Lance’s Funeral

by RachelleFaucet

A Klance au in which Keith discovers that him and only him can see Lance's ghost.

3. Vol 3

Past lives couldn't ever hold me down

Lost love is sweeter when it's finally found

I've got the strangest feeling

This isn't our first time around

~BØRNS / Past Lives

ooo

Keith invited all of Lance's friends to his house.

It was a crazy idea, mental even, but a necessary one. Unsure of how things would turn out, Keith told everyone to sit on the seats provided from his garage. They included overturned buckets, boxes full of books, and old, coverless pillows to name a few. Not getting many guests on a regular basis, Keith never found the need to provide places for a group to sit. But, here he was. Part of a circle of people including Hunk, Pidge, Allura, Shiro, and even Coran all staring patiently as they awaited Keith to explain why exactly they were gathered. Lance hovered in the center of the circle, his back to Keith, and lanky legs lifted in the air. He seemed to be scanning each one of his friends discreetly. Keith noticed the sadness in his posture, even without reading his expression. But, no matter. After this, everything would be set right.

"So..." Shiro spoke up after a long while of silence. "Why have you gathered us here?"

Lance snapped his head back, causing Keith's heart to sink. He wanted this so bad, so, why was he nervous? Perhaps it was that he didn't want to appear crazy? Or perhaps - just perhaps - he really was crazy.

Lance appeared pale and ghoulish, much worse than before. His light brown skin was blanched and smudgy. The beautiful blue of his eyes were completely overtaken by black, making him look like a true thing of nightmares. But, with the sorrowfulness prevalent in his features, Keith found it impossible to be scared. He knew for certain that the phantom before of him wasn't something to be shaken by. No matter what form he took on, Lance was Lance, and there was no changing that fact. And, no matter what, Keith was going to make sure his friends knew of his presence. Because, that was what they deserved. And, more importantly, that was what Lance deserved.

Keith's thumb ran across the belt of his jeans, then slid down to his pocket. He traced the outline of the letter he kept safely in his jeans, averting his eyes from the group. The paper seemed to give him courage. Keith finally swallowed back his worries, and spoke. "Uh, yes, well..." He met Lance's eyes before continuing. "Do any of you believe in... the supernatural?"

The group all shared questioning looks, their faces stunned. They were obviously not expecting a question such as that. After a moment of awkward silence, Shiro, once again, was the first to speak. "Why are you asking?"

"J - just because... I need you all to answer though. Because, I don't want you to find me insane, or whatever. So, like, I need you guys to have a open mind about this, because it's pretty fucking crazy. I mean, I don't think I even believe it myself!" Keith rambled. He wasn't used to piling so much information into so few sentences. It seemed like something Lance would do, not him. Was that damn ghost boy already rubbing off on Keith? Now, that was a scary thought.

Shiro sucked in his lips, giving a side glance to Allura, who sat directly beside him. Allura, her long, wavy, white hair tucked away into a tight bun, shrugged. "I mean... I'm not saying I believe in every little conspiracy, but I'm open minded."

Shiro nodded. "Same here. And, of course we don't think you're crazy."

"Oh, yeah." Hunk nodded. "There are definitely vampires out there somewhere, I know that much for a fact."

Coran twirled his mustache in agreement. "I thought I saw Bigfoot once, but it turned out to just be a really hairy guy with big, exposed feet. But, yes, I am determined to find the real thing one day. Just you wait."

Everyone stared at Pidge - the only one who hadn't spoken- anticipating an answer. Being a technology / science enthusiast, Keith wasn't sure what her response would be. With a sigh, Pidge answered, "No, but I'd like someone to prove me wrong."

"Ok..." Keith closed his eyes, fingers pressed against his pocket. "Just... none of you... please don't freak out."

All five guests drew in their eyebrows, and tended their shoulders. Keith didn't blame him. The cliche he uttered was something out of every sci-fi in the history of books and cinema. And everyone knew what that meant. Trouble.

With another deep inhale, Keith finally pushed the words he wanted to say out. "I can see ghosts. Well, not plural. Singular. Like, I can see a ghost. And, yah, so..."

Everyone fell silent, their expressions unreadable. Keith's face turned a dark shade of red, his throat on fire. They definitely thought he was crazy now. Lance's head fell into his palms, as though he was embarrassed for Keith.

"That's, uh..." Shiro was finally lost for words.

"I can prove it!" Keith cut in. Swiftly, he bent down, and snatched a book from off his junk veiled floor. Holding it out with one hand, he gestured Lance foreword. The ghost, a tad hesitantly, floated next to him. The others watched in terror as Keith's eyes followed a seemingly unseen entity.

"Pick it up." Keith whispered, shoving the book in Lance's direction.

Lance looked down at it nervously. "Are you sure about-"

"Yes, I'm sure. Let's just get this over with."

"There's something... There's something I didn't tell you... it's just..."

"What do you mean?" Keith demanded through his lined jaw.

Lance nearly vanished, then regained his shape. He seemed to do that whenever he grew nervous. "I tried before, but... I told you this, but it didn't work."

