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Lance is in flames-
No, it’s more like drowning, lungs full to the brim, water in exhalation it’s-
Suffocating. No air, not anymore, and fire cannot burn without air so this is different, it’s pain without breath it’s-
Death. He is dying. Oh yes, that was it. Cells evaporating, disintegrating, which he knew was going to happen, knew when he took the hit this would be the way and yet-
Maybe this is not pain. Numb, excruciating. Ice crystals on a bed of snow. Time to defrost and he-
Misses water. Misses rain, ah yes there was always so much rain and ocean before, long before there was sky and space and death, and this feeling is familiar, but we only die once so how is it he-
You.
A memory. Of course, he had almost done this before. But he was there, Keith was there, yes, yes he
always
did remember, a recollection through snippets, if you will, because it was hard to collide his fiction and fact to make a memory, so this time, THIS TIME-
Keith is not here.
(Keith is not dead, why would he be here, Lance come on)
A different memory. Keith likes to forget, so Lance had tried to even the playing field, stand on the same terrain. But this is not then. New, no bonding, just breaking, molecules saturated in fire starter-
Shh, quiet, this is important, now where was he? Ah yes, Keith: rival, teammate, friend, leader, crush, wait no that one goes in a different order, and is one even the right word? Words are so hard in this empty space (can you have words in death, do you need a new currency of discussion?). What is the combination of letters that make Keith’s designation? Has it always been so warm in this place-
Keith. That’s a word, a name. Words. What was the last thing he said to Keith? Something...no recollection. Trivial, not memorable. That’s not good, not good at all, he should do something but-
Ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts-
Keith doesn’t know he’s dying. Keith should not know he’s dying (oh how Lance wishes Keith were here). Should he tell Keith’s he’s dying-
Keith would not smile if he died. Keith rarely smiles anymore, not last time he saw him through a screen. How does one make a Keith smile? He knew that number combination long ago-
Leave the math to Pidge
his voice
,
a memory
-
Lance is not a genius, but the reason they are so rare is the world survives on the rest of us. The normal, the ones who stand and go, just go, step in and make change, live out and carry out what the genius built. Otherwise, they’d just be theoretical, talking to one another with no sound. Anyway, five genius’ do not make Voltron so Lance is not so convinced it is a necessity, but in this moment wishes he could turn up his mind to a thousand and keep his brain on track-
Getting colder. Limbs without bones, so tired and cold-
Keith is the thing he had left behind with words unsaid, with time discontinued, moments to snatches. A thousand alternative versions spring from their memories together, each second in each others presence a new potential for if, when, why, now, here-
Why does it take dying to remember there was already so much there, in the corners, in the the gaps between speaking, in the thoughts before action, in the choices made without explanation?
Why does it take dying to admit I’d do anything to see you one more time?
When Lance wakes up, having taken a hit for someone who is not Keith, propped up by arms that are not his and given smiles that are not by his mouth, he wonders what he should do with those death throw feelings. If the vague notions and flashes of raw emotion should be nurtured and explored, if he could make anything of the ideas flowing from the fever dream death state and create a reality based on them.
Or, much like what had gone before, they should be preserved as memory, forever in the half-life of a world only dimly recalled.
Occasionally, it’s safer for things to stay frozen in their time.