Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They were always watching. They watched him as he entered the building. They watched him as he opened his locker, and as he gathered his books and walked down the hall. They were always watching him.

Every time someone stepped out in front of Lance or bumped into him, he flinched; he couldn’t help it. Logically, he knew that this was a public school, and that there was no way any thugs could be here. But his anxiety-ridden mind was not thinking logically, and the stares and whispers of the entire school were not helping.

Hunk had offered to walk with him, but Lance had turned him down; he may have been through a traumatizing experience, but that didn’t mean he was incapable of walking by himself.

Now, though, Lance wished he at least had someone to talk to; it would distract from the fact that every single person in that hallway had their eyes glued to him as he wove between the clusters of students.

Lance’s heart was racing, his eyes darting around the hallway; his vision was beginning to blur. He didn’t realize he was speeding up until someone quickly moved out of his way with an annoyed, “Dude.”

Faces and classroom numbers blurred past him until he found the one he was looking for; Room 4A. The history classroom, workplace of Lance’s favorite teacher.

He rushed into the room, practically slamming the door closed behind him in his haste. It was blessedly quiet in the classroom; Lance leaned back against the door, chest heaving as he tried to calm himself.

It happened yesterday. Lance walking home from work after saying goodbye to Blaytz, his boss. The gleam of streetlamps on the sidewalk; the hustle and bustle of vehicles that never really quieted. The men appearing out of nowhere, holding guns and knives. Dios, Lance had never been more freaked out. Except for that time he’d used Rachel’s nail polish to paint himself blue. He’d seen a video of those cool percussionist guys, and even though he’d never touched a pair of drumsticks in his entire life, seven-year-old Lance had wanted to join the Blue Man Crew. He’d never seen his mother so angry as she walked in and found her son, covered in blue nail polish, with blue all over the carpets and even splashed onto the walls. He’d been grounded for weeks, and there was still a pale blue stain on the carpet to this day.

The mugging had been worse, though. That hadn’t been a frazzled mother scolding her child for making a huge mess and destroying the carpet. That had been armed men assaulting a teenager in the dark, where nobody would hear if he screamed for help.

But he hadn’t needed to. Between blinks, Spider-Man was there. In a heartbeat he had disarmed all three thugs and webbed them down.

Lance had still been in shock then, so his brain hadn’t been processing properly, but now he considered that extremely hot.

Turns out Spider-Man wasn’t just a total badass, but a kind, thoughtful person as well; he’d walked Lance home to ensure he got back all right, even though he probably had countless other superhero things to do.

But all of Spider-Man’s badassery couldn’t erase the fact that Lance was lowkey traumatized from having a gun pointed at his face. The mere thought of going back out into that hallway to face the masses of gossiping students made him sick to his stomach.

Someone cleared their throat, and Lance’s gaze snapped up. His favorite teacher, Mr. Wadekar, was leaning back in his chair, feet propped up on the desk.

“Uh, hey,” Lance said, sliding off the door and lifting a hand in greeting.

Behind Mr. W’s glasses lenses, a slim, dark eyebrow inched upward. “ You doing all right, azul?” He asked in Spanish.

Azul was Mr. W’s nickname for Lance, equal parts teasing and affectionate.

Lance shook his head just the tiniest bit.

“Need a place to crash?” Mr. W asked in English. His voice was gentler than his usual sarcastic tone.

Lance nodded and gratefully plopped into the chair on the other side of the desk.

Mr. W was Lance’s favorite teacher for a number of reasons. One of those reasons was the bisexual pride flag stretched across the front of his desk; Mr. W always made a point to include LGTB+ history in his lessons, and he was the one who helped Lance understand the spectrum and where he himself fell in those categories. Another reason why Lance liked him so much was that he was from Cuba as well, though Mr. W was also part Israeli. It made his childhood home feel all that much closer.

Mr. W was also the most entertaining teacher Lance had ever had; a far cry from all those other history teachers, who looked so ancient they had probably experienced most of the class material firsthand. He was witty and sarcastic, with a wicked sense of humor and a mischievous streak a mile wide; there was never a dull moment with Mr. W as a teacher.

Lance often came to this classroom, just to chat with Mr. W or work on his homework assignments when it was too loud in the library. Mr. W was content to sit with Lance in companionable silence as they both worked on their separate projects, or just talk about everything and nothing, in both English and Spanish. As it turned out, Adam had dirt on pretty much every single student in his class, but he refused to give any of it up.

“If I give the gossip away, I won’t be able to use it,” Mr. W had said. “My lips are sealed.”

Now they sat, Mr. W eating a bagel and Lance still trying to calm down. There was silence as Mr. W finished his breakfast, then stretched lazily. He studied Lance with those hazel eyes behind the frames of his glasses. When he spoke in their shared native language, his voice was uncharacteristically soft.

"Rough night, yeah?”

Lance hesitated, then nodded. He wasn’t surprised that Mr. W had seen the video footage of Lance being mugged; everyone who owned an electronic device had.

Mr. W slid his feet off the desk and leaned forward, propping his elbows onto the desk and resting his chin on his fist. “Want to talk about it?”

Lance shrugged as he responded, letting the familiar language roll from his tongue. “There isn’t much to talk about.” He sighed. “I’m not hurt, just shaken. Nobody will shut up about it, though. They’ve been staring at me.”

Mr. W hummed. “They’ve found the latest, hottest gossip, so they’re clamoring for more. I should know, I’m usually right there with them,” he added with a smirk. His expression fell into something more serious as he continued in English: “I have limits, though. I’m not going to go digging for things like that. You deserve some peace and quiet after everything, and if this hellhole of a public school isn’t going to give it to you, then I will. Stay in here for as long as you need.”

Lance sighed, feeling a massive weight lift from his chest. “Thanks, Mr. W.”

Mr. W raised a finger. “I appreciate the sentiment, I really do, but inside this room, when it’s just us, there’s no need to stand on occasion. I am your teacher, true, but you came here because you think of me as a friend. Is this correct?”

Lance hesitated only a moment before nodding. He’d fled to Mr. W’s room to escape the stares and whispers because he knew it was a safe place to crash.

Mr. W continued, crossing his arms on the desk. “I am your friend, azul. You don’t need to call me ‘Mr. W.’” He turned to the stack of ungraded papers sitting on his desk; his lips quirked upwards at the corners as he added, “You can call me Adam.”

Lance had always been drawn to Keith. He couldn’t explain why; he didn’t know how to. But for some inexplicable reason, the other boy had always stood out to the others, even though he was quiet, withdrawn.

Invisible to all but Lance.

When they started hanging out in the same group their Freshman year, Lance had been fully in the middle of realizing his sexuality. He’d still been coming to terms with himself; his family had been Christian for quite a while as he grew up, and even though Mamá and Papá hadn’t taken the family to church in years, it had taken Lance some time to figure out where he stood with his sexuality.