"What? How? Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Lance..." Shiro said in his classic consulting tone, though Keith could tell he was rattled. "If this is some sort of prank, it isn't funny."

The others were unable to speak. All the color from their faces drained away, as they attempted to wrap their brains around Keith's altered behavior. To them, he was talking to himself.

"I - it's not a prank!" Keith assured. "I'm serious! And, I'm talking to him now - the ghost. He's..." For a moment he considered explaining that the ghost was actually Lance, but decided against it. They didn't need to be any more upset than they already were. Keith shook the book in his palm impatiently. "Here, just hold it."

Lance's gaze narrowed, his stare trained on Keith. Finally, he gave him a nod, and attempted to take the book. When Keith believed the cover was securely in Lance's grasp, he let go of its binding. The book slipped past the ghost's fingers, landing on the hardwood floor with a bang. Keith's eyes widened. "W - what?"

"I tried to tell you..." Lance mumbled. "It doesn't work in front of other people."

Keith paused, jaw opened in awe. Then he grew mad. He felt heat rush up through his veins, turning his pale skin red. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought it would work!" Lance protested. "Well... I wasn't sure. I don't know. I was still able to touch objects when you were with me - so, I thought, maybe I could..."

Keith's arm trembled. He could barely stand. Great. Of course it wasn't that easy. It was foolish to think fate had any other plans besides complication in store for Keith. Biting his lip, he reached his hand out in attempt to touch Lance. But, as expected, he passed right through. A chill ran from Keith's fingers, down his spine. This wasn't good. No, this was terrible.

Lance's form became nearly transparent, then reformed, then faded away again. In that moment, Keith knew for certain everything was ruined. He no longer had a chance, nor direction. All he could do was wait, and wish things panned out in some sort of desirable way. But, at this point, he held no hope.

"Keith..." Pidge was the one to speak this time. Her tone was of a mother attempting to calm a child with a fit. "Is this about Lance?"

An uncomfortable wave of tension piled the moment Pidge uttered his name. Three days after his funeral was too soon to be speaking of him without sadness. But here he was, seated with Lance's dearest friends, discussing the incommunicable. Lance. The word was toxic to his ears.

"It's... no." Keith lied. "Just... I'm sorry..."

Shiro's shoulders loosened only slightly. "I know it's hard, Keith. It is for all of us. But this is no way to go about grieving."

"No, it's -" Keith started, averting his eyes to his shoes. "Yes... I know."

"If you ever need to talk about anything, - anything at all - we're here. Just remember that. We are all going through what you're going through." Shiro added.

"Yes." Allura agreed. "Lance was like a brother to me. And, out of all of us, you two were the closest."

Lance frowned at this. "Brother?" He pouted.

"I still remember the first time we met." The corners of Shiro's lips perked up into a fond, yet sad smile. "He wouldn't stop calling me Sheerios."

"Because Shiro sounds like Cheerios." Lance attempted to justify.

Keith had the urge to say, 'no you idiot' but knew better than to add fuel to the fire, further solidifying his supposed 'nutty' behavior.

"He was so fun and outgoing." Shiro continued. "He always found a way to entertain me on my worst days, and encourage me at my lowest points. No matter the situation, he only wanted to see the happiness of others shine through. He was such a good friend and role model for both us, and his young nieces and nephews. Truly someone to look up to."

Everyone but Keith and Lance nodded in confirmation, grunting to show they felt the same. Keith's stomach tightened as he caught the briefest side glance of Lance. The ghost boy had his lips in a thin line, his skinny eyebrows no longer arched cockily, as was his normal expression. Keith couldn't tell if he was upset, uncomfortable, or both. Either way, he had the sudden urge to get Lance out of there as soon as humanly possible, and at all costs.

"I met Lance in middle school, and our first confrontation was quite... interesting." Allura put in, crossing her elegant legs. "He brought me a bundle of blue flowers dressed in his best light blue, collared shirt. He had his hair slicked back, and everything!After school, he found me, fumbling over his words whist confessing his feeling towards me. He was so sweet and charming. But, unfortunately I had to reject him. He was grades below me, plus, I wasn't allowed to date at the time anyways. He was so humble about it, asking if we could still be friends. I said yes of course, and, to this day, it was the best decision I've ever made. I haven't regretted it for a second." She looked around, meeting everyone's eyes individually. "He introduced me to all of you, and that itself is a miracle."

"Aw, shucks." Pidge waved a dismissive hand in the air. "You're making me blush."

Allura giggled. "But it's true! All of you are miracles in my eyes, and that includes Lance. Especially Lance. He taught me how to have real fun, and helped me get over my stress. When I was sad, I was always reassured knowing I had a shoulder to lean on."

"He acted happy all the time, but he held a real sadness inside." Coran, his thick British accent - much like Allura's - was intentionally toned back, perhaps to make them all understand better. "He came to my class the first day, eager as always, and I knew from the moment I met him, he had great potential inside. Though he was sometimes... distracted and unmotivated, he was one of my best students. Out of my career, not just that particular class. He not only studied hard, but was interested in my lectures. After class, he would immediately come to me with questions, or just to talk. And, when other students and staff teased me for the way I act or how I sound, Lance was the first to stand up for me. In fact, if not for him, I don't know if I would still have my job. Yes, that boy was something else."

