I'm livin' for the only thing I know

I'm running here and I'm not quite sure

Where to go?

And down I know I'd like to be in tune

Just hanging by a moment here with you

~Lifehouse / Hanging by a moment

ooo

(A/N): WARNING! This part contains violence and homophobia. If you're not comfortable with that, please skip the first part of this volume. The other three sections should be ok.

ooo

Keith's life was coming to an end.

That's always how it was supposed to be. As the law of equivalent exchange dictates, a life can be revived only by something equally as powerful, and what's more powerful than life? Keith finally understood. Or perhaps he had always known. Keith was going to die so that Lance may live on. The only thing that was a surprise was how soon the exchange occurred. No time to truly grasp existence. No time to experience all the ups and downs that came with adulthood. Or maybe it wasn't too early. Maybe it was the right moment for him. A destiny, in whatever melodious intent it unfolded.

The bedroom door slammed open, and Keith, Nico, and Jordan jumped at the sight of Lance. He wore the same outfit, had the same hair and skin tone, and sported the same eye and nose shape, but something was different. His features were transfigured into an alien expression mixed with confusion and fear. "What's going on?"

Screams came like explosions from down the hall. Lance shut the door, but it wasn't enough to stifle the shells as they dropped.

"Father's back from work." Nico said, grim, a shadow fallen over his eyes. "You need to go. Without being noticed, preferably."

"Why is he so mad?" Keith's limbs quivered. He could barely hold himself upright.

"Why do you think?" Nico sneered. "Maybe next time you should take better care of your stuff before you leave."

Keith's skin turned white as parchment as realization freed itself from his scrambled thoughts. The world spiraled until it collapsed. "The letter." He breathed, then turned to Lance, "Lance, it's the letter."

"What letter?"

"The letter..." Keith swallowed. "Y - you..."

Keith was petrified as he looked on at the melting pot of guilt, confusion, and something unexplainable in Lance's eyes. He had forgotten. Keith couldn't believe he had forgotten. "I'm sorry..." Lance's voice trailed. "I - I don't remember. I - I can't -"

The ghost boy didn't have time to finish his sentence when a crash sounded from behind the bedroom door. Keith's head snapped back, heart pounded, and a trail of sweat ran from his hairline down the brim of his nose.

"What was that?" Lance fumbled back, his legs transparent. He lifted off the ground for a moment, came down, then hovered back up. Not seeming to notice, Lance clutched the fabric of his shirt, breathing in and out unevenly. "What is this feeling? W - why am I so... Who is that?"

"I don't care!" The male voice thundered.

Lance rushed to the door before Keith could stop him. He yanked it open and was gone in a second. Keith followed after him despite Nico's boisterous protests. Lance ran as if he had harbored intention, though Keith knew his slipping mind could not weave the mask of coherence to this array of auditory madness.

Keith followed Lance down the hall into the living room, Nico and Jordan on his tail. He wanted to shout out, but didn't have the proper words. Instead, he watched Lance scramble soundlessly foreword until the horrid scene pushed back its veil.

Everyone stopped; Lance beside Keith, Nico and Jordan just behind them. Mr. McClain, Chloe, and Alice McClain all turned, their mouths — once ablaze with contention — now hanging wordlessly ajar. It was a while before someone got their bearings straight enough to speak. "What are you doing here?" Mrs. McClain's voice was no more than a whisper, her throat and expression pained, gray-streaked curls low against her cheeks, frayed, and greasy.

"I told you not to come." Chloe murmured, her feet inches away from a shattered, glass vase.

Keith's hand shot for Lance's, pulling him back. Despite his attempt, Lance stood firm. His focus was trained at his father's face, nothing more. An existence of two. Two minds. Two hearts. Two tucked away autobiographies with page after page of outrage. It was just him, Mr. McClain and the letter he held in his clenched fist.

"I don't know his name." Lance's eyes were blue fire. "I don't know his face. I don't know him, so why do I want to kill him?"

"Please..." Keith tightened his grip. "We need to go."

"You!" Mr. McClain boomed. His heavy foot slammed against the floor, his thick, sturdy finger jabbing in Keith's direction. "Get away from Nico, maricón!"

"W - wha..." Keith let go of Lance and took a step back. He fumbled against Nico, who was numb and stationary in his horror. Mr. McClain's face became strained, veins throbbing on his neck and forehead.

"You came back for another victim?" He spat, shaking the letter between them furiously. "Since you no longer have Lance to corrupt, fag?"

The word filled him with chills; with an unparalleled anger inexpressible by description alone. How could

a vastly simple word — the pairing of three distinct letters in the English alphabet — have such a lasting bite? One that sinks far below the skin, through the muscle tissue, and deep within the bone. So far until it's a part of you; your existence. Language. Language is the gravest evil.

"Jone, please." Alice McClain begged, but her voice was too soft to be heard over Mr. McClain's.

"You're not welcome in this house!" Mr. McClain stepped closer to Keith, disgusting spittle flying from his teeth. His nostrils blared above his scraggly mustache and thin lips. "Go back to hell where you people belong!"

Keith didn't have time to respond. Mr. McClain raised his fist and swung at Keith. Frozen in place, he watched the knuckled hand as it came barreling towards his face like a bullet. Keith's muscles tightened and eyes pinched shut in preparation for the impact. But, before Mr. McClain made contact, Lance pushed Keith, sending them both tumbling to the floor.

For mere seconds after the fact, Keith found himself in a state of confusion. Had he been hit? It didn't feel like it. Lance was on top of Keith, his chest pressed against his own and legs entangled. Keith felt a tinge of pain at his side where he had fallen.

Mr. McClain's momentum made him stumble, his once pinched eyebrows now high, traveling to his hairline. No human could move independently like that, and if Mr. McClain had half a brain cell, he would've noticed. Instead, he regained his balance and sped to where the two boys were sprawled across the floor. Just as Jone McClain's foot slammed down, Lance and Keith rolled in opposite directions, narrowly avoiding having their skulls crushed between his boot and the hardwood.

Keith scrambled to his feet and spun just as Mr. McClain readied another punch. Jone McClain's arm lifted to his chin, and his elbow drew back to build the most power. But, as he was about to move, something - someone rather - grabbed hold of his arm, yanking it back. This gave enough time for Keith to scurry away, putting a safe distance between him and Lance's father.

Mr. McClain pulled himself free and turned to see Nico, anger reaching its boiling point. Nico backed away, rightly terrorized. Mr. McClain clutched his shoulders and pushed his son off his feet. Nico toppled over, landing with a thud, blood from his hand wound and face splattering across the ground and nearby furniture. "I should've known!" Mr. McClain's boot pushed into Nico's chest, forcing his sick lungs to gasp for air. "I should've known you would turn out to be one of them. Your fucking satanic books and clothing. How is it that I helped create two fucking pansies?"

"Get away from him!" Keith shrieked, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He rushed forward and pushed Jone McClain with all the strength he could muster. The older man faltered, releasing his foot from off the blue-faced Nico. He gasped, clutching his chest. Chloe ran to his side, hauling him off the ground and away from the fight.

Jordan ran to Nico and flailed his arms around his legs. He was bawling his eyes out, too upset to see or think. Nico held him tight in a protective hug.

"Don't tell me what to do, maricón!" Mr. McClain took the letter, — Lance's letter — and Keith watched as he tore it to shreds before his very eyes. "You killed Lance, and now you're taking my kids out one by one."

"I didn't kill him!" Keith stood his ground, glancing only briefly at the scattered paper spread at Mr. McClain's feet. "No one killed him, but you were the one to make his life a living hell."

Mr. McClain's eyes widened in a furious rage. "You fucking -"

Alice McClain stepped between him and Keith. Jone McClain hesitated for only a minute before saying, "This is your fault, puta! You're too much of a pansy to produce a man. You taught Lance how to cook, you taught Rio how to clean, you taught the twins to sow. If you had a single ounce of good genes in you, you wouldn't be such a useless whore!"

"Don't talk to her like that, you demon!" Lance yelled. Keith snapped his head around. He saw Lance, his lined jaw and posture portraying murderous intent.

"What did you say?" Mr. McClain looked through Mrs. McClain to Keith