionally, into Keith’s hand.

They slowly progressed down what was revealed to be a narrow hallway. The only light was from Keith and Pidge’s flashlights, and the murky sunlight that filtered through the holes in the ceiling at random intervals. The scratching noise started up again, this time more aggressive–starting and stopping like something was repeatedly dragging its claws over the same spot. From behind them, glass broke.

Lance grit his teeth, jaw clenching painfully. What felt like an actual, physical force shoved into Keith’s back, a chill washing over the room. Keith stumbled into Lance.

“Woah! What the fuck!” Pidge cried, “Guys! We just got a massive spike in activity!”

Lance’s unoccupied hand reached up to press against his head, his eyes clenched tightly. The scratching grew louder, closer. More glass broke from somewhere. The chill had brought wind. From behind them, the sound of footsteps over rubble. Lance groaned.

“Lance? Are you okay?” Hunk asked from behind them.

Then, Lance fell to his knees, his pained groans growing louder as he pressed both hands to his temples. Hunk tried to rush forward. The scratching stopped only to be replaced with the sounds of doors slamming shut, and the clatter of wooden boards being met with blunt force. The footsteps on rubble grew closer.

“No…no, no!” Lance mumbled, voice hoarse, “Stay out! Stay out! Get away from me!” His hands gripped at his hair. The light shone a murky gray over him, the dust spiraling around his body. All of the light disappeared for half a second–the flashlights, the equipment, the sun–

Everything came back, brighter, and less than five feet in front of them stood a massive, ancient looking floor-length mirror that hadn’t been there before.

Several things happened at once.

Lance screamed. The mirror shattered. Keith felt claws gripping his arm as he tried to lunge for Lance. The floorboards below them gave out. Darkness.

Keith felt a searing pain in his side, and a throbbing in his head. He belatedly realized he still had his flashlight in his hand and slammed it against his hand until it worked again. He stood slowly, legs shaking, and coughed when he inhaled dust.

“Lance?” He asked, voice wavering. Then, more sure: “Lance!”

Keith heard a responding groan and raced to it as fast as his injuries would allow. He dropped the flashlight and kneeled by Lance, who was curled into the fetal position, whining in pain, though he didn’t have any visible wounds. Unlike Keith, who could feel the blood warm and sticky at his side, plastering his shirt to his skin.

“Lance?” Keith asked gently, turning Lance over to look at his face. Lance was dazed, eyes glassy and unfocused. “Lance!”

Then, the room started to quake violently. Keith wildly waved his phone around him, trying to gague the room while shielding his eyes from falling debris. Around him, pantries and shelves were rattling and shaking, their old glass bottles like a sick imitation of windchimes, before falling and smashing on the floor. The wooden planks on the walls thumped against each other, splintering at every crash. Keith curled over Lance, who was still unresponsive.

Then, a voice.

A raspy voice, like a sharp stone scraping against a metal plate, ear-bleedingly shrill and gritty. The voice spoke in a language Keith couldn’t understand, yet it still made his blood run cold. He swaddled Lance into his arms protectively, cradling him, a hand going to clutch at his knife.

A figure, foggy at the edges like an old watercolor painting, appeared in front of him, glowing with a pulsing light, flickering in and out of existence. The only things Keith could make out were thin strands of stringy, messy hair and long fingernails caked with blood and dirt. The figure had no mouth. Its eyes were blank. And yet it spoke, inching closer, a twitching arm reaching towards Lance’s limp body. Keith bared his teeth, knife raised threateningly.

Lance twitched. The figure’s hand came dangerously close to brushing a claw against Lance’s face, and Keith saw red, slashing viciously at the arm. The creature gave an indecipherable sound of agony, loud and harsh and grating. Then it surged backwards as if being forcefully dragged away, a heavy wind followed their movements, throwing broken glass and rubble into Keith’s back. He hunched over Lance, who had started to shift.

When the wind died down, Keith felt Lance shiver. Then, he convulsed violently, gasping desperately like he was struggling for air. A hand gripped Keith’s arm, the other going to claw at his neck.

“Oh shit, shit shit!” Keith hissed to himself. He stuck his knife between his teeth so he could use his free hand to pull Lance’s nails away from his own throat. Keith immobilized Lance’s hand by grabbing it with his own, a facsimile of how their fingers had been intertwined before. Lance’s body spasmed a few more times before going still again, his breathing evening out.