Keith saw Coran's purple eyes water. He sniffed once, biting back his tears. He always was such a soft hearted person. Caring, but a pushover. Lance was there to stand up for him when no one else would, and all out of kindness. And that aspect - including many more - was why Keith liked him so much. Hated him, but liked him. Catching a glimpse at the aforementioned ghost boy, Keith noticed he looked no better than before. Worse, actually. Lance tucked his knees to his chest, his bottom lip trembling. Oh crap.

"When I was alone and lost," Pidge went next, because, apparently, this entire thing had transfigured itself into an emotion spittle feast, and each person was making their rounds to the backstory hors d'oeuvres. Keith half listened as she went on. "he was there for me. Being a new student in fifth grade wasn't easy, especially for, well, a person like me." Pidge vaguely motioned to body, referring to herself being a trans girl. "In this crazy neighborhood, he was the first to accept me. But, he didn't care about my 'uniqueness', he liked me for me, and how could I ask for more? He was the best friend I've ever had, and I would do anything to bring him back." She paused, and took a deep, shaky breath. "Sometimes I wish it could've been me. I mean... Lance saved my life! Reminded me I did matter, no matter what the others said or did. Lance never once giving up on me. If only... If only I could've repay him. He did so much for all of us, but me? I should've appreciated him more. I - I should've-"

Allura stood, and raced to Pidge's side. Taking a handkerchief from her purse, Allura wiped away a streak of water that had fallen under Pidge's thick, round glasses. Sniffing, Pidge said, "I'm fine, really. I've cried enough already, It's time for me to be strong - for Lance."

"For Lance." Allura agreed, giving her friend a reassuring smile.

Keith heard another sniff, but it wasn't from Pidge, or any of the others. It was from Lance, and Keith - the only one able to hear it - felt his heart sink. Lance was crying. Actually crying. Keith watched as a transparent drop of water slid from Lance's contracted pupils, down his cheek, and to the ground below. It vanished the moment it touched the hardwood, leaving no trace of Lance's fleeting stability.

This meeting was too soon, and too much. Lance needed time to recover after his own funeral. Though he was laughing during it, and seemed to be having fun, Keith knew better. Sometimes hell isn't fire and demons, but a different kind of torture. Torture was dangling hope and love by a string, bating the victim to pounce. But, as the prize reaches moments from their grasp, it's yanked away. And what's worse, Lance didn't deserve all the crap he was being put through. Keith maybe, but Lance? That was the cruelest joke he had ever heard.

Pidge turned to Hunk, who had his knuckles balled on his knees. When he saw the attention redirected at him, he pointed to himself and made an O shape with his mouth. "My turn?" He asked. "Well, I've known Lance for, like, ever. We practically grew up together! We're like... brothers. Wherever he went, I followed, always ready to back him up. And, well... when I was at my lowest point, feeling like crud about myself and my body, he assured me I was just fine the way I was. So, like, he was my best friend, and - and -" His voice became squeaky. This obviously made him extremely upset.

This time, it was Pidge to rush to his side. She wrapped her short, skinny arms as far around Hunk's rounded belly as she could manage. Allura joined her, wrapping her arms around his arm on the other side of where Pidge sat. And, as a stream of tears fell from his face, both Shiro and Coran joined them, placing a hand on Hunk's shoulder from behind. "It's ok to cry." Shiro assured, tightening his grip on Hunk's shoulder.

"I think we should stop." Keith snapped, unintentional anger seeping through. Everyone fell silent and turned to him. Keith attempted to present himself calmer, but, being Keith, he didn't do well with softness. "I'm sorry, it's just... I don't need this right now, ok." And, by himself, he of course meant Lance.

Everyone looked expectedly dumbfounded, but especially Lance. His face was red, puffy, and surprisingly alive. Keith was about to grab his hand, and pull him to safety, when he remembered he couldn't.

"Lance, that's -" Shiro let his broad shoulders sag. "Yes, I understand. I see you... need some time for yourself."

Keith said nothing, but his expression was clear. He agreed. Keith promised himself not to cry. He couldn't. Not here, not now. Especially with Lance there to witness it. It seemed wrong. Hypocritical even.

Hunk ran his palm across his cheek, and shooed the others off. "I'm sorry, Keith..." He uttered, averting his gaze to the floor. "I didn't mean to make you upset."

"No, it's not you!" Keith protested, his fists clutching the sides of his baggy, red sweater. "I'm - I'm sorry. I thought I was ready, but I wasn't. I just -" He risked meeting eyes with Lance. "I need some more time to figure this out."

"This is stupid." Keith complained after the others left.

He wasn't addressing anyone in particular when he said it, but Lance responded despite. "This is useless." His body changed from a blue hue to a red glow. Keith noticed Lance's ghostly form shifted drastically depending on his emotions, and right now he wasn't feeling too pleased.