Of course, it had to be right then that Lance developed a crush on one of the people in his friend group. The one who he had noticed long before he even knew that he was attracted to both men and women.

It was a rough start; Lance had been right in the middle of his first sexuality crisis, and so when Keith had entered their group Lance hadn’t responded the way he should have. Looking back, Lance had been downright idiotic. And maybe a tiny bit cruel.

Hunk had told them all beforehand that Keith had had a rough go of it; he didn’t divulge details, saying they weren’t his to give, but Hunk did make an offhand mention of cancer and adopted family members.

Lance and Keith had both been photographers for the school paper. And Lance had started a pointless rivalry because Keith was ridiculously cute and Lance hadn’t known how to react.

They began a routine; Lance would goad Keith into stupid competitions, and Keith would respond in kind. It was a hurtful cycle; even Lance hated it, but by the time he realized that it was too late; they already had too much bad blood between them. It was tearing their friend group apart, their stupid little rivalry.

Finally, Hunk had had enough.

He’d been Lance’s friend for as long as either of them could remember. He’d been the first to befriend the strange new Cuban boy, with his lanky frame and heavy accent, back in grade school. Lance had been a new immigrant, still missing home and not having anyone to play with. A broad-shouldered boy with a friendly, open face had approached him on the playground with two pieces of chalk, one of which he offered to Lance, inviting him to come draw pictures on the sidewalk with him.

The rest was history. They’d both been practically adopted by the other’s family; Lance’s mamá adored Hunk, and Hunk’s moms always welcomed Lance with open arms when he came over.

Lance knew Hunk almost as well as he knew himself; the Samoan boy was very, very slow to anger. But when he did get angry, it was like a fuse had blown.

Hunk had been at Lance’s house, both boys up in Lance’s bedroom, when he finally snapped.

He threw down his pencil, looked Lance in the eye, and said, in a voice as close to a growl as Lance had ever heard, “This has to stop.”

Lance had paused, eyeing Hunk warily, recognizing the signs of Hunk’s anger. “Uhh…studying?”

“No,” Hunk had said, shaking his head. His eyes were hard with anger when he said, “the way you’ve been treating Keith.”

Lance paused, staring at Hunk as the Samoan boy continued, unstoppable now that the floodgates had opened.

“He’s such a sweet guy, but you’ve never given him a chance! First his mom disappears, then his dad dies, then his adoptive mom, and now you’re treating him like absolute shit for no good reason! What the hell, Lance?”

Lance had frozen; he’d never heard Hunk raise his voice like that in all the time he’d known him, much less swear.

Hunk had sighed, the anger seeming to leave him in a rush. “Look, I love you, bro, you know I do, but you have to stop treating Keith like that. Do you know what happened the other day? Do you?”

Lance had mutely shaken his head, in far too much shock to respond verbally.

“He was crying,” Hunk had said, eyes blazing. “He was crying because he thinks you hate his guts, and you’re treating him like he’s trash.”

Lance had felt the prick of tears in his eyes then; he’d known he was being a jerk, but he didn’t know how to fix it, or even if Keith would accept it if he tried. He just didn’t know what to do.

Hunk had sighed, placing his hands on Lance’s shoulders. “I’m sorry for blowing up at you. But you really need to go apologize. He…really needs a place to fit in, ya know? And I’m trying so hard to let him know that we’re all here for him, but--”

“I’m not making it easy?” Lance had asked, voice hollow with guilt.

“No,” Hunk had said finally. “No, you’re not.”

It had taken a lot of convincing for Lance to finally work up the courage to go apologize. He would have much rather texted Keith, but Lance knew this was something that needed to happen face-to-face.

Hunk had walked with him to Keith’s apartment building, but he waited in the lobby while Lance found the right door and knocked, trying to ignore the way his hands shook.

Keith’s adopted brother was a police officer. He would probably kick Lance’s ass all the way back to Cuba for messing with his little brother.

And Lance probably deserved it.

Keith had opened the door, his face falling into a carefully neutral glare when he saw who it was.

“Lance.” His tone was flat. Lance winced.

“Uh, hey, man,” he said, cringing internally at himself. “Can we, uh, talk?”

Keith hesitated, and for a moment Lance thought he would slam the door in his face. Then Keith was stepping outside, shutting the door behind him with a firm click. He crossed his arms, raising his eyebrows at Lance. “Well?”

His tone wasn’t hostile, but it sounded like he was gearing up for a fight. Lance tried to keep his voice as even and nonthreatening as possible.

“Look, I’ve…been meaning to apologize.”

Keith’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, his defensive stance faltering. Lance brazened on before he could lose his courage.

“I’ve been a major jerk. I’ve been…figuring some things out, but I know that’s no excuse for how I’ve been acting.” Lance took a deep breath. “I’m…really sorry,” he murmured, not daring to meet Keith’s eyes. “I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to make it up to you--”

“I accept,” Keith said, interrupting Lance’s babbling.

Lance blinked. “Uh, what?”

“I accept your apology,” Keith said. He had relaxed his stance and uncrossed his arms, though he was still regarding Lance warily, as though waiting for the catch.

Lance sighed. “Can we…maybe start over? Try this whole ‘friend’ thing again?”

Keith hesitated; his hair was slightly damp from a shower, the strands framing his face. Finally, he stretched out a hand. When he spoke his voice was soft, tentative.

“Friends?”

Lance had gripped his hand, giving it a little shake to seal the deal. “Friends.”

“You’re all positive you don’t need a ride home?” Blaytz asked. He’d been offering a ride to all the employees after Lance had been mugged over two weeks ago, wary for their safety. Most of Lance’s coworkers were in high school or college, so Blaytz considered them all his surrogate children. He was a little overbearing sometimes, but they all loved their boss; it was nice having someone watch over them at the workplace.

There was a chorus of polite declines as the evening shift closed down the cafe. Lance shrugged on his jacket, waving goodbye to one of his favorite coworkers, Ryan Kinkade.

He stepped out into the night, breathing deeply, and leaned up against the storefront to wait. One by one, his coworkers left, calling out goodbyes as they all went their separate ways. Blaytz gave Lance a fistbump as he walked to his car.

Before long, Lance was alone. He scrolled through his phone, glancing up occasionally to scan the street and the rooftops above.

Spider-Man dropped beside him, making Lance jump.

“Geez! Don’t do that!”

“Sorry,” Spider-Man said, not sounding particularly sorry. There was something different about his voice…Lance couldn’t lay a finger on it. Then he realized Spider-Man was wearing his old suit, the red-and-blue one.

“What’s with the suit?”

Spider-Man shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, my tech guy’s fixing the other one up. They’re not happy that I got a hole in it, though.”

Lance blinked. “How…did you get a hole in your suit?”

“I got shot.”

“…oh. Um, why are you not in a hospital right now?”