Keith stared into Lance’s eyes and felt a wave of relief wash over him when they refocused.

“….Keith?” Lance’s voice was a whisper. “Why do you have your knife in your mouth? ….And why is it glowing?”

Keith blinked. Lance sat up slowly and Keith used the hand not holding Lance’s to take the blade out from his teeth. He turned it in his hand, quizzically. The familiar runes were glowing a neon purple–which provided them with light, thankfully, since Keith had no damn idea where the flashlight went.

“Do you remember what happened?” Keith asked. Lance rubbed his forehead with his palm, looking pained.

“I….uh…there was this presence, and it kept slamming into my head, trying to get in…it was so dark, Keith, like, usually with ghosts I feel some of what they feel but this one was nothing… it was just…empty.” Lance swallowed. “Then there was a mirror and it showed me everything. Everything that had ever happened in this house, all of the people who died here, what happened to them. The images just kept coming and coming over and over and I could hear them. Eventually the screaming stopped and it was crying but worse than that was the silence. Because when there was silence there was nothing to hide the rest of the sounds of the machines and the hacking and the sizzling–oh god, Keith.”

Lance threw himself into Keith’s arms, burying his face in Keith’s shoulder, his arms flung over Keith’s neck. Keith couldn’t imagine what Lance had been through. Lance took a few, shuddering breaths before he pulled away.

“We…should really get out of here,” Lance mumbled, not looking at Keith.

“Yeah, we need to get Hunk and Pidge and never come back to this shithole.” Keith stood, wincing at the pain in his side. Now that Lance was okay, the wound had made itself known again, tenfold.

“Shit, Keith, are you okay?” Lance tried to look at Keith’s side, but Keith gritted his teeth and shook his head. “I’ll be fine. We just need to figure out where the hell we are and how to get back before that fucking thing shows up again.”

“…What thing?”

“The fucking ghost thing, whatever the fuck it was. It tried to touch you when you were, uh, out of it. But then it left.”

“Jesus Christ.” Lance’s voice was strained. “Long nails? Ugly long hair with garbage split ends?”

“…yes?”

“Fuck. Yeah, okay, we really gotta leave.”

The two had guessed they were somewhere in the kitchen storage, and that the servant’s quarters should be nearby. From there they could find a staircase and get the fuck out. Lance mentioned Hunk and Pidge, and when Keith suggested checking their phones, Lance dejectedly told him that the ghost probably drained all their batteries.

“Tell me, doc, is it bad?” Lance said dramatically, eyes shut as he held out his phone to Keith.

“Shut up,” Keith said in lieu of admitting Lance was totally right.

The floors were littered with old junk they had to step around–bottles and furniture and broken things Keith didn’t want to compare to bones. Lance clung to him, whispering prayers under his breath. Every once in awhile Lance would cringe and tuck his face into Keith’s arm, whining quietly as they stood stock still. In those moments activity would pick up again, and Keith’s body would stiffen at every scrape, drag, and crash he heard around them. They always moved a little faster when they heard any sound come from behind them, though.

Eventually they stumbled into the servant’s quarters, which was marked with an old, faded sign on the wall.

“Yanno, this place kinda reminds me of a Skyrim dungeon, yanno? All the old wooden furniture and weird glitches from the fucking ghosts really bring that atmosphere together.” Lance muttered. While Keith didn’t see anything, Lance would swear up and down he could catch glimpses of blood splattering on the walls, old chains swinging from the ceiling, giant cockroaches skittering across the floor, doors and chairs blinking in and out of existence. He said it had something to do with the bad energy of the house messing with him–whatever was haunting the place had some real twisted visions.

Lance held Keith’s hand as they crossed the small room. Keith was seconds away from testing the first of the weak looking steps when Lance suddenly stiffened. Color drained from his face as he stared directly at Keith, whispering one word:

“Run.”

They had started barreling up the staircase, hand in hand, when the room behind them exploded. Metal cutlery and splintered wood bursting forwards, the ancient bedframes jumping from their places to shoot through the ceiling. They heard a high-pitched scream from somewhere in the house. The raspy voice came back with an animalistic screech.

Keith could see fucking light at the top of the staircase when suddenly his hand was jerked down.

