He was drowning in fear, there was nothing left, he was chocking, there wasn't any hope, he had taken the plunge, his tiny oasis of a boat was floating too far above him to break free to. Lance knew it was just an anxiety attack, it would pass, but his body rebelled. It shook, he was filled with fear at nothing, he sobbed, he hit his head against the floor, begging unintelligibly for it to stop.

When it was beginning, he tried to call Hunk, hoping that maybe he could come over and Lance could not get thrown into an attack, but no such luck.

"Lance? Why are you up?" Hunk said groggily.

Lance felt bad for waking him up, but panic was rising higher. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. "Do think that, just- could you talk to me about something?" He hated the quiver that went through his voice.

"What's happening? Why?" Hunk was slowly waking up.

Lance bit his lip. He felt his knees turn to Jell-O. "Uh, nothing, just- please." He slid down his bedroom door. He heard Hunk shifting- probably into a sitting position- through the speaker.

"Uh, so Pidge and I went to James Griffin's house, because she wanted me to see what Pidge and Keith did to the lawn."

"Go on." Lance tried to breathe.

"And we pulled up to the opposite curve, and the entire yard had those pink lawn flamingos and bananas that were nailed in place. The entire yard." Hunk said.

"Oh man, that's gold. Whose idea was it?" Lance asked. This wasn't helping, he felt his chest getting tighter.

"Pidge's. Keith just helped carry it out." Hunk paused. "You know, it was actually kinda beautiful."

Lance forced out a laugh. It felt awful. His hands were shaking. He told them to stop. "Did you catch his reaction?"

"Sadly, no. But I do know why they did it. Apparently, he had some something about how Shiro being gay and how it wasn't respectable for his occupation."

"Isn't he- isn't he a secret mafia man?" Lance panted, struggling to stay with Hunk. He focused more on Hunk's voice.

Hunk laughed, but it was quieted. "Buddy, are you okay? You sound like you're out of breath." The concern in his voice almost passed Lance by. He felt like Hunk was accusing him.

"Yeah- I'm fine. Just- if I don't talk- or if I don't call you back can- can you come over?" Lance asked, forcing his lungs to work, using all his energy to stay afloat.

"Lance, what is going on?" Hunk's voice had taken a tone of urgency.

"Promise me?" He was going to have a full-scale anxiety attack, he couldn't stop it.

"Lance, please, just tell me!"

"Promise?"

Hunk sighed. "Yes. Now, please, tell me! Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, I- I think." Lance cringed. He hadn't wanted to say that. God he couldn't breathe, his body trembled as if he was outside in the snow rather than home alone.

"What does that mean?" Hunk asked. "Lance?"

Lance breathed in as steadily as he could. "I'll call you back, promise." He forced out. He heard Hunk calling his name as he hung up.

He dropped his phone, curling into himself. Just breathe. It was fine. Nothing was fine. He trembled, trying to keep tears at bay. What kind of man cries at nothing? This man. He shook, his body trying to convulse out of itself and run away from problems that weren't there. He felt nauseous, he cried, he couldn't breathe, he was so cold…

He didn't know how long he sat there, pulling at his hair. A minute? Longer? When suddenly he had to throw up. His eyes snapped open. He couldn't throw up right here. He shakily got up and staggered down the hall, bumping against the walls, just barely making it to the toilet.

Lance couldn't stop. He wished someone was here but also glad no one was. It was bad enough to do this, worse if he had someone's pitying eyes on him. He swallowed, trying to compose himself. It would be over eventually, it was slowing down now-

The attack hit him again full force. The room was too small, his shirt was chocking him, there were hands around his throat, why was there a vise on his chest, why couldn't he breathe, oh God, he was drowning, he couldn't move, he felt brittle. He sobbed into the empty air of the house, no one to hear it. He was alone, always, he felt onto his side, sobbing, banging his head, just wanting it to stop.

He didn't remember it all. He remembered the pain of sobbing, of his fears, of his chest, and the pounding in his head from banging it against the floor too many times.

Lance sniffed to himself on the floor. He was tired of this. His body rebelling on him, his brain convincing him of lies, his days filled with this vice like grip around him, as if he were carrying the world on his shoulders. He had left his phone in his room. He doubted Hunk wanted to hear about that.

He lifted his hand to the back of his head, where he banged it against the tub. He felt something warm and sticky. He winced at the slight contact. He knew without looking at his hand that he was bleeding. He hoped it wasn't too bad. If Pidge or Keith found out he'd be dead… or worse, his parents.

Do it. He thought suddenly. Lance knew who that was. That was Suicide. He's been knocking for a few months. Lance had watched silently as he kicked down the door and started feeding him poison.