“I’ve got a pretty good medical plan,” Spider-Man said, starting off down the street. Lance followed. He couldn’t figure out what was different about Spider-Man’s voice. It was the same person, he knew, but his voice was…higher, maybe. Now that Lance thought of it, he almost sounded like…but that was just silly.

Right?

“I’m still not sure why you aren’t, like, unconscious right now,” Lance said, jogging to catch up.

“My powers,” Spider-Man explained. “I’ve got some sort of rapid healing factor. That’s what tech guy says, anyway.”

“Huh.” It was kind of freaky, all the little powers Spider-Man had. “Does it hurt?”

“…Yeah, actually.”

“Then why are you here? You should probably be resting or something.”

Spider-Man shrugged. “Can’t just leave you waiting for me, can I?”

He’d been showing up to walk Lance home every night ever since the mugging. It had become a routine, almost; when Lance had asked why he was coming, Spider-Man had responded that it was nice, just walking down the street and talking with someone.

“Not being shot at is a bonus,” Spider-Man had joked. At least, Lance was pretty sure he was joking. It was hard to tell when he couldn’t see the guy’s face.

“Yeah,” Lance said finally, his lips quirking up at the corners. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

They walked on in companionable silence, beneath the golden glow of the streetlamps and the violet night sky beyond.

Chapter Text

Keith hated getting shot. With his powers, it was more of an annoyance than a life-threatening injury, but it was still annoying as hell.

He hissed under his breath as someone jostled against him in the busy hallway, brushing right up against the layers of bandages that sat beneath his shirt.

Pidge glanced at him, brows furrowed in concern behind her large glasses. He shook his head, hitching his bag higher up onto his shoulder.

I’m fine, he mouthed, brushing past a cluster of girls in the hallway. Pidge didn’t look convinced, but she let it go.

Keith was not looking forward to P.E that day; it was torture in of itself, running laps in a cramped, overheated gym with his peers; running with a literal gunshot wound in his side would be pure hell.

Well, healing gunshot wound. He’d checked it over in the bathroom that morning, lifting up his shirt to peer at it in the mirror. It was a small puncture, angry and red; by tonight, it would be nothing more than a faint, puckered scar, and by tomorrow morning it would probably be gone completely.

In the meantime, it hurt to touch, and when he moved too quickly.

They entered the gym, and Pidge waved half-heartedly as they parted ways to change. Keith hated the locker rooms; they were smelly and crowded, with his peers always yelling and shoving boisterously.

On the bright side, though, Lance’s locker was in the same section as Keith’s. Not that he paid any special attention to that, of course.

Hunk and Lance were sitting on the bench, chatting. Lance’s cheeks were flaming, and Hunk was hiding a grin. When the larger boy spotted Keith, he elbowed Lance in the ribs.

“Hey, Keith! How you doing, man?”

“Fine,” Keith mumbled, moving past them to his locker. “Sort of tired.” Because of the car chase last night, he’d been later in getting to Lance’s workplace than he’d have liked.

“Oh, same,” Hunk gushed, rising to his feet. He grinned at Lance, wiggling his eyebrows, and Lance’s shoulders rose to his ears.

“Go to class, you jerk,” Lance grumbled, and Hunk laughed.

“Sorry.” He didn’t sound very sorry. “See you guys later!”

Keith waved goodbye; he didn’t know what that was about, but he figured it was none of his business.

Lance stood, arching his back as he stretched. “Man, I’m beat,” he sighed, stepping to his locker. “Got home late last night.”

Keith had to bite his tongue to keep from apologizing; that was a surefire way of letting his secret loose. Normally, he was careful! He was able to keep quiet, and lie, and hide his other life from everyone.

Why was it so hard to hide it all from Lance? Why did he feel the urge to let it all slip out?

Lance, blissfully unaware of Keith’s existential crisis, stripped off his shirt, reaching inside his locker for his P.E uniform.

He had a strong, lean torso, sculpted from swimming, with wide shoulders that tapered to a trim waist. His skin was a deep tan, smooth and unblemished.

Keith tore his eyes away, feeling his cheeks heat. If Pidge was here, she would be relentlessly teasing him. He tore his own shirt off, ignoring how his ears were burning.

This crush was going to be the death of him.

“Today’s our fitness test,” Mr Iverson stated, glowering at his students with his one remaining eye. “I expect you all to put in everything you’ve got.”

Next to Keith, Pidge suppressed a yawn. Lance only barely held in a snicker, glancing at Keith. His lips were tilted up at the corners, his blue eyes sparkling.

“I hate the fitness tests,” Pidge complained, flopping back, her arms askew. Her glasses sat on the edge of her nose, the lenses glinting in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the gym.

“Everyone does,” Lance sighed, nudging her knee with his toes. “Lucky you, with your abilities to weasel out of it.”

Pidge scoffed. “What can I say? It’s my superpower.”

Keith snorted softly, and Pidge swatted at his knee.

“Quiet down!” Iverson barked. “Line up. Girls first.”

Pidge sighed heavily and dragged herself off the bleachers, trudging to the line with the other girls in the class.

“You’re running the mile today,” Iverson announced. “Start on the whistle.”

Tingles ran down Keith’s spine just before the whistle shrieked, echoing through the room. Lance jumped at the sound before settling back beside Keith.

They watched as the girls started running laps around the gym; Lance hooted and hollered for Pidge every time she came around, and the girl playfully stuck her tongue out as she jogged past.

Keith threw an arm over his eyes, dozing lightly as the time passed. His side was aching, and he dreaded having to run with it.

Lance gently nudged his arm. “Hey, man, you good?”

Keith sighed, dropping his arm. “Just tired,” he mumbled. “I got home pretty late, too.”

Lance hummed, flopping an arm over his eyes with a sigh. “School should definitely start later in the day. I’m beat.”

Keith’s brows furrowed, and he glanced at Lance. “Do you…not like it when Spider-Man walks you home?”

Lance’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. “Nah, that’s cool! It’s actually…really nice, just chatting. He’s a really cool guy.”

Keith felt something unwind inside his gut. He was glad he didn’t scare Lance with his nightly visits.

Lance was studying him, a strange look on his face.

“What?” Keith side-eyed him.

Lance shook himself. “Nothing. Just…I got lost in thought.”

Keith’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t push; he looked ahead just in time for Pidge to step across the line. She was hardly out of breath at all, trotting back to the bleachers and sitting next to Keith.

“How’d you do?” Keith asked, prying his gaze away from Lance’s inquisitive stare.

Pidge shrugged. “I didn’t try at all. Gotta set the bar low for the next fitness test.”

Lance laughed and ruffled her hair. “You gotta do what you gotta do to survive the class, am I right?”

Pidge snorted, shoving his hand away. “Bitch, I invented surviving P.E class,” she grumbled. “Take notes. I’m a natural.”