“Fuck!” Lance yelled. He yanked his foot from where it had broken a hole in through the stair, but it woudln’t budge. The disaster of the servant’s quarters was drawing nearer, the cold presence of the ghost nipping at Keith’s ankles. Keith let go of Lance’s hand–noting with desperate heartbreak the sad, resigned look on Lance’s face at the action–and moved to grip Lance at the waist with both arms, wrenching him out of the floor and throwing his body over his shoulder to race up the rest of the way. The stairs they had passed started to shatter behind them, one by one, and clawmarks slowly appeared on the walls, rising along behind them, gaining more and more speed until Keith was bounding two steps at a time to avoid getting caught on the splinters. By the time they reached the top step, Keith hurled Lance into the next room and turned to slam the door behind him, his knife still clutched in hand.

Keith’s chest heaved, the pain burning sharply. He knew the wound at his side had most likely torn even deeper. Keith’s eyes caught on the soft glow of his knife as it pulsated under his palm, slow and steady. From behind him, Keith heard a pained groan.

“Oh, shit– Lance.” Keith turned to see Lance sprawled on the floor, legs thrown up against the side of a counter at the far end of the small room.

“Wow, thanks Keith. If I wasn’t injured before I sure as fuck am now. Jesus.” Lance crossed his arms, looking entirely un-pleased at the turn of events. He looked pretty silly like that, pouting and upside down. Keith laughed breathlessly, partially from the image, and partially from the sheer overwhelming emotional overload he was experiencing. Lance grinned back, laughing just as breathlessly as he laid there on the floor.

“So…” Lance started after their laughter had pittered out.

“Yeah…” Keith responded.

“Where are we now?”

“Uh, the servant’s kitchens, I think. Around here there should be a back door, but there’s gonna also be a few hallways and sitting rooms or something.”

“Okay…let’s get walking I guess,” Lance said. He reached his arms out in a grabby motion. “Help me up? The blood is rushing to my head.”

Other than some bruises, Lance was fine. Keith was praying they could finally leave without anymore fanfare. They were making their way down the only unblocked hallway, heart rates finally slowing back to some kind of normalcy, when they heard the awful, horrible, dragging of claws behind them.

“Oh come the FUCK on!” Lance cried. He and Keith started running again. “We JUST got away from this bitch!”

The hallway seemed to grow infinitely longer, the end twisting and morphing like a bad optical illusion. Keith felt bile rise in his throat. Lance groaned and clambered for Keith’s hand, trying to keep steady.

A mirror appeared in front of them and Lance screamed. This time, Keith could catch a glimpse of what was reflected. He saw a familiar set of eyes staring back at him solemnly before Lance had pulled him into a room. Another mirror appeared in the doorway before being immediately shattered, forcing Keith and Lance to step back further into the room.

The figure appeared in front of them again. Keith tugged Lance behind him. The figure once again reached its clawed arm towards Lance, and Keith growled deep in his throat. He sharply raised his knife, its light suddenly intensifying. The creature hissed, rearing back. Keith slashed towards it blindly, emboldened but not thinking properly. The creature screamed and vanished again. Keith looked down at his knife.

“I think…I think it’s afraid of my knife…” Keith mumbled, “Why the fuck is a ghost afraid of my knife?”

“I….I don’t know Keith…” Lance panted in between breaths, “Maybe…maybe I’ll fucking ask her when she’s not trying to kill us.”

“Her?”

Lance stiffened, looking uncomfortable.

“When that mirror appeared again…I saw her. She was just as pretty in life as she is now, Keith. Something evil seeped into this house a long time ago, and she became its keeper.”

Then there was silence.

“Let’s just go, Keith, I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

They started walking again. The hallway had returned back to normal.

At the end of the hall, there was a massive set of double doors. There were halls to the left and right, but they were blocked by rubble and holes in the floor. Once again, the only way to go was forward. Lance swallowed thickly.

“There is something really off about this damn room,” he muttered. Keith nodded, somehow able to feel what Lance was saying.

The doors opened much too easily–smooth and quiet, as if maintained. They were in perfect condition. The room they contained was packed floor to ceiling with books, desks and corkboards and flyaway papers everywhere. The room smelled heavily of ink and chemicals.

“It’s…the study.” Keith furrowed his brow. The ceiling was glass, so the whole room was illuminated with bright daylight. Unlike the other rooms, this one was void of dust, and stood perfectly still and golden, as if frozen in time. They walked forward cautiously.