"Look, it's ok." Keith crossed his arms, and glanced down at his feet. "We'll figure this out somehow, just... hang in there."

Lance's color dimmed some. He maneuvered his legs back so he was floating with his back to the ceiling. Keith had to crane his neck to see him properly. Jeez, was this what it felt like to be short? Keith wondered why Pidge didn't own a neck brace or some crap. "Whatever, just - I need to be alone." Lance asserted, drifting backwards through the roof. The next minute he was immediately materialized back to Keith's side with a pout on his face. "Screw these dumb, ghost rules!" He yelled to the air, "What did I ever do to deserve this?"

"You didn't do anything, it's just- we'll figure this out."

"And how the hell are we supposed to do that?" Lance snapped.

Keith was glad he was no longer crying, but fighting wasn't the best runner up . "I don't know... There has to be some people who know about ghosts and shit. Physics? The cast of Ghost Hunters?"

"Dude, first off: that show is fake, and secondly: 99% of all people who call themselves 'physics' are bullshit. Plus, it's not like we know any -" Lance paused, his skin emitting a light yellow glow.

Keith raised a brow. "Think of someone?"

"No, no, it's just... No, it can't be. Just, ignore that."

"Ok... Well, since you're feeling better, I'll head to bed."

"Bed? Why?"

At first, Keith thought he was kidding, but then he remembered his extraordinary circumstance. "It's like, almost eleven. I have class tomorrow, I can't skip... again."

"Eleven?!" Lance's head perked up, and snapped back to look out one of the windows. "Already? But I thought it was morning!"

"Well, your instincts were off. Now, if you excuse me, I need to take a shower, before I turn into an even bigger, smeller turd."

"You already are a turd, but it's not like I can leave your side, so you'll just have to deal with me waiting outside the curtain."

At this, Keith winced. He suddenly remembered one crucial, unnerving, undeniable fact about his mangy, humble abode. His showers were glass.

ooo

Fumbling his confidence

And wondering why the world has passed him by

Hoping that he's bent for more than arguments

And failed attempts to fly

~Switchfoot / Meant To Live

ooo

Keith walked to class.

During this mind bore of a chore, he wasn't focused on the teacher, or anything else really. His mind thirst for answers, and, more importantly, how he could get them. Lance drifted back and forth around the classroom, his face slack with boredom. Keith's eyes tried not to follow the ghost boy as he did flips and seemingly impossible gymnastic positions midair, in favor of not looking like an insane asylum patient. For some reason, Lance's newly found condition granted him the blessing of inhuman flexibility. It was insane! Like watching fingers turn into hands, and those hands growing hands, and so on. Keith watched a lot of weird internet shit.

Pidge was also in his class. She sat beside Keith, shoulders slumped over her work, and cheek in her palm. Though she was smart - the smartest person Keith knew - Pidge looked drained. Her eyelids were halfway closed behind her thick four frames. She looked ready to die. He could relate. But, honestly, Keith didn't want to deal with another dead person. He was going crazy as was.

The professor, Mrs. Glenn - or Mrs. douche as Lance preferred - lifted a pointer from her desk, and slammed it against the board. Keith, Pidge, Lance, and the rest of the students jumped to attention. "Wake up, all of you!" She demanded, old, wrinkled face balled and red in anger. Her bright, bright, bright blond dye nearly blinded Keith whenever he glanced her way. Not to mention the volume her hair possessed. It was about half, no, two thirds her own height, and that was saying something. "Who am I teaching? A bunch of sloths?"

Keith and Pidge shared a look. Glenn was generally snappy, but this was at a whole other level. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed." Pidge whispered, leaning her chin on the books in front of her. She had dark eye bags and furrowed, light brown brows. She likely felt ten times as bad as she looked. Again, Keith could relate, but in a different sense. Instead of missing Lance's presence - as this was one of the classes they used to share - Keith missed Lance's former presence. Before he was doing gravity defying splits, or moving his hand in and out of Mrs. Glenn's monstrous poof. "You think one of her cats died?" Pidge asked, looking foreword.

"How do you know she has cats?"

"What? Never seen her Facebook? Gathering information on people is like, my existence. That and computers, but they sort of coincide." She shrugged. "If you ever need blackmail, just remember: I'm yah girl." She clicked her tongue, and pointed finger guns in Keith's direction. A very Lance-like gesture, which distorted Pidge's grin into a frown.

"Blackmail? On Mrs. Glenn?"

"Oh, you don't even know." Pidge's mouth - once again - changed into a devilish smirk.

"What sort of blackmail?" Keith lowered his voice.

"Ever seen a fat, elderly woman in riskay positions, wearing lacy lingerie?"

Keith gaged at the mental image. "Ew, no."

"Well, let's just say for a few good months I had the burning desire to cleanse my eyeballs out with bleach. It was a dark time. I still get nightmares."