Lance laughed again, but he was abruptly cut off when Iverson called the boys to the line. Pidge waved cheerily as Lance and Keith reluctantly stood and lined up with the rest of their class.

The run was about as Keith had expected. Every other step sent fire flaring through his side, but he managed to keep his limping to a minimum. Lance stayed in pace with him, chatting with his friend Nyma as they jogged.

When they were done, Keith slumped gratefully to the ground, gasping for breath. Normally he didn’t even break a sweat, but with his injury, he was breathing heavily. Pidge sat next to him, honey eyes filled with concern. Only she knew why he was panting and clutching his side; she wordlessly offered him her water bottle.

He drank greedily, guzzling the cool liquid until his throat didn’t quite feel lined with hot coals anymore. He handed it back with a grateful nod.

“I’m okay,” he murmured, rising to his feet.

Pidge nodded, sliding her water bottle into her backpack. “You should have asked for a letter from Coran,” she murmured. “So you wouldn’t have had to do this today.”

Keith shrugged as Iverson blew his whistle to dismiss the class. “Neither of us knew we were doing the fitness test today. Besides, it’s mostly healed anyway. By tomorrow there won’t even be a scar.”

Pidge shrugged. “‘Aight. See you tonight.” She headed to the girls locker room to change.

Keith’s spine tingled, and a hand patted him on the shoulder.

“You doing okay?” Lance asked, blue eyes filled with concern. “I thought your asthma wasn’t as bad anymore?”

Keith shrugged. “It flares sometimes. I guess today was a bad day.” How long had Lance been there? How much had he heard?

Keith shrugged it off as they walked into the locker room. Even if Lance had caught the last half of their conversation, there was no way he could have connected the dots.

There was absolutely nothing to worry about.

Keith and Pidge left school together, heading to Altea. Pidge had begged him to take her swinging sometime, but he’d left his old suit under the bed at his apartment, and his new suit was at Altea, where Romelle was keeping it until she’d finished mending it.

He glanced up at the towering building, all sleek glass and steel. He’d actually never used the elevator since making Altea his base of operations; why go through the doors when he could simply appear at the top on the balcony?

So Keith let Pidge lead the way through the building; the elevator ride was silent as they went up. Pidge tapped away at her laptop, and Keith leaned against the far wall, watching the floors of the lab go by through the glass elevator wall.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the mysterious woman, the one that Leo had talked about a few days before. The woman who had apparently been mind-controlling him, and the two people from last night. Such a person was dangerous, a threat to everyone.

And Keith didn’t know how to find her to stop her. He didn’t even know where to start.

How could he find someone who left no clues, no trace?

Keith was broken from his musings with the soft ding as the elevator reached the top level. The doors slid open, and Romelle beamed at them from where she stood over her work station.

“Hello, Keith! I’ve got your suit right here!”

“Pidge, I need your assistance with this project,” Allura called, waving the girl over.

Keith gratefully accepted the suit from Romelle, stepping behind the curtain of the medical area to change. The smooth supple fabric was familiar and comfortable, even though he’d only had the new suit for about a week now.

He stepped out, holding his mask, with his hood pulled over his inky hair. Coran and Romelle were bent over a lab project of some kind, murmuring together, and Pidge sat at her usual station, her headphones looped around her neck, her laptop displaying her screen saver.

“Keith, I’ve been meaning to speak to you,” Allura called, and Keith headed over.

“Yeah?”

“I’m concerned with this woman you’ve described,” Allura stated, silver brows pinched together. “If we do not locate her and remove the threat, I’m afraid of what else she may do. She’s simply too dangerous to leave alone; we must find her.”

“I know,” Keith sighed, crossing his arms. “How do you want to do this?”

Allura shook her head. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “There isn’t much evidence for us to work from. I have Romelle using all her resources to find this woman, but she hasn’t come up with much. We simply don’t have enough information.”

“What about Leo? He’s helped before, I’m sure he’d be happy to do so again.”

Allura sighed, rubbing her temples. “He has been very helpful, yes. Unfortunately, there is only so much that he can tell us. We need to find another source of information.”

Keith nodded, slipped his mask over his head. “I’ll keep my eyes out, then,” he said, moving toward the balcony door. “I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

“Pidge, why are these things so confusing?” Keith growled, inspecting the small orb in his hand.

“We can’t have some cop or street guy stealing my tech,” Pidge pointed out. “I made them complicated to keep the normies out.”

Ouch. “Thanks a lot.”

Pidge huffed. “I didn’t mean you. Stop pouting and press the button.”

Keith sighed, doing as he was told. The small mechanical orb in his hand made a soft whirring sound, and he pressed it to the brick wall. It burrowed into the brick, sealing itself into the wall. Even as Keith watched, it shifted in color, changing to match the brick around it.

“With luck,” Allura said over comms, “these devices should detect any traces of something amiss. If anything can help get us closer to finding the woman, this is it.”

“I should know!” Coran exclaimed. “I helped design them!”

He went into a long-winded ramble about how he’d used his great-grandfather’s designs to build them, and Keith automatically tuned him out. Not that he didn’t like hearing Coran talk for hours on end about his inventions…except he didn’t like hearing Coran talk for hours on end about his inventions.

Keith glanced at his watch. “Pidge, it’s time for me to head out. Will you get home okay?”

He could almost hear the eye-roll in her voice. “I’ll be fine. Have fun on your date.”

She signed off with a click.

“Good night, Keith,” Allura said. “We will keep looking for this woman. Whoever she is…we’ll find her.”

Then she, too, signed off.

Keith sighed, sagging against the brick building. He hated it, feeling so helpless. He became Spider-Man to help people, but he couldn’t do that if he didn’t know where the threat was. It was unnerving, knowing that someone with such abilities was loose in New York, and nobody had any idea how to stop her-or even find her.

With a sigh, he pushed off the building, heading for the Lion’s Den. Lance was waiting outside, chatting with his boss and a coworker.

Keith sat on the building, watching as the boss got into his car, and the coworker on a bicycle. Lance was left standing alone on the sidewalk; as Keith watched, he tilted his head back, scanning the rooftops.

He’s looking for me, Keith realized. Something in his stomach fluttered at the thought; that Lance was trying to find him, that Lance was waiting.

He slid down on a web, lightly dropping the rest of the way to the ground. Lance’s head snapped up, and he grinned.

“Hey. How was patrol?”

Keith shrugged as they headed down the street. “Some guy tried to break into an apartment building,” he explained. “That was about it.”

It was true; crime was dropping. He didn’t know why; in fact, it was a little unnerving. Almost like the calm before the storm.

But there wasn’t much Keith could do until he found the woman who was behind the people in the van from last night.

Lance hummed and nodded. “And the bullet wound? Are you sure you don’t need a hospital?”

“I’m fine,” Keith replied with another shrug. “By morning there won’t even be a scar.”

