Summary: Lance tries to make pancakes at 3 in the morning, and ends up thinking about his life…or lack thereof. Oneshot.
Disclaimer: I do not own the animated series Sym-Bionic Titan.
Comfort Food
Lance picked up the cookbook again, careful not to press it against his dirty white shirt. "Melt a pat of butter in a 5-inch skillet, coating the bottom." he recited, carefully cutting a piece off of the yellow brick. The teen placed it in the warm pan and set the book down on the counter.
"Next, whisk the eggs and the milk in a large bowl…" Lance trailed, "Done that." He held the finished batter to his chest like a child held a stuffed toy after the rest of his house burnt down. And considering what the kitchen looked like, an accidental fire could help.
Dried batter stuck to the marble countertops as well as the remains of eggshells dotted the walls at various points. Flour seemed to be everywhere, powdering the room and giving it a dusty feel. Lance's clothes didn't fare much better, the white sleep shirt and grey pants having glops of failed batter spattered on them.
This was his fourth try, after all. But Lance was nothing if not determined. Determination was what brought him this far in the first place. It served him well in the Galalunian Military, and it'll serve him well here, hiding on an alien planet, trying to make alien food.
Pancakes, to be specific. It was an Earthling specialty, a quick bread cooked using a hot metal plate, usually served with a syrup of some sort and other assorted breakfast foods. The directions he found even stated this recipe to be 'very easy', so it couldn't be that hard to master.
If this was 'very easy', he'd like to see the more complex ones. That would keep him busy for weeks.
The butter finished liquefying in the pan, so Lance read the cookbook again, "…pour a ¼ of a cup of batter in the middle of the pan." He did as such. "Wait until it bubbles and dries at the top, then carefully flip it over."
So Lance waited…
And waited…
And waited…
Did it blink? The teen shook his head, thinking that it must be the sleep he needs catching up on. "I need to do this," he thinks, "Ilana (and I) can't stomach another one of Octus' 'experiments'…"
"Oh. The bubbles popped. Now what? The direction say to flip it over, so maybe…" Lance casually ignored his instincts and reached out at the half-fried treat…
"Ow!"
…And immediately burnt his fingertips. He stuck his fingers in his mouth to ease the pain. "Wow." he thought, "I wonder if the book will give me an answer…"
The teen turned to the utensils section of his cookbook, scanning for an unknown word. The elusive 'spatula'. He had ignored that word the first time he read through. Like 'whisk' it meant nothing to him. Now he knew better.
Lance sped around the destroyed kitchen, furiously searching for what looked like a Wenddekon dagger, only much less sharp. He studied one for a class back at the Academy. The weapon itself was lightweight and required some intelligence to attack properly, but was only good for close-combat situations. And, really, Lance preferred a sword for that sort of thing.
He calmly turned over his confection, which was now smoking a little and bubbling violently. He saw the black underside and scowled. "Burned." Lance pronounced, tossing it straight into the trash can.
Burned food was one of the odd things about this planet. It wasn't that much of an accomplishment, but some humans took pride in burnt things, stating that they liked things 'crispy'. Whatever that meant.
Lance quickly tried again with more batter, leaving it to bubble in peace while he waited.
No matter the reason, burned food seemed…special to him. Back when he called Galaluna home, there were few times to savor overcooked food, especially when everything was run by robotic servants. It brought back memories of before the Academy.
He casually flipped the pancake, the moves mechanical.
Lance didn't know he had those memories. In, and after the Academy, he was just another student, another potential soldier, and then a Corporal. No one had thought to look past his title, and his record.
He flipped his next try over, gauging the time it took to brown.
Here on earth, he was Lance, a teenager with a habit of being very awake at two in the morning. And this particular routine gave him time to think: was it out of some twisted loyalty to a man long dead that he does this, or was it always Lance? When did the death-seeking warrior end and the stoic-yet-smiling older brother begin?
By this time, he had stacked enough pancakes to fill a plate. It didn't sit right with him. "Won't Ilana want some? Can Octus even eat this?" he thought, then shrugged. He started this, he might as well finish it. "Besides," Lance smiled, "good things come in threes."
'I am an orphan.' That much Lance knows. His family was gone before he even reached his first decade of living. He was assigned to a regiment of soldiers and was expected to follow them. Lance didn't, but the battle was won anyway, so why complain?
He was one year away from becoming a full adult, not that anyone cared. Lance's life ended and began with the Military. Endless missions, cycling through training and violence ate up his time, peppered with occasional stints in jail and 'talks' with the King.
That was 'life' and he was 'living'…right?
Maybe.
He checked the clock-3:36. Octus would be up-but if he didn't come down already, he didn't want to. Lance was fine with that.
In fact, he was done. Three plates of warm pancakes stood before him, some off color, some with holes, some misshapen, but all were made by him. For his family. For himself. For no reason at all. Whoever Lance was back then, it didn't matter. He was here now, and he'll make the most of it.
Or, at least, that was what he thought while he drifted to sleep on the couch…
Morning dawned, illuminating the house in pale sunlight. Ilana tossed herself down the stairs-full to bursting with energy for the day. She took a step over to the kitchen, fully expecting to see Lance eating some fruit, or maybe some cereal.
She really didn't expect this.
"Lance!" she shook his arm, which was currently being used as a pillow. "Lance, wake up!"
He took a deep breath in, then cracked his eyes open, sunlight pouring in his eyes, "Ilana! What is it?" he jumped up from his sleeping position, instantly awake. "What's going on?"
"We're late for school! Come on!" Ilana tugged on her brother's shirt, anxious. "If we hurry, we can still make it when they open the gates!"
Lance smiled, "Oh." then fell back on the couch, "G'night, Ilana."
"Wait! You can't do that!"
"Watch me." Lance curled up away from the sun.
"You can't fall asleep! As Crown Princess of Galaluna, I'm ordering you to get up and drive me to school!"
"And as your bodyguard, I deem that unnecessary and falling asleep anyway."
"Wha-NO FAIR! Octus, Lance is insubordinate!"
"Am not!"
"Are too!"
"Then, I'm going to my bed!"
"Well, FINE!"
"…"
A sigh was heard, "Teenagers…"
The End
Author's notes: Yes, that is Octus at the end. With this much sibling rivalry, it's a wonder that he even gets out of his room in the morning.
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Ill