Antifreeze in the garage. He whispered. I heard it's sweet. And deadly.

Lance got up too fast. When he regained his balance, he walked to his phone. Missed calls scrolled down his lock screen. Hunk, Pidge, Keith, and one from Shiro. Countless message bubbles, from Messenger, Snapchat, Instagram, and Kik spammed his notifications. The message was the same. The same words over and over until they had no meaning. Hunk must've worried and told the others. He felt awful.

You should. You're a bad friend. Suicide whispered. Lance ignored him.

He checked his call history. He hung up at 11:27. It was 12:15. He took a shaky breath. He looked at when the others had called him. All around midnight.

He got another call. Hunk's picture showed up. Lance ignored it. Why was he ignoring it? Shouldn't he pick up, let Hunk know he was okay?

Nah, just get into something warmer and go to the garage, it'd be so easy!

Lance was starting to buy it. What could it do? He'd die, then it'd be out of his hands. No problem.

Hunk's ringing ended. He knew he'd leave a voicemail. Lance would never get to hear it. He put his phone on the charger and got into some okay clothes. Dark grey sweats, his Westerberg High t-shirt, and his favorite jacket. Warm enough for early December.

He opened the door to the back porch. The frosty air chilled him to his bones, making him shiver. The garage was attached to the house, but locked from the inside, so he had to walk across snow salt. He had a feeling in his gut, the feeling of guilt and desperation. He hoped his plans would go through. It would be very embarrassing if he was caught. He wondered if he'd try again after that.

In the garage, find the sweet stuff. Now. DO IT! Suicide was getting pushy. He told him to chill.

The antifreeze was on the back shelf. He reached up for it and knocked it down. The orange liquid looked like something he shouldn't drink. He picked it up and unscrewed the cap. It smelt awful. His survival instincts told him not to ingest it. Suicide was overpowering it. He closed his eyes and took a few gulps before the impact of what he was doing got to him. He chocked, spitting some out and coughing. Why did he just do that? He was nuts! The sweet taste of the poison was still playing on his tongue.

Headlights sweep the garage doors, and Lance heard Hunk's rattling engine stop. Shit. He panicked, throwing the antifreeze into the mess of cardboard boxes and ran inside. He grabbed his phone from upstairs. More texts. These more threatening.

Hunk's signature knock cam from the door. Knock knock knock-knock knock. Lance turned to his bedroom door, eyes wide. He didn't want to answer it. Don't answer it.

His feet carried him towards the door. He opened it as Hunk was starting to knock again. "Lance!" He yelped, smothering him in a huge hug. "Dude, why weren't you answering us? We were all so worried! What's wrong? Why is there blood in your hair ohmygodareyouhurt?" He fussed.

"Hunk- can't breathe-" Again Lance silently added.

"Sorry." He released him.

"I'm fine, I just had small panic attack, it's fine." Literally all of that was a lie. He felt bad.

"Fine?" Hunk's voice went up. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

"Dude, it's fine, it's over, and I'm tired, but I was going to make hot chocolate before you interrupted by almost breaking the door down." Lance joked, grinning. "You should come in, and whoever you brought with you." If Lance knew Hunk at all, he had at least gotten Pidge.

"You better explain to all of us then." He said, then went to get the people he brought.

Lance went to the kitchen to make hot chocolate. He pulled out the milk, cocoa, heavy cream, and marshmallows. He wasn't surprised to see Pidge, but when everyone entered the kitchen Lance was slightly taken aback. Guilt festered in his gut. They had all worried over him.

"What happened?" Pidge demanded, getting onto a counter.

"I had a small panic attack, it's fine." Lance said dismissively.

"You can talk to us, you know. We're here for you." Shiro said, concern displayed prominently by his body language.

"Yeah, I know. It's fine, I haven't had one in a while." Lance lied. Why was it so easy to lie to his friends? He focused back on the hot cocoa. He listened to Hunk fuss over him.

"Do you need an ice pack? Or to wash it out?" Hunk asked. The more he talked about it the more it bothered Lance. The post-attack fatigue was wearing off and the wounds he had inflicted on himself were bothering him more and more.

"Nah, I'm fine. Sorry for not answering, I had just run up for my phone." He always had his phone with him. That seemed like a really big lie. He hoped he'd pulled it off.

"Well, we're glad you're okay." Shiro said, smiling.

Lance let the conversations go on, contributed, and finished the hot cocoa. "How many mallows?" Lance asked, pulling out the bag of minis. He passed it out and sat down at the island with them. The conversation went to Griffin's yard.

"You should have seen it! It looked amazing!" Pidge said, grinning like a maniac. "And we put the bananas in so that the nail was in the top and bottom of the banana. He's going to have a hell of a time getting them out Sunday night."

