A/N

Klance Zombie Au, need I say more? This fic is inspired by fanart by elentori-art on Tumblr

Disclaimer: I do not own Voltron or any of the characters.

"The door the door the door! Get the door!" Keith screamed as he slammed the window down, wincing as three disembodied hands landed on the ground by his feet. The zombies on the fire escape pounded against the glass, but luckily for Keith and Lance this city had seen enough hurricanes that each sky scraper came equipped with storm windows.

Keith wheeled around in time to watch as Lance vaulted over the desk and managed to kick the door shut just as the hoard of zombies that had chased them up the stairs crashed into it from the other side.

"Thanks," Keith sighed and slid down the nearest wall in exhaustion, "though maybe next time it wouldn't have been such a close call if you would cut it out with the acrobatics."

Lance shot him a tired glare and slumped into an office chair, "The quickest way to the door was over the desk. Excuse me if my legs are longer than yours."

He picked up a roll of tape from the desk next to him and wrapped it around where his sneaker had begun to tear. Keith made a mental note to force the group to stop by an abandoned Payless later; Lance couldn't be running around in cheap sneakers in the middle of the god damn apocalypse.

At the moment however, they were trapped somewhere on the sixth floor of an abandoned office building, with zombies at every prevalent exit. They had barricaded themselves in the, rather large, office of someone by the name of Brian Granvile.

Keith eyed the mahogany desk and expensive computer monitor. Six months ago that stuff would have mattered. It would've been a relatively accurate measurement of wealth and success; now however these luxuries were useless. Brian Granvile was probably dead, or else undead, and his office was being used by two scruffy teenagers currently fighting for their lives.

What a world.

"Well this is a disaster." Keith shut his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, trying not to think about how gross and sweaty he was, and what he wouldn't do for a fucking shower, "What, no witty comments, Sharpshooter? Any ideas to get us out of this mess?"

Lance just glared at him and went back to taping up his shoes. Keith tried not to show how much Lance's silence hurt. He missed his easy smile, and the raucous, undone way he used to laugh.

Keith even missed the way he could start fights with a single word. Maybe he had been a little too desperate for Lance's attention back then, but anything was better than this steely grim version of Lance that found himself above schoolyard arguments.

Most people had lost their lives when the apocalypse hit, and everyone who didn't lost their family, their friends, and pretty much everyone they had once known. Keith was lucky enough to have held on to a few of the people from his previous life, though some days he wondered if he actually had lost a few of them the day the world turned.

He quickly glanced away as Lance's eyes met his, and Keith realized he had been staring. He studied the two exits, and decided that the fire escape would be their best bet. The main stairs were packed, and at least on the fire escape they would be forced to attack one at a time.

He was suddenly glad he had agreed to come on this supply run. Lance had volunteered, and Shiro immediately pushed Keith to accompany him. His sword and Lance's pistols made a good fighting combination, so it made sense strategically.

On the other hand, Keith knew that Shiro always put them together in the hopes that they would resolve their differences, but as the days dragged on he was beginning to lose hope that that would ever happen.

Keith had lost hope long ago, but the least he could do was keep Lance alive. Lance was good with strategies, and long range combat, but once a hoard got within ten feet he needed backup to keep them at bay.

Keith checked his watch. It was nearly an hour past the latest time they had agreed to be back at camp by.

"Lance." Keith groaned as he twisted his shoulders and felt his spine pop, "We have to move, the others are probably getting worried."

Lance nodded and stood, testing out his newly repaired shoe. His expression told Keith it wasn't the best fix, but it would last them the trip back.

"Come on Cinderella, we'll get you new shoes in the morning." Keith attempted a halfhearted joke and felt the knot in his heart loosen as Lance bit back a smirk.

"Who're you calling Cinderella? I'm not the one who lost his shoe in the middle of that one track meet back in high school."

"I still beat your time." Keith smirked at him and was gifted with a rare laugh from Lance.

"If we get out of here, I want a rematch."

Keith lifted himself off the floor and stretched his arms, "You're on."

He hoisted their bag of supplies over his shoulder and crossed over to the window, getting a firm grip on the handle, and glancing back at Lance who stood a good ten feet back, both pistols at the ready.

In spite of the situation, Keith took a moment to memorize the way Lance looked in that moment.

His face was set in a grim expression, everything about the set of his lips and the hardness of his eyes told a story of loss that Keith was all too familiar with.

His old green jacket had more rips and stitches than Keith could count, but he couldn't really blame Lance for being sentimental; not when he himself still clung to his old red leather jacket.

His hands were steady, as they always were. His pistols had become like an extension of each arm, and ever since they had found a pair of silencers for them, Lance had become the deadliest long range member of their team.

His taped up shoe made Keith want to laugh, but if this was going to be the last clear sight he had of Lance, and it could very well be, Keith would prefer to keep Lance from ruining the moment by glaring at him.

With a sigh, Keith readied himself, and on the count of three, threw open the window.

Lance made quick work of the five zombies on the landing. Keith noticed with slight pride that lance had managed to peg each one directly in right eye socket. Cold and efficiently precise, were words that could be used to describe the way Lance fought nowadays; a far cry from the goofball he had once been.

Without hesitating Keith vaulted over the sill and began to hack at the zombies crowding the stairs in their path to the pavement. Lance kept his back pressed to Keith's and wiped out the threat from behind.

It took them barely five minutes to make it to the ground; a remarkable feat for anyone other than them, though their efforts had drawn a crowd.

The two of them took off running; Lance shot blindly over his shoulder, but Keith couldn't afford to focus on anything other than keeping up as he lugged the bag of supplies.

His heart pounded and his muscles ached, but he still managed to keep pace as they sprinted for the nearest abandoned car. Keith thanked his lucky star as he noticed the back window open and launched the bag inside, diving in after it.

Lance slid in after him and braced himself against the far door pistols already smoking as he kept the zombies away from the car long enough for Keith to hotwire it.

They both let out a victorious whoop as the engine sputtered to life, and Keith floored the gas pedal. The car bounced as they ran over a crawler, but Keith didn't let up as the speedometer quickly climbed.

Lance climbed into the passenger seat and rolled down his window.

"You're going to let the AC out." Keith complained, though he found himself grinning.

"Come on Keith," Lance turned to him, his thousand watt grin back in place, "Live a little!"

Keith's heart skipped a beat as he grinned back and thought to himself that maybe, just maybe, his Lance was still alive.

A/N

Pining Keith is my favorite trope, so get ready for more...

If you feel so inclined, feel free to leave a comment down below; just anything you liked, didn't like, want to see later on. Constructive criticism is always welcome!

Good Memories and Nightmares

- MDL