Keith's tongue stuck out, trying to get the bad taste from his mouth. Mrs. Glenn - the greasy skinned, eye sore of a hairdo, old, and snippy teacher, posed in less than family friendly positions, exposing her womanhood for all to see. Well, it likely wasn't for everyone's prying eyes, but, somehow, Pidge managed to snag them. And that was scary. Pidge was scary. Keith didn't want to know how, when, or why. All he wanted was for someone to scrub the grotesque picture from his brain. And he thought Mrs. Glenn looked hideous fully clothed! Damn, Keith almost felt bad for her. He couldn't imagine the embarrassment which would come with others finding the photos. Pidge was a sadistic, evil genius.

"Sometimes," Keith said, "you scare me."

Up front, Mrs. Glenn gave another smack against the board. "What did I just say? I see you two in the back! Shut up, before I'm forced to kick you out."

Keith and Pidge's heads snapped foreword. They sunk farther back into their chairs. "Sometimes," Pidge added, "she scares me."

After another second of disapproving glares, Mrs. Glenn went back to teaching... whatever she was teaching. Honestly, all Keith heard were her annoying tongue clicks after every sentence. Logic, logic, click! Babble, babble, click! Nag, nag, click! Damn, how he longed to yank that woman's tongue from her throat, and jam it into a paper shredder. It was weird... Everything made Keith mad today.

Lance flew over to Keith's side, passing through many people and objects on the way. As he did, Keith saw the other students shiver, the hairs on their arms standing on end. "Yo, Mrs. Glenn has a major wedge. It's actually pretty disgusting."

Keith opened his mouth, but closed it promptly, remembering his... situation. With the briefest glance in Pidge's direction, Keith tried to keep his focus on the lesson. It was difficult.

With a frown, Lance continued, "Look, I know you can't talk to me in public, or whatever, but hear me out." Lance pointed to Mrs. Glenn. "Wait for her to turn, then look at her pants."

Keith narrowed his eyes. When Mrs. Glenn turned to the board, he got a good, clear shot of the back of her light brown slacks. And, as Lance forenamed, there it was. A wedge which transcended all wedges. The line dividing one cheek from the other was deep, dark, and long. Keith's fist flew to his mouth to try and not gag. Pulling out a sheet of notebook paper from beneath his books, he hastily scribbled: 'Gross! She looks naked.'

"That's nothing compared to what else I found!" Lance exclaimed, drifted to Keith's ear, and whispered like people could hear their conversation. "Did you know she keeps pictures of cats in her drawer?"

Keith snorted, then covered his nose and mouth beneath his palm. Pidge turned and raised a brow. Keith waved a hand in the air dismissively, causing Pidge to shrug and look away.

"I also found a few pages of Taylor Swift lyrics angrily written in red sharpie, and stapled to photos of her ex husband." Lance sucked in his breath. "It was scary. Some of the pictures had burn marks and knife stab wounds."

Keith let out another laugh, louder than before. It was a little thing, but enough that it garnered a handful of student's attention. Keith sunk back in his chair, praying to all things holy Mrs. Glenn hadn't heard him. She seemed to not have, which was fortunate. But, seriously. Lance needed to stop making him laugh. It was Lance's specialty, but Keith of all people wasn't the type to crack a smile at his antics. But, for some reason, today was the day that changed. It was odd. He felt both depressed, and giddy all at once. Pidge, once again, gave him another questioning glare. "Thinking of something funny." Keith whispered the phony excuse.

When all eyes were off him, Keith bent over his piece of paper, and twirled his red inked pen between his thumb and forefinger before printing: 'You need to stop before you get me in trouble.'

"What? Why? Making you laugh? But I'm just saying the truth." Lance protested, drifting his gas-like body backward. "I mean, you should have seen it. 'Cause, baby, now we got bad blood." He began to sing in the most atrocious, out of key voice Keith's ears ever had the displeasure of beholding. "You know it used to be mad love. So take a look what you've done. 'Cause, baby, now we got bad blood. Hey!" On hey, he raised his voice, and threw his hands up for that extra little pizzazz. He mimed a hair flip to imitate Mrs. Glenn's massive hair volume. Keith burst out laughing.

It was no single ha, nor a hushed chuckle. This chortle was big, grand, and noticeable. Everyone turned. A select few even joined in. Mrs. Glenn was not one of those people.

The saggy skin around Mrs. Glenn's face tightened into a scowl. "Mr. Kogane! Would you care to inform everyone what is so funny?"

"Ohhhh. Baby, now you got bad blood." Lance snickered.

"Nothing! I - it's!" Keith flashed a dirty look in Lance's direction before continuing, "I was thinking of something funny."

Mrs. Glenn let out a noise that could've been described as anything close to a snarl. With another click of her tongue, she turned her attention back to the board, exposing the... Grand Canyon running down the length of her pants. Embarrassed, Keith dropped his chin to the table, his shoulders drawn to his cheeks. He wanted to disappear. From beside him, Pidge stated rather bluntly, "Dude, you're seriously wack today."

"You're wack for using the word wack." Keith hissed back. He stared at the wooden desk and papers in front of him so Lance wasn't in his line of sight. He wanted to strangle that damn ghost boy.

