Just a little story I came up with after watching some pretty depressing television and listening to pretty depressing music (Glee cover of "No Surrender" is definitely worth a listen). Warning: Character death. May have some triggers, I'm not really sure. I don't own X-Men Evolution sadly. It belongs to Marvel (or Fox since Fox owns X-Men?) one of the two. Anyway, enjoy!

"We made a vow we swore we always would remember: no regret, baby no surrender."

If there was one well-known fact at Bayville High, it was that Lance Alvers and Pietro Maximoff absolutely hated school. Lance thought it was boring and really only showed up to see his friends, and Pietro was arrogant enough to think he didn't need to learn anything his teachers tried to teach him. Maybe they were onto something, though. After all, they were sure to have learned quite a bit from the various scuffles and full-out battles they'd been involved in through the years.

But after the accident, things had started to change for Lance. He became quiet, almost reserved, two words no one ever would have pegged on him before. But back then a person couldn't think "Lance" without thinking "Pietro" short after. And after the accident, there was no "Pietro" left to think about.

Lance was quiet because he was remembering, remembering the times with his enemy-turned-best-friend. Once they'd settled their differences, they were never apart. It was almost unnatural, unsettling even to see one without the other nearby. In a way, it was almost necessary for them to be together. They balanced each other out. Which is what made the events that had passed all the more tragic.

"Come on, let's go home," Pietro had said to the darker haired male. He'd let Lance drag him to some stupid football game at the school that turned into an evening of Lance trying and failing to get with a certain Kitty Pryde. Normally Pietro would've acted as a wingman without a second thought, but he didn't have the energy, not that night.

"Fine," Lance had eventually sighed.

He should've waited. If they had left just a little bit later, they wouldn't have been hit by that drunk driver. And if they wouldn't have been hit by that drunk driver, Pietro would still be there with him.

He visited the younger boy religiously, and every visit turned out in about the same way. "Damn it, Maximoff," Lance would sigh as he stared at the stretch of land before him. "I thought we had a deal. I don't leave you, and you don't leave me."

Everything had happened so fast. Two teens, probably upperclassmen at the local school, were headed home. They were laughing without a care in the world when another car T-boned the Jeep passenger-side. The older boy threw his arm out in front of the younger to keep him from falling forward, but that couldn't stop the side-impact.

Lance swore ferociously. Whether he was angry at the other driver for hitting them or at himself for not seeing it in time, he never would be sure. After a quick evaluation, he determined he was okay enough to move. He unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to check on Pietro, knowing the speed demon got the brunt of it.

He swore again when he saw how bad off his friend was. Glass shards were embedded in Pietro's forehead, blood trickling down from them. The right side of his face was bruised and swollen. Glassy blue eyes met concerned brown ones before closing as the teen fell unconscious.

Lance never quite moved on, and he never stopped blaming himself. The others had tried to convince him that there was nothing he could have done, but he never listened. Kitty was the worst. She never gave up. "I mean, you didn't see the guy coming at you," she had said.

"Yeah, but had we stayed…" Lance tried to argue.

"Then it would've happened to someone else," Kitty cut him off. "And they'd be going through this exact same thing. Bottom line is you can't go back."

And after hearing her say that, Lance stopped talking to her, at least on a basis other than exchanges deemed required by society.

The others said they didn't blame him, but he was convinced they were all liars. Wanda wouldn't even look at him after being told what had happened. And why shouldn't they be upset? He'd gotten off without a scratch. He could have walked away like the other driver had.

Lance shook Pietro, trying and failing to get him to wake up. "Come on man," he said. "This isn't funny. Wake up." Before he knew it, first-responders had arrived. He didn't want to leave his friend's side, but he had to. He had to trust they knew what they were doing even if he didn't want to.

Some days were worse than others, but the nights and mornings were the worst. During the day, he could distract himself. But at night, he was left to his own devices, and the memory haunted him. Eventually sleep would win out.

And every morning, Lance went through the same routine. Every morning he forgot Pietro wouldn't be waiting downstairs with some stupid comment about Lance's hair. And then every morning, he would remember what had happened. Every morning was like a slap in the face.

But life went on. And life would continue to go on. And eventually, Lance would have to adjust because one day, he would get married. And one day he would be telling his kids about the stupid things he and his best friend did as kids and why he wouldn't tolerate similar actions from them. While he knew he'd never be the same again, he would move on. Lance knew everything would not be fine. He knew nothing would be normal again. But normal was a relative term. It was time for him to make his own normal. He needed to look out for himself.