Pristinely on the back wall, high above their heads, the centerpiece of the room: an enormous, oil painted family portrait.

“It’s…the Zarkons, right?” Lance had whispered.

There had been no evidence left of the family’s existence aside from their name, and the cryptic blueprints that had been scrounged up from old records. The portrait showed a mother, father, and young child–though the faces of the father and child had been burnt away, and the mother’s eyes had been savagely scratched out.

The massive wooden doors slammed shut behind them. The ghostly figure that had been stalking them stood once again before them. Mirrors appeared around her, encircling the room. Reflected in them was the painted mother, with her serene smile and clawed x’s over her eyes.

Keith held his dagger securely. In knowing it would protect them, somehow, he felt stronger. Fleetingly, a thought crossed his mind and he quietly gave thanks to Red, who he kept thinking about ever since Lance mentioned her. He apologized for being shit at taking care of himself when she was trying so hard. Despite that, though, he knew he was at least going to go down fighting, and he was going to go down fighting tooth and nail to protect Lance.

The figure started approaching them once more, the mirrors closing in along with her creaking movements.

“Fuck! If we’re gonna die here, I gotta say something–” Lance cried. Keith wanted to tell him they would get out alive, but Lance interrupted before he could– “I love my family so much, and I miss them a lot; I wish I’d told Hunk how much I appreciate him; I should’ve reminded Pidge how fucking brilliant they are, and fuck, Keith, I should’ve told you I liked you sooner.” Then Lance did something unthinkable. He darted forward and pressed his lips to Keith’s cheek, firmly but for just a second, then hid his face into Keith’s neck again.

Keith barely had the time to process Lance’s words when a rush enveloped him–a thrumming wave, as if he were caught underwater in a storm. It pounds in his head and he could feel it down to his teeth but it was somehow empowering. Somehow familiar. And the creature drew forward quicker and Keith’s knife grew so bright it overpowered the sunlight in the room so there was nothing but a bright, bright white and Keith lunged forward towards the creature. He shoved his arm forward, stabbing his knife and pushing it deeper into something he couldn’t fathom, he distantly heard screaming but it was muted and drowned by the thrumming in his head and he felt powerful in every bone in his body, his hands gripping the handle of his blade. He felt another set of hands over his own and with that he was able to finally force his way through.

The light faded. It took awhile for Keith’s eyes to adjust, but when they did, he was faced with the unnervingly empty study, the mirrors and the figure gone. Exhausted, Keith collapsed to his knees, looking up at the skylight with glazed eyes.

“Holy shit…” Lance whispered, awe and disbelief in his voice. He kneeled by Keith, grabbing the other’s face to look him dead in the eye, an exhilarated expression on his face. “Keith…I don’t know how the fuck you did it but– you did it. She’s…I’m…she’s gone!”

Then Lance, still gripping Keith’s face, pulled that face forward to firmly press his lips to Keith’s.

“That was so fucking awesome, Keith.” Lance was breathless when he pulled back, the adrenaline mixing with their relief in an intoxicating combination that made people do stupid, wonderful things like kiss their amazing, wonderful, stupid friends.

Keith’s brain still hadn’t caught up to the events that had occured when Lance gasped and suddenly turned.

Keith’s eyes focused on another figure, this one more complete and solid looking than the last, with a face Keith had only ever seen in old photographs in the backs of closets. The new figure looked down on them without a smile, but the look in her familiar eyes was soft.

“…Mom?” Keith’s voice was so, so small. She slowly lowered to the floor, appearing weightless still. She slowly picked up the knife from where it had clattered to the floor. Keith timidly reached a hand to meet hers as she handed him the knife. She smiled softly at him, before blinking out of his sight.

Before either Keith or Lance could say anything, the wooden doors burst open again, but instead of a ghost, it was Shiro, in full uniform.

“Keith! Are you okay?” Shiro approached them, and Lance looked extremely confused and shocked.

“Woah okay, did I get knocked out in that weird blast because I can’t be having that hot firefighter dream again what the fuck,” Lance mumbled only half-coherently.

“Ew, Lance what the fuck that’s my brother.”

“Oh…oops….sorry Keith,” Lance said distractedly, watching as Shiro lifted away some heavy debris from the door.

Eventually they were out of the house, escorted safely by Shiro, who Lance could not keep his eyes off of.