"You were even wackier yesterday at that little... gathering." Pidge frowned, concern prevalent in her tone. "If you want to talk about anything -"

"I'm fine!" Keith assured in a snappy whisper-shout. Even he didn't believe himself. "Just... Tired."

Pidge adjusted the glasses on brim of her nose. With the way Pidge's skin scrunched between her eyebrows and the grimace she sported, Keith's keen deductive reasoning saw she was not satisfied with the lackluster answer. "Seriously, you can't keep pushing us away forever. First the 'I see dead people' spiel, then this spontaneous laughter. Face it, you're out of your fucking mind."

Keith wasn't sure if he should've be offended, or angry. Currently, he was both. Lance drifted in every direction around the two, and watched attentively with his torso halfway inside Pidge's desk. Ignoring the childish phantom, Keith said, "You're over analyzing things."

Pidge raised a brow. "Am I?" She sighed. "Look, just call us, ok. If you like, want to talk or shit. Oh! And that reminds me. Did you know Hunk got a new phone?"

"Um, no. Did he finally switch from his crappy Samsung?"

"Yap." Pidge nodded. "Android."

"Ugh!" Keith sneered. "Even worse."

Pidge rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Complain, complain, complain. All you Apple cock suckers are the same."

"Apple is the best phone!" Keith squeaked, forgetting to keep his voice down. Lance cackled hysterically, clutching his stomach. Yeah, laugh it up, Blackberry.

"He got a new number. Do you have your phone?"

Keith scratched the back of his neck, and shook his head. His long, jet black hair stuck to his sweaty skin. Maybe he shouldn't have worn all black on a ninety degree Texan day. One would assumed his body would be accustomed to it by now, but apparently not. "Left it back at home."

"Dude, seriously? Who forgets their phone nowadays? It's like, another appendage! No, no. The vessel for the user's soul. Like that Madoka Magica crap. You gotta get with the twenty first century, caveman."

"Whatever. Maybe you juveniles should look up from your technology once and awhile, and appreciate real human interaction."

"Ha! You, giving advise on human interaction?" Lance scoffed. "Yeah, sure loner."

Pidge reached into her binder, and wrote a number - Hunk's number - across the page in a neat, green print. The way her letters curved in some areas, and made sharp points in others fascinated Keith. Pidge wrote words in ways that no other human would consider writing them, but it somehow worked. Better than Lance's scribbly text, that was for sure.

Keith took the paper, and folded it without a glance. He shoved it into his jean pocket, and wondered when he was going to use it. Besides when it was necessary, Keith didn't do calls, or texts for that matter. He preferred less... complicated pleasures during his off time. Things such as music or art. They required no strategic thinking - in Keith's opinion - and no set of long, complicated rules. Music and art were crafted with feeling. Talking, that was a chore. Most of the time.

On certain occasions - rare occasions - thoughts came easily, which translated into comprehensible conversations. But only with a certain number of people. His friends, Hunk, Pidge, Allura, and Shiro to name a few. Especially Shiro, who was like a brother to him. And Lance - though he hated to say it - was fun to speak with. Well, that was if his insides weren't in a flustered state of disgusting gooiness. Seriously, Lance needed to stop being so fucking hot and loveable at the same time. Keith's limited brain storage couldn't process that amount of contradicting input without spontaneously combusting.

The rest of the class went by uneventfully. Well, if one describes attending a college course with a hyperactive ghost flinging themselves every which way uneventful. Luckily, Keith had no more outbursts due to Lance's antics, though his body was tempted many times. When the two boys got away from the class and into a secluded area of the school, Keith was able to clear his mind. School work was not a priority. What was, was his and Lance's little issue. One: no one could see Lance but Keith. Two: Lance couldn't interact physically with people or objects if others were present. Three: Lance couldn't leave Keith's side. And four: All his friends believed Keith was going crazy. And, hell, maybe he was. Crazy people didn't know they were crazy, so who was Keith to say otherwise?

"Do you think an ouija board will work?" Keith asked, his voice far away. "I saw it on some YouTube videos and crap."

"Those people are liars." Lance huffed. "They only fake those stupid videos to get more views and junk. I bet 99.99% of that YouTube pooie isn't real."

"Worth a try."

"Ugh." Lance groaned. "Please no. I don't want to stoop to actual ghost level craziness."

"You're already at ghost level craziness. You can fly, and phase through stuff."

"Yeah, but using an ouija board is just rubbing it in my face."

Keith sighed. He fiddled for his earbuds, but remembered he left them at home. God, he really was out of it. He used to never leave home without his music, but here he was. He was too distracted with all the supernatural mumbo jumbo to recognize his own needs. Pidge was right, phones really were a container for the soul. Was that the answer? Was Lance here with him because his soul was unsatisfied with the vessel it was given in its life? Keith couldn't blame it. Having a flip phone was torture in of itself.

Speaking of which, Hunk's number. Keith hadn't yet read it.