Keith got up. "Where're you going?" Shiro called after him.

Lance faintly heard him say something about pee and walk off. He sipped his cocoa. The conversation moved around, and Lance didn't follow it too closely. He hoped they left soon, he was getting a headache. He watched his friends with a sense of impending doom. Guilt and anxiety swirled together in his gut, creating dark butterflies above the anchors. He ignored it, ignored the fact that he had chugged literal poison less than an hour ago, and that he was probably going to die in the next 24 hours unless he got medical treatment.

He swallowed. If Lance focused on it too much, he'd end up throwing up again, and this headache was starting to get bad.

"Lance, what the fuck?" Keith yelled, storming into the room.

Shiro stood up. "Language!"

"Do you think this is going to help anything?" He shouted, shaking the jug of antifreeze. Lance paled, the guilt in his gut clenching and swirling like a thousand evil butterflies of torture and mistakes.

Lance hardly heard Hunk asking about what it was. He could just sit there, stuck in a silent staring contest with the furious teen in the kitchen doorway.

"Well?" Keith demanded.

"I'm sorry." Lance whispered.

"Lance, this can ruin your entire life! You could die! What do you think they'd- we'd- do without you?" Keith was practically snarling. The others were catching on.

"Lance, you wouldn't-"

"Did you…?"

"You think that wasn't the point?" Lance asked quietly, anger at Keith's anger festering just under the surface. "I knew I could die!" He yelled suddenly, standing up, then winced. This headache was getting worse than anticipated.

"Why didn't you just talk about it? You know, instead of chugging engine fluids and hoping that it happens quickly?" Keith screamed.

"Because my problems aren't important! There are kids around here that don't get food! My self-image problems are the least of the worries you could be thinking about!" Lance screamed back. He swallowed thickly. The energy it took to argue with Keith was taxing him.

"Bullshit! You're one of the most important people in this fucking room, and you're saying that your problems don't matter? And you think that taking your life will solve this?"

"Keith, watch you mouth." Shiro said sternly.

"If I'm dead it'll finally be over! You can forget about the stupid kid that made bad jokes and wasn't there when it really mattered!" Lance swayed. He sat down, wishing he hadn't stood.

Keith stood silently, trying to calm down. "This may seem like the only way out, but I can promise you, it's not." He said, the anger still evident in his voice. "If you don't get medical help right now, you're going to die. And I don't think anyone in this room would like that." He said quietly.

"Keith, I'm-" Lance stopped. A wave of exhaustion hit him. He didn't want to fight anymore. He just wanted to lie down and die. "I'm tired. Can we just- do this tomorrow?"

Keith was about to yell when Shiro cut him off. "Lance, if you drank antifreeze, we should really get you to the hospital. I don't think we should wait until tomorrow, especially considering the hospital is over half an hour away."

Lance was aware of everyone's eyes on him. His shoulders sagged. He sighed and muttered a confirmation. He went to stand up and his head spun. He tried to regain his balance but stumbled into Hunk. He heard concerned voices, and felt Hunk supporting him. Lance felt like he was going to be sick.

"Lance? Buddy? You okay?" Hunk asked.

"He drank engine fluid, Hunk, he isn't okay. It's probably starting to run through his body." Lance hear Pidge remark from somewhere off to his right.

"'m gonna throw up," Lance muttered, trying to push off Hunk and get to the sink. He stumbled, almost falling, and made it into the sink. He threw up, groaning. He pressed his forehead to the cold metal of the sink edge. He wasn't aware of Hunk and Shiro hovering at either side of him, ready to get him to the van if he couldn't make it himself.

Hunk rubbed his back. Lance shuddered and threw up again. His throat burned. He didn't think he had anything else to throw up at that point. "That's it, get it all out." Hunk murmured encouragingly. Lance dry heaved, body trying to clean itself of itself. God, Lance was so tired. He felt like he was going to fall asleep where he stood. "Lance, stay awake." Shiro commanded.

"I feel… drunk." Lance said to the sink. His speech was slightly slurred. He wiped his mouth. He learned onto Hunk. "I think I made a big misthake." He said, eyelids fluttering.

"Yeah, damn right you did." Keith said, still pissed.

Lance pouted. "That's mean." He said faintly.

The others shared a look Lance could feel. "Let's get you to a hospital." Shiro said.

Hunk supported Lance while he tried to walk. The floor seemed so far away… like he was a giant… Lance's stomach hurt, and the guilt he had felt wasn't helping. He tried to walk on his own, but his coordination was like he was trying to walk after getting staples in calf. He stumbled, leaning onto Hunk. Hunk was so warm, and squishy, and just perfect for sleeping on…

Lance yawned, blinking rapidly. Shiro had told him to stay awake. He was getting into Hunk's middle seat? Oh yeah, hospital. He just wanted to go to sleep.