Lance nodded again, wrapping his arms around himself with a shiver. The nights were getting colder; soon Keith would have to start wearing thicker clothes beneath his suit so he wouldn’t freeze.

“So, what’s going on with school?” Keith asked, casting a sidelong glance at Lance.

The other boy shrugged; beneath the pale light of the streetlamps, his cheeks were dusted with pink.

“I dunno. There’s this-this person who I guess I’m…I’m kinda into them.”

Something inside Keith cracked at the words. “I-Is that right?” He tried to keep his voice neutral, like his whole heart wasn’t splitting in two.

Lance shrugged. “I mean, I don’t wanna force all my teenage drama on you-”

“No, it’s fine,” Keith said, waving his arms. “I…I like talking to you.”

The smile that spread across Lance’s face made Keith’s heart thud in his chest.

“Okay.”

They walked for a few more minutes, enjoying the silence, when Keith’s curiosity got the better of him.

“So, what’re they like? The person you like?”

Lance hummed thoughtfully. “They’re…just beautiful. They’re really quiet, and some people think they’re aloof or mean, but they’re a really nice person. I…I don’t think they know how amazing they are. And how much I want to ask them on a date.”

Keith swallowed, forcing his emotions aside. He hated it. He hated it, how his heart fractured with every new word, how his mood just seemed to sink lower and lower. But he was Lance’s friend. And…if Lance wasn’t going to be with him, then…maybe being his friend would be enough.

“You should tell them how you feel,” Keith said finally. “If you don’t tell them that you think they’re amazing, and that you want to go on a date with them…they’ll never know.”

“But they’re my friend,” Lance sighed, fiddling with the drawstrings of his blue hoodie. “We’ve had a rocky relationship in the past, and I don’t want to mess anything up.”

“You won’t,” Keith promised. “If they don’t feel the same way, then they’ll still be your friend because that’s what friends do.” He couldn’t imagine anyone not feeling the same way about Lance, but that was beside the point. “And if they break off the friendship because you like them…like that… maybe they’re better off not being your friend.”

He silently thanked all of Adam and Shiro’s talks with him about honesty and expressing feelings. He’d never acted on any of the things they told him, of course, but he was happy he could use their advice to help Lance.

Even if it broke his heart to do it.

Lance seemed to brighten, the corners of his mouth ticking upward. “You’re right,” he murmured. He glanced up, seeing that they’d reached his house, and grinned at Keith. “Thanks for the advice, Spider-Man. I…I think I’ll go for it!”

Keith said nothing, feeling his heart break completely. He watched as Lance walked up to his house, and as he glanced back to wave goodbye one last time before disappearing inside.

Then he swung up to the rooftops and beyond, leaving the shards of his broken heart behind on the pavement in front of the house with blue flower boxes and the boy he loved inside.

Her footsteps echoed through the wide, open space as she stalked toward the middle of the room.

The man stood there, arms crossed over his bulky chest. Though he towered over her, he seemed to shrink as she approached, making himself smaller as if to try and avoid being noticed.

It was as if he could sense that she was easily the most dangerous person in this room.

As he should.

She stopped in front of him, gazing up at him with her unnerving yellow eyes.

“You wish to serve?” Her voice was low and rasping, a result of too long spent inside her office, looking over her projects.

The man tilted his head. “I do. If you can make me whole.” His voice was deep and rumbling, powerful.

Excellent.

The woman regarded him, his hairy sideburns, the pinned sleeve of his shirt that hung empty. She grinned; it wasn’t a nice smile. It was a baring of fangs, sharp and calculating and dangerous.

“I know just the thing. If you’re sure…let us begin.”

Chapter Text

Keith was in a mood for the entire morning after walking Lance home. Shiro glanced at him in concern as he trudged down the stairs, shadows beneath his eyes; Adam raised a delicate brow, his hazel eyes tracking Keith’s every movement.

At lunch, he slumped over his tray, unwilling to make eye contact with anyone. Some part of him wondered why he was so upset over learning Lance liked someone else already.

But the truth was, Keith was so tired of being left behind.

He sighed glumly, shoveling tasteless lumps of mashed potato into his mouth. Pidge sat down beside him with a clatter of the tray against the table. She nudged his ribs with her elbow.

“You good?”

Keith hesitated, then shrugged. “Just tired.”

Pidge didn’t look convinced, but she shrugged and turned to her lunch. They ate in silence, Keith stirring his fork through his food. He didn’t have much of an appetite.

He expected Lance and Hunk to appear out of nowhere at any moment, but they never came; not even when the bell for class rang.

He glanced at Pidge, and she shrugged. “I think Lance was helping Hunk study for a test in the library today.”

Or he was asking someone on a date, Keith thought before he could stop himself. He shook his head to dispel the thought, shouldering his backpack with a heavy sigh.

He gloomily said goodbye to Pidge before trudging down the hall. Students swarmed all around, heading to their next classes, but the sound around Keith was muted, as if he were in a glass cage and everyone else was on the outside looking in.

He didn’t remember walking to his locker; one moment he was in the hallway, and the next he was standing in front of the row of lockers, staring at his number like he might bore a hole through it with his gaze.

Keith mechanically reached up to open it, but someone moving close in his peripheral vision sent tingles running down his spine. His hair stood on end, and Keith whirled to see Lance standing there, absently tapping his fingers on his thighs. His usual army jacket was open over a dark blue shirt, the exact same shade as his eyes.

“Hey, man,” Lance said, his eyes darting around Keith’s face, never staying in one spot for long.

Keith raised his eyebrows and waited. He’d never seen Lance be so nervous.

“I was uh, thinking maybe we could…go get ice cream or something?” Lance swallowed, crossing his arms and waiting.

It took a moment for Keith’s brain to catch up. “Wh-like…just us?”

Lance bobbed his head, a small, nervous smile cracking across his face. “Uh, yeah? If you want to? I mean, Pidge and Hunk could come too, if that’s not your thing-”

“I’m lactose intolerant,” Keith interrupted, and Lance’s mouth snapped shut. The other boy wilted, his face falling.

“R-right. I forgot about that,” Lance muttered. He looked like he might cry, but he didn’t look surprised; as if he had expected Keith to turn him down.

“Buuuuut,” Keith continued, dragging his toe across the carpet, “I do know of a cafe that sells dairy-free ice cream. It’s down on 11th.”

Lance brightened like a miniature sun bloomed beneath his skin. “Cool!” He looked like he was about to burst. “How does tomorrow sound? It’s Saturday, after all!”

“Noon?” Keith suggested, shuffling his books in his arms.

Lance nodded enthusiastically, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Yeah. See you then?”

Keith didn’t know what prompted him to say what he did. Maybe it was Lance’s infectious excitement, or the swirling butterflies in his gut that were making him woozy. Whatever the case, Keith opened his mouth almost before he even realized he was speaking.