The moment they stepped out onto the grass they both had an armful of Pidge barreling towards them.

“Y’all are idiots, holy shit,” Pidge had yelled at them, pounding their tiny fists into their chests angrily.

“Ow, Pidge, injured here.” Keith had muttered, still a little bitter about the way Lance’s face was bright red when Shiro went to check for injuries on him. When Keith spoke, Shiro’s head snapped up and he immediately went to his brother.

“How bad is it?” Shiro said, motioning for Hunk to come over with a first aid kit in hand.

“Uh…” Keith tried to lift his shirt and winced. Shiro’s brow furrowed.

“Holy shit, Keith.” Lance’s eyes were back on him, extremely concerned. Keith was a little smug about having Lance’s attention again, for some damn reason. Why was he–

“Oh.“ Keith’s lips slowly slunk into a devilish grin. He couldn’t mention it in that exact moment–not with everyone around–but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t say anything the second he got the chance.

The hospital was a blur, but Keith was able to zone out while his side got patched up, and was finally able to process what had happened. Sort of. He was at least able to think about it a little bit, but in the end, he boxed away thoughts of his mother for another, more mentally stable day, choosing to instead remember how Lance smelled like fresh flowers when he was near, and how soft his hands were when they held his face.

Keith shouldn’t have been allowed out of the hospital so quickly, but they made it happen somehow, probably because of Shiro. They’d all decided to go out for a celebratory picnic at the park, because apparently Hunk cooked a lot when he was stressed, and was making sandwiches nonstop for the few hours Keith was in the hospital.

Lance had already told the others what had happened on their end–with a lot of embellishment, and suspiciously leaving out the confession and the appearance of Keith’s mother. In turn, Pidge told them what happened to themselves and Hunk: they’d been chased around by the ghost, and it smashed all their equipment, but they were able to get out through a boarded up door that Hunk apparently “shredded with his bare hands”, though they panicked when they realized Keith and Lance weren’t with them and immediately called Shiro.

Eventually, Keith noticed that Lance had wandered off away from the group. Keith searched for him, also sneaking away to follow where the other was. Sitting in the bed of Keith’s truck with a blanket from the backseat, Lance was staring at the slowly pinkening sky with a far-away look on his face.

“Party too boring for you?” Keith said casually, laughing a little as Lance jumped.

“Oh, hey Keith,” Lance replied, smiling. “How’s your side?”

“It’ll be fine.” Keith bit his lip, risking a chance by moving to sit next to Lance. His legs dangled off the side, and Lance’s were curled up under him criss-cross. “So…today has been fucking insane.”

“Oh Christ. Understatement of the damn year. Worst haunting of my life, I never want to step foot anywhere near another house that’s more than fifty years old ever again.”

“I keep thinking about everything that had happened…I know it’s all over but…” Keith sighed, noting how Lance looked at him a little worried, “…I feel like there’s something we haven’t finished…”

Keith shifted to face Lance more fully, one of his legs lifting to rest on the other side of Lance’s body in the truck. Keith leaned in slowly, a crooked grin on his face. He felt Lance’s breath on his face, and the stumble in its rhythm when Keith moved closer. Looking into Lance’s pretty blue eyes he saw them focusing on Keith’s mouth before flicking up to meet his eyes.

“It might be the painkillers messing with me, but I distinctly remember it went a little something like this…” Keith gently took Lance’s hands and placed them on his own face. Lance’s tongue darted to wet his lower lip before he made a quiet, frustrated noise and pulled Keith’s face to his own–just like he did before, only this time, Keith met him with equal fervor, arms coming to rest on Lance’s waist and tugged him closer, Lance lifting onto his knees to slot in between Keith’s thighs. Their kiss was warm and slow. When they pulled back, Lance’s face had a dazed looking grin, and Keith felt bubbly and gooey in his chest, knowing he had the same goofy smile.

“So…wanna go out for some coffee or something?” Lance asked impishly.

“I just saved your skinny ass from an evil ghost, the least you could do is take me out,” Keith replied, just as playful.

“Dork.” Lance leaned his head onto Keith’s chest, relaxing like a lazy cat while Keith’s arms came to circle around him. Keith reached over to drape the blanket over both of them, and Lance sighed contently as he snuggled up closer. They whispered stupid jokes to each other as they watched the sunset.

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