Keith's mind was forming an ingenious plan. One better suited for a person such as Pidge, aka: clever. Keith's hand shuffled through his pocket, and forcefully - a bit too forcefully - yanked the number out. Lance looked at him curiously, the blue in his eyes shifting in and out of sight. When Keith shoved the paper in his face, he drew back. "What you want me to do with that?" Lance asked, his eyes squinted.

"Read it." Keith said ominously.

"Um... why?"

"You'll see. Just take it."

Begrudgingly, Lance took the paper and brought it to his line of sight. "Nine, seven -"

"No, no! Don't read it aloud! Just, in your head. Memorize it."

Lance frowned, but obliged. He scanned over the number a few times, then gave it back to Keith. Without a glance, he stuffed it into the cramped space known as his pocket. "Now we need a phone." He mumbled to himself, glancing across the campus until he came to a plausible candidate. "There!" He exclaimed, pointing in the direction of an ancient looking telephone box. It was tall, red, and surrounded by small glass panes. It looked like something straight out of Great Britain. Well, at least on tv. Keith, of course, hadn't been there himself. He didn't own an applicable passport.

"What? You want me to dial the number into that Doctor Who looking contraption?"

"First off: the tardis is blue, not red, and secondly: yes, I do want you to call Hunk."

"And this will prove what?" Lance asked.

"It will prove that I'm not crazy, and you're not a fragment of my self consciousness. I've never read that number, so therefore it's impossible for me to call Hunk. But you have read it, and if you do call the number, then you're real."

"You're doubting my legitimacy? Wow, I'm offended."

"You can be hurt later. We need to try it before this place becomes too crowded."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going." Lance heaved a groan before drifting to the phone box. Inside, he struggled with the old fashioned dial device. Keith, who stood just outside the door, had to walk him through it. With the help of a spare quarter from Keith's jacket pocket, Lance was successful, and they both waited patiently for someone to pick up. Preferably Hunk, but who was to know. The box buzzed twice before a satisfying click was heard.

"Hello?" A muffled voice was heard from the other end of the line. Both Keith and Lance looked at each other, their eyes wide. It was Hunk!

Lance fumbled with the speaker in his hand, then turned to Keith for help. He mouthed something Lance interpreted as, say something, so he did. "Um... Hi."

There was a pause, which sent Keith's heart pounding. Finally Hunk responded with, "Sorry, your voice is a little... um... deep. Who is this?"

Lance let out a gasp, and looked just as astounded as Keith felt. Hunk heard him! Keith wasn't expecting it, but he genuinely could! "Say something else." Keith whispered, hoping the speaker hadn't picked up his voice.

"Uh... This is... um... Pizza Hut."

Keith's hand smacked his forehead. Lance shrugged.

"Did you say... Pizza Hut? Really? New number? Different location? You don't sound familiar."

"Yes, new employee, yeah."

"I'm sorry, it's just... You're hard to understand."

"In what way?" Lance made sure to slowly and loudly pronounce each syllable.

"Well, there's a lot of static, and your voice is muffled and deep. Like, really deep. And echoed. I don't know. Is there something wrong with the phone?"

Lance hung up. His hand shook as he brought it up to his hair, and dragged his fingers across his scalp. His expression was petrified. "He heard me..."

"Yeah..." Keith confirmed.

"What now?"

ooo

So a day when you've lost yourself completely

Could be a night when your life ends

Such a heart that will lead you to deceiving

All the pain held in your

Hands are shaking cold

Your hands are mine to hold

~All American Rejects / Move Along

ooo

Lance's family was pretty insane.

Twelve kids in nine years was not an easy feat by any means, but Alice McClain - a goddess upon this world - managed. Lance could never guess what compelled his mother to have so many children. She was stressed constantly, but still willing to spread her love equally across each of her children. Being the youngest child, it was rare to see his mother in a state of ease. Life had worn her down, turning her hair gray, and lining her face with wrinkles deep and creasing. Having her first kid at the young age of fifteen, Lance could see why. She never had the opportunity to be a normal teen. She never had the opportunity to be her own person.

Penelope was first, and Mrs. McClain loved her like nothing else. She had gorgeous, straight, brown hair, and caramel skin, which was dotted with a unique assortment of freckles - angel kisses, as Mrs. McClain called them.

When Penelope cried, Mrs. McClain held her close, and hummed sweet songs in her ear. She swore to the heavens, the spirits, and all things holy that Penelope was going to have a life unlike hers. A good life, full of opportunity and love. And though money was tight, Mrs. McClain put her child's needs before her own. Sometimes she went days - weeks - without a proper meal, but Penelope - o, Penelope - Alice made sure she was fed.

At night, Mrs. McClain cried silently in her bed, her hunger consuming her. But, when morning came, Mrs. McClain never forgot to put on a smile. Because that was what Penelope wanted. No, that was what she needed.

Rio was born next. A beautiful, light skinned baby boy. Unlike Penelope, his brown hair curled in crazy loops above his head, and freckled cheeks shone a rosy shade of pink. His smile was infectious, and both Penelope and Mrs. McClain fell in love instantly.