“Can I drive you home today? Adam let me use his car for once as long as I return it in time for him to use it tonight.”

Lance blinked in surprise, then grinned. “I mean, I won’t complain about not having to walk.” The tardy bell rang, and Lance winced. He stepped back, calling over his shoulder. “Meet me at the flagpole after class, okay?”

Before Keith could reply, Lance disappeared into the surge of students.

Had he bothered to stand on his tiptoes, he might have seen Lance be crushed in a hug by Hunk, or Lance’s bright red ears as he breathlessly recapped their conversation. He might have seen Hunk’s bright grin, and Lance hyperventilating like he was about to faint.

Instead, Keith exhaled shakily, willing the butterflies in his gut to calm down. He felt giddy, light-headed, like he was swinging through the city after spinning in circles.

He wandered to his next class in a daze, hardly able to think; his head was in the clouds, and he was on top of the world.

And nothing could bring him back to earth.

Lance was standing outside, leaning against the flagpole like promised. Keith took a shaky breath, and Pidge elbowed him.

“One, you owe me a ride to Altea next time you have the car since it’s not happening today. And two…” she yanked on his shirt to pull Keith’s face down to her level. Her honey eyes blazed into his. “Don’t blow this, loverboy,” she hissed. “I have been waiting for this day for years. Don’t take it away from me.”

Pidge released him, and Keith straightened, smoothing the wrinkles from his shirt. “What do you mean, ‘you’ve been waiting for this for years?’”

Pidge shrugged, hitching her backpack higher onto her shoulders. “Hunk and I have a bet going. And I want to win, so don’t mess this up.”

She walked away, leaving Keith behind to splutter in shock.

“Wh- a bet?”

Pidge flipped him off over her shoulder, and Keith sighed, shoulders dropping. He made his way to Lance, hands shoved in his pockets.

Lance pushed off from the flagpole, grinning at Keith. “Took you long enough.”

Keith rolled his eyes, waving for Lance to follow. “Come on. I gotta have the car back here for Adam in half an hour.”

Adam’s car was nicer than one would expect from a high school teacher, though it wasn’t exactly a sports car, either. When Keith had asked why he even had a car in New York City, Adam had replied that it was the best way to get guys.

That conversation definitely didn’t play a part in Keith’s offer to Lance. Absolutely not.

They climbed in and put on their seatbelts. Keith pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street, and Lance reached for the radio.

Keith slapped his hand away. “Nope. The driver gets to be the DJ.”

Lance pouted, slumping in his seat. “This is Lancephobia.”

Keith snorted out a laugh, shaking his head.

The drive to Lance’s house was much shorter than it was to walk; Keith signaled his turn as the car smoothly transitioned to Lance’s street. He put it in park outside Lance’s house, and the other glanced up in surprise.

“Oh.” Lance’s brows furrowed as he stared at his house from the window. “We’re here.”

He glanced at Keith, a strange look on his face; before Keith could decipher it, the look disappeared and Lance’s bright smile was back.

“Thanks for the ride, man!” He gathered his things and stepped from the vehicle. “See you tomorrow? At noon?”

Keith nodded, unable to hide his smile. “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

Lance waved and stepped inside; Keith sat there for a moment, trying not to hyperventilate. Finally, he put the car into drive and pulled away from the curb; when he was out of earshot from Lance’s house, he pumped his fist and whooped to the stars.

He was in a daze throughout the whole night of patrol. Finally, Pidge threw up her hands with a huff.

“Keith, just go home! You can’t even focus!”

“Sorry,” Keith mumbled from where he crouched atop a roof overlooking Times Square. “Just thinking.”

Pidge sighed. “At least nothing’s been going on tonight. Your head isn’t in the game.”

“Is it Lance?” Romelle asked, her voice overlapping Pidge’s over the comms. “Did you finally ask him out?”

“No,” Keith replied, and Pidge butted in.

“Lance asked him out,” she explained.

Romelle squealed, and Keith jumped, wincing at the sound in his ear.

“That’s amazing what did you say what are you guys going when is it where is it-”

“He can’t answer all of those at once, sweetheart,” Allura pointed out, and Keith could almost see Romelle’s pout.

“Why not? He’s got a mouth, doesn’t he?”

“Let him be,” Allura sighed. “It is late, anyway; I think it is time we went home for the night.”

“Text me later, Keith,” Pidge said. “I want to hear the details tomorrow.”

“Oh, me too!” Romelle exclaimed.

Keith sighed. “I’ll be sure to fill all of you in on my love life. If you insist.”

“Oh, we do,” Romelle said smugly. “See you tomorrow!”

She signed off with a click.

“Good luck tomorrow,” Pidge said. Then she, too, was gone.

Keith exhaled and began to head home. He had to ask Adam for advice.

He slipped in through the window, creeping along the ceiling. Adam was probably home by now, so he had to be stealthy.

Keith webbed the door shut, then dropped to the ground, landing on his feet like a cat. He let his breath out, turned, and his blood froze.

Adam stood there, facing Keith with a neutral expression. He held a stack of papers in his hands, his glasses perched on the end of his nose.

“A-Adam!” Keith stuttered, floundering for something to say. “Uh, this isn’t what it looks like! I was-”

“Save it,” Adam interrupted, dropping the papers on Keith’s bed. His hazel eyes twinkled playfully as he said, “I’ve known for weeks now.”

Keith’s mouth moved, but no sound came out. Adam chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t told Takashi. Figured this was a bit of gossip you wanted to keep private.”

Keith could only nod dumbly in response, and Adam chuckled.

“See you later. Try not to get shot, okay?”

He headed for the door, and it wasn’t until Adam was about to step over the threshold that Keith was able to get words to leave his mouth.

“Lance asked me on a date.”

Adam’s head snapped around, his eyes comically wide behind his glasses. “What?” Adam’s shriek could have shattered glass.

“I need help,” Keith admitted. “Can you tell me what you know?”

Adam rubbed his hands together, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Can I? Keith, you’re about to get a lesson in dating from the professional. Buckle up; it’s time for class.”

Keith’s nerves danced in his gut as he sat at the table, absently kicking at the tile floor. Lance was a few minutes late, which wasn’t helping his nervousness. Adam’s “lessons” last night hadn’t been very helpful; it had mostly been Adam asking Keith if Lance knew that he was Spider-Man. Which was a solid and definite no. Adam had pouted, crossing his arms with a huff.

Keith, it’s much easier to woo a man if you happen to be a superhero. Trust me, this is science.

Keith huffed, sinking lower in his seat. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Lance to know who he was…deep down, Keith was afraid that if Lance knew, he would like Spider-Man, not the boy behind the mask. If Lance was going to like him, he wanted Lance to like him as Keith, not the super-strong superhero.