"Is antifreeze alcoholic?" Lance muttered, groggily looking at Pidge. "Because I feel really, like, really, drunk."

"That just means you're experiencing early symptoms of antifreeze poisoning." Pidge said dryly, but she was trying not to cry.

"Oh." Lance said. Why wasn't he allowed to go to sleep? It's be so easy… Hunk' wheezy engine and the road rumbling underneath him was so comforting, the comfort of so many road trips with his friends…

Someone was snapping right in front of his face. "Hey." Keith said firmly. "Stay awake." Lance looked over at him. He was really mad, huh? But he was also worried… Lance hated that he'd caused this much pain to his friends. He wished he hadn't invited them in. Then he could've died, and they wouldn't have found out until tomorrow. They'd forget eventually.

He opened his eyes, and by the looks everyone was giving him, he'd said that aloud. He didn't care.

"Lance, you know that we love you, right?" Shiro said carefully. "We wouldn't just forget you like that."

Lance laughed without humor. "I would."

Keith punched his arm. "You're an idiot and a total asshole. Why the hell do you think we came to check up on you tonight? Or why we're taking you to the hospital? Because we care, dipshit!" Keith fumed.

"You show affection in a weird way." Lance muttered.

Keith huffed, then looked out the window. He was trying not to cry. He remembered when his cousin Axca tried to commit suicide. He remembered the blood, the panic, the car ride, the feeling of loss when they thought they were too late.

Lance looked out his window. His head was pounding with the combination of his anxiety attack then the antifreeze. He tried to repress a groan, but Pidge caught it.

"Hey, just hang in there. We'll be there soon. Just- stay awake, okay?" She asked, silently urging this old van to go faster.

Lance just nodded slightly, trying not to move too much. He swallowed, leaning against the cold pane of the window. The cool seeped into his skin, which felt too hot. He shuddered, wanting to throw up again. He closed his eyes against the vibrating pain of glass. His stomach felt like it was in an invisible grip. It was achy, with sharp spike of pain. Lance was so tired, surely a little nap wouldn't hurt…

Shiro shook his shoulder, calling his name. Lance's head dipped then he looked up. "Hmm?" He hummed blearily. The van had shuddered to a stop.

"Come on, we're here." The bright, twinkling lights of the hospital glared down at him. Lance just wanted to stay in here and go to sleep.

He unbuckled his seatbelt and messed with the door handle until he got it open. He stumbled out, leaning onto Hunk, who was waiting for him. After trying to walk a few steps and almost falling, Hunk swept Lance up into his arms. They didn't have time to let him just meander across the parking lot.

Lance stared with half closed eyes. He just wanted to go to sleep, was that too much to ask? He groaned. His head was throbbing. He was aware of the others talking to the receptionist, voices being raised, then lowered, then raised again. He tried to follow the conversation.

"Can you please help, our friend, he just-" Hunk started.

"I'm sorry, but is his family here?" The man interrupted.

"What? No, but he drank-" Pidge picked up.

"Where is his family?" He interjected again.

"Why does it matter?" Keith asked loudly. "He needs medical attention, now."

"If his family is around, I have to ask them, not you guys." He explained.

"His family is out of town, they went to Cuba for a family emergency. Lance was home alone, and he tried to take his life. Can you please get a doctor or a nurse out here?" Shiro said, his voice hard and commanding.

The receptionist agreed and asked them to have a seat while he called the first nurse or doctor he found available.

Fuming, the group sat down. Hunk sat Lance down in a chair, and Lance instinctively leaned on him. Hunk made a great pillow…

A doctor came out with a wheelchair. Lance felt Hunk gently pick him up and set him into the wheelchair. Lance reached out his arm for Hunk as he drew back. The arm fell limp in his lap as the doctors rolled him deeper into the hospital. The last view he got of his friends was them standing together, trying to keep it together.

As soon as the doors swished shut, Hunk broke down. He sat down in their previous chairs, the rest of the group trying to comfort him but also crying.

It was a long night.

Lance returned home the next week. He found a pile of letters and card on his bed from family members and friends. His phone had been blown up with notifications. He looked at them all. The ones from the night he did it and up until just a few moments ago. He sighed, then tossed it down. He closed his eyes and sat on his bed. His mom and Veronica had come home to make sure he didn't try to commit suicide again. He had refused antidepressants or anxiety medications. His mom had respected the choice but wished he could have some help. He agreed to keep a journal, but that was it. He wasn't going to counseling or anything, he'd keep a journal and let her read it at the end of the week, then have a talk every Saturday night.

It wasn't okay yet, but it would be.