Months later, a fantastic phenomenon beyond Mrs. McClain's wildest imaginations took place. A healthy set of twins, Jason and Jill respectively, blessed the world with their creation.

Though she was over thrilled, and wouldn't change her children for the world, Mrs. McClain cried with the extra level of responsibility she was burdened with. With her husband - twenty eight at the time - gone for work the majority of the day, it was both Mrs. McClain's duty to provide and support their family. Sometimes she had to bring her kids with her to the houses she cleaned. This did not please her bosses in any way, and she was eventually fired from more than half her regular appointments. Still, she kept her kids clothed, fed, and happy. Against all odds, she managed.

The next year - the year she became a true adult at eighteen - her cousin Chloe moved in, providing watch over the kids in exchange for a place to live. With great gratitude, Mrs. McClain decided to name her and Mr. McClain's next child Cleo on her behalf. A cheery, round faced baby girl, with deep blue eyes, and wavy black hair. And, of course, she turned out to be cousin Chloe's absolute favorite.

Many stress filled nights later, another set of unplanned twins arrived. Dan and Finn, a rambunctious duo, who - though she loved immensely - was a pain in the ass to control. On multiple occasions Chloe was forced to place the two in a big cardboard box known as the 'timeout box' to keep them from running into oncoming traffic, or eating a dead something or other. But, as expected, they managed to find a way out. A sneaky pair of trouble twins they were, even before they learned to walk.

Subsequently after that run of good luck, Mrs. McClain was hit with not one, not two, but three healthy baby girls. Calla, Cindy, and Candy were their names, and lordy, were they ever a handful. Chloe along with Penelope - who was still very young at the time - did their best to give Mrs. McClain a helping hand. But, with ten kids running around, it wasn't easy. Still, the triplets were beyond a joy, though they were so different. Personality wise and appearance wise. Most couldn't make the connection they were triplets, or even sisters. They were a real wonder, as were all the McClain kids.

Then came Nico, and... well, from the beginning he had a... peculiar presence. He never laughed nor cried, simply laid silently in his crib. His brown eyes were always trained on someone intensely. For a baby, he made a lot of people antsy with his scowl. Most didn't know babies had the ability to scowl, but Nico proved them otherwise. The second one caught sight of the unholy atrocity known as Nico's expression, there was no denying it. Nico was sporting a scowl, wordlessly judging everyone and everything that moved, breathed, or was. He was Mr. McClain's least favorite, but Mrs. McClain loved him all the same. There were no favorites in her heart. Only love, love, and more love.

But the last child, aka: the most important child, outdid all his other siblings by a landslide. The best, the boss, the coolest, sharpest, handsomest being to ever be. Some called him a knight, others the king. He had many titles. A cool, ninja, sharpshooter as he called himself. But others - others such as the dumb, emo Keith - had other, less pleasant ways of addressing him. Idiot, goofball. All untrue, of course. For Lance was a gift, a grace, a god. A mistake created when too many good traits got combined, and formed the picture of perfection. Yes, there was Lance. And thus, everyone was appeased.

And Lance loved his mother. More than anything, Lance loved her in every way and shape imaginable. And she loved him in return, because that's what parents did. Well, proper parents. Lance never much cared for Mr. McClain, nor did he ever bother to call him Dad. He didn't deserve that title, and he sure as hell didn't deserve Alice McClain. The only reason he bared to stay under the same roof as that asshole was because his mother loved him. Against all rhyme or reason she did, and Lance wanted nothing to do with tearing that away from her. Because a sad Mrs. McClain was the worst kind of Mrs. McClain.

So, even in the dreariest of situations with little to no hope, Lance joked. He joked because that brightened his mother's smile, and sent a shimmer in her eye. Even on his deathbed, he laughed. And she did too. Because that was what they did, him and his mom. Laugh. Laugh through the hunger, laugh through the pain, laugh through life itself. Because, as a wise one once said, laughter is the best medicine.

Holding tight to his mother's hand, Lance told stories of his past and childhood. Mrs. McClain listened, the whole of her immersed in the tale. Lance said a line about him tripping over his own feet and landing face first into the water, chuckling all the while. Mrs. McClain giggled as well. Her black curls bounced around her round face, the crookedness of her teeth on display.

As Lance tightened his grip in his mother's hand, he felt his already weak bones dwindling in strength. He was slipping away. Though his vision blurred, and black dots formed around his mother's face, Lance was determined to finish the story. He needed to. If he went away, who would be left to tell her how it ended?

So he continued, his voice lessening in volume with every word. Mrs. McClain's eyes grew big and round as she felt coldness radiate from her son's rough skin. But he continued, and he continued, and he continued until the story was told, and nothing was left to say.

Lance closed his eyes, and relaxed his shoulders. When his hand slipped from Mrs. McClain's, she called out to him, "Lance! Lance!" The syllables tripped, and stumbled over one another. She reached her palm out, gently touched the skin of his cheek, and shed a tear. "hijo mío." Her bottom lip trembled as realization sunk in like an edged knife.

Lance was dead.

Mrs. McClain screamed.