He was broken from his thoughts by the cheery jingle of the bell as the cafe door swung open. Lance stepped inside, cheeks flushed from the cold, his jacket unzipped to reveal a Star Wars T-shirt. His gaze roved over the customers, stopping on Keith. A smile spread across his face as Lance made his way over.

“Hey! Sorry I’m late! I had to drop my nephew off at the elementary school.” Lance slid into his seat with a sigh.

Keith’s brows furrowed. “It’s Saturday. What are they doing over there?”

Lance shrugged as he peeled off his jacket and spread it on the back of his chair. “They’re getting ready for a play production,” he explained. “Silvio’s pretty excited for it. He’s helping build the set today.”

Keith hummed. “He’s doing a play?”

Lance chuckled. “He keeps going on about how much we’ll all love it,” he said fondly. “It’s pretty cute.”

The waitress came over, and they both ordered sundaes. She walked off with their order, and Lance stretched in his chair.

“Man, it’s cold today! I don’t even know why we’re getting ice cream.”

Keith snorted. “Because you asked me to?”

Lance laughed. “Well, true.”

Keith exhaled, breathing in this moment. No villains, no criminals. No guns, no mysteries, no teachers waving homework in his face. Just him and Lance, sitting in a booth, with no worries and not a care in the world.

Then Keith’s phone buzzed, and he groaned internally. He’d spoken too soon.

“You can get that,” Lance said, taking a sip of his water. “I don’t mind.”

Keith pulled his phone from his pocket, glancing at the screen. A message from Romelle flashed, and Keith sighed. Couldn’t she wait for another half hour until the date was over?

Then he saw the text itself, and his blood ran cold.

RapunzelLetDownYourHair: keith we have a problem. code red

Keith typed out a reply, his blood rushing in his ears.

Samurai42: whats happening?

RapunzelLetDownYourHair: trouble at the elementary school. ill tell you on the way

Keith jumped to his feet, pulling on his jacket. He turned to Lance, who was sitting with wide eyes.

“I’m so sorry. I-I gotta go.”

Lance’s face fell, and it hit Keith like a blow to the gut. Lance probably thought he was a total asshole now.

“I’m sorry,” Keith said again, moving for the door. “I’ll text you later, okay?” And then he was out the door, leaving Lance sitting alone in the cafe.

The other boy’s crestfallen expression was burned behind Keith’s eyelids, but he forced the image away. He would have to apologize later, but right now the city needed Spider-Man, not Keith.

He slipped into an alley, tearing off his clothes and stuffing them into the backpack he’d stashed there a few months ago. As always, his suit was underneath, and Keith pulled on his mask before leaping out into the streets.

“Romelle? Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Keith! Thank goodness!” Romelle exclaimed. “There’s a man threatening the children at the elementary school down by your high school. Police are on the scene, but he has a device that may bring down the roof on top of the people inside!”

Keith swore, swinging faster. “What kind of device? Is there a way to disable it?”

“I’m on my way right now,” Pidge said, her voice cutting over the comms. She was breathing heavily; she must be running. “If I can get there in time and find the device, maybe I can disable it before-”

“No,” Keith interrupted. “If this thing goes off and you’re still inside the building, you’ll be killed. I’m going to evacuate everyone. It’s the best plan.”

Pidge protested, but Romelle interrupted. “Keith is right. There simply isn’t enough time.”

Pidge was silent as Keith swung around onto the school’s street.

“Be careful,” she whispered finally.

“I will,” Keith promised.

He hoped he didn’t just lie to her.

The scene was even worse than Romelle had described. Police officers bustled around, trying to figure out how to get inside the building without provoking the man inside to bring the roof down.

Keith landed on the roof of the elementary school, peering in through the windows. Every person in the school had been herded into a single classroom, clustering at the edges of the room. The man with the device stood in the center of the classroom, glaring at the door.

“Be careful, Keith,” Romelle whispered. “One wrong move…”

“And a lot of little kids die,” Keith finished in a murmur. “Yep. Got it.”

He watched the man, waiting until he turned his back to the window. Nobody was looking. None of the police officers noticed him standing there.

“Romelle? I’m going in.” And Keith moved.

He swung out from the building, swooping back in to kick the window with all his strength. The glass fell inward in a cascade of glittering shards, and Keith flew through to deliver a hard kick to the man’s back.

He fell forward with a surprised grunt, and Keith landed in the middle of the room in a crouch.

Ripples of Spider-Man’s name swept through the room as every set of children’s eyes turned to Keith.

The man struggled to his feet, glaring at Keith. “You,” he snarled. “Wasn’t counting on you showing up.”

Keith’s voice was hard. “Well, you should have.”

He darted forward, webbing the device from the man’s hand and sending it splatting against the far wall, out of reach. The man yelped and ducked beneath Keith’s swing, heading for the window. Keith turned to go after him, but the man grinned, holding up a small remote.

Keith froze.

“I thought so,” the man sneered. “I’ve been watching you for a long time, Spider-Man. It’s no secret that you value the lives of civilians.”

“If I didn’t, then there would be no point in doing what I do,” Keith retorted, not daring to move an inch. He didn’t think the man would make the ceiling collapse on himself, but he wasn’t about to risk it.

The man sneered, eyes narrowing. His long silver hair was pulled back into a braid, out of the way of his face. “That’s your mistake.”

His thumb jammed down on the button, and he jumped out the window.

The room rumbled, chunks of roof falling from the ceiling. There was no time to get the kids out, so Keith did the only thing he could. He let go and let his instincts take over.

He swept around, webs flowing from his shooters. They snagged around ankles, arms, waists, pulling every person in the room toward him.

And then the roof came crashing down.

Keith didn’t know how he wasn’t crushed. He crouched beneath the weight of the roof, gasping for breath in the dust-filled air. All around him, in the small space between the ceiling and the ground, kids were lying on the floor, covered in dust and scratches.

“Is everyone okay?” Keith’s voice was a rough croak. One by one, the kids lifted their heads, nodding in confirmation.

“Mr. Spider-Man?” A little boy whispered, gently laying a hand on Keith’s thigh. “What are we going to do?” His blue eyes were wide with fear, his face caked with dust, his little body trembling.

Pain was lancing down Keith’s arms as he held up the roof, but he glanced around at the children. They were all watching him, eyes large as saucers. Several had tears streaking the dust on their faces.

And Keith knew what he had to do.

“Everyone just…stay calm,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

The comms were static in his ear; they must have been busted. Or perhaps the roof was interfering with the signal. Either way, Keith was on his own. These children’s lives were in his hands.

“Everyone stay close to me,” he rasped. At once, the children obeyed, scooting closer until they were huddled around him. Several were crying, while others just trembled silently.

“When I tell you to go,” Keith continued hoarsely, “go. There are people outside waiting to help, okay?”

All the kids nodded, and Keith mustered his strength. He couldn’t afford to fail. Not this time. He groaned as he began to push up; all around him, the ceiling creaked, dust raining down on the huddled cluster of kids.

Keith pushed harder, shakily rising to his knees, then up to a low crouch. The kids watched with huge eyes, tear-streaked faces turned toward Keith.

Then one of them, the boy with the oddly familiar blue eyes, began to speak.

“You can do it, Spider-Man,” he whispered. “You can do it.”

One by one, the other kids took up the chant, their voices rising as the ceiling did. Keith yelled as he straightened to his full height; sunlight slanted through the new opening.

“Go!” Keith shouted, his voice rough with exertion. "Go!"

The kids didn’t need to be told twice. They ran for the opening, holding each other’s hands and helping the others climb through. Keith’s whole body was shaking with exertion, his arms screaming as they held up the whole ceiling like Atlas with the sky.

The last child, the blue-eyed boy, glanced back. A wide smile spread across his dusty face. “I knew you could do it!” he crowed, before crawling through the hole.

Keith yelled again, gritting his teeth as he shifted the ceiling aside. It crashed to the ground beside him, sending dust poofing up into his face. His knees buckled, and Keith fell to the ground, chest heaving.

A cheer went up, from the children, from the paramedics, from the police officers.

Romelle murmured in his ear, voice shaky with shock. “You did it.”

Keith was too busy trying to breathe to reply. His whole body ached, and his arms trembled from where they held him up.

Then a shadow fell across his face, and Keith lifted his head.

Shiro stood there, in his police uniform, offering a hand. Keith took it, and Shiro pulled him to his feet, supporting his weight.

“That…that was incredibly brave,” Shiro murmured, patting Keith’s back. His gray eyes were solemn. “From now on, you have my support.”

Keith nodded, breathing out a shaky thank you.

Shiro turned to go, but paused, motioning to where the kids sat, being attended to by paramedics. “Wave,” Keith’s brother said, jerking his head toward the children. “You’re their hero now.”

Several kids, seeing Keith looking at them, waved shyly. Keith slowly waved back, feeling something almost like pride bloom in his chest.

“Congratulations, Keith,” Romelle said as he turned to leave. “You’re officially a superhero now.”

Keith exhaled shakily. “Holy shit,” he whispered. He swung up to a lamppost, and a raucous cheer went up from the gathered crowd below as he swung over their heads. He heard them cheering all the way to the next block over.

Lance was waiting by the door of the Lion’s Den, like always. His arms were wrapped around himself, his shoe scuffing the concrete sidewalk.

Keith lowered himself to the ground, wondering how he should apologize. Over text? At school on Monday?

But before he could get much farther than that, Lance rushed forward, throwing himself into Keith’s arms.

Keith stumbled back, instinctively hugging him back. “Lance?”

“You saved my nephew,” Lance whispered, voice tremulous.

The boy with the familiar blue eyes. The one who had cheered Keith on as he lifted the ceiling so the children could escape.

Slowly, Keith wrapped his arms around Lance. “Holy shit,” he breathed.

They stayed that way for a long time, Lance tucking his face into the crook of Keith’s neck, with Keith’s arms wrapped around him, holding him close.

Finally, Lance pulled away, a crooked grin on his face as he began to walk in the other direction.

“Since you saved Silvio, I think I might forgive you for ditching me in the cafe.”

Keith froze, his brain short-circuiting. “I-I don’t know what you mean,” he said automatically.

Lance shrugged. “You don’t have to confirm it. But I’ve been piecing things together and, well, it’s either a lot of very random coincidences, or you’re Keith Kogane.

Keith crossed his arms across his chest. “‘Piecing things together?’ What kinds of things?”

Lance shrugged as he continued to walk, and Keith reluctantly followed. “Just little things. You got all ripped and muscly the very same summer that Spider-Man appeared, you had a healing scar that disappeared, you sounded like Keith when you weren’t wearing the new suit, and you drove me to my house even though I didn’t give you directions yesterday.”

Keith resisted the urge to smack his forehead. He was an idiot. When he spoke, his voice was only barely level. “Wow. Those are…a lot of small things.”

“I know,” Lance said, “but when you put it together…it’s just too much of a coincidence to be a coincidence.”

Keith hesitated. Should he tell Lance? The other had already figured it out, but Keith didn’t want to involve him in such a dangerous life.

It needs to be his decision, Keith realized. He grabbed Lance’s wrist and led him into an alley, out of sight from the street.

Lance glanced around nervously. “Uh, this isn’t where you murder me because I figured out your secret, is it?”

Keith shook his head. “I’m not going to murder you. I just…I want you to understand something.”

Lance waited, blue eyes a deep indigo in the dark of the night.

“This is a dangerous job,” Keith said finally, letting his breath out in a rush. “I-If you’re going to be in on it, then I need you to understand that knowing who I am will only put you in danger.” He searched Lance’s face, wanting to make sure the boy understood. “I’ve made a lot of enemies. And if they ever find out that you know who Spider-Man is…you’ll be in danger.”

Lance hesitated, and Keith could see him thinking it over. Finally, he smiled a little. “I can’t let the guy I’m dating fight baddies on his own, now can I?”

Keith exhaled, feeling something loosen in his gut. Despite everything, he was relieved that Lance had chosen this. He was tired of hiding. Tired of faking.

Slowly, Keith’s hands closed over Lance’s wrists, raising them to his neck, right where the bottom of the mask rested.

“If you want to know, take it off.” Keith’s voice was rough, quiet, barely filling the space between them. “I won’t stop you.”

Lance’s brows furrowed. “Are you sure?”

“I want you to do it,” Keith said, releasing Lance’s wrists. “It’s your choice. I won’t tell you which one to make.”

Lance chewed his lower lip, his hands trembling slightly from where they rested at Keith’s neck. Then he curled his fingers beneath the fabric of the mask, slowly peeling upward. Keith’s eyes slipped closed as the mask slid further up his face, slowly revealing his features. At last, the mask slid all the way off, and Keith slowly opened his eyes.

A small smile spread across Lance’s face, and he laughed breathily. “I knew it.”

Keith rubbed his thumb against his index finger, letting out a shaky breath. “It’s dangerous, knowing about me,” he murmured. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Lance offered the mask, his blue eyes fixed to Keith’s violet. “I’ll be okay,” he promised. “I want to help.”

Keith hesitated before slipping the mask on. “Okay,” he said finally. “Just…promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

Lance shrugged. “I won’t if you won’t.”

They began to move from the alley, and Lance glanced sideways at Keith. “So. Since today kind of flopped…do you wanna go catch a movie with me sometime?”

Keith smiled, walking in step with Lance. “As long as you don’t ditch me at the theater.”

Lance scoffed. “I’m not the one who ditches their dates here!”

Keith laughed. “I thought you forgave me for that!”

“Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. You’re gonna have to find out, Spider-Man.”

Keith sighed. “If you say so.”

They walked off into the night, and Keith couldn’t keep his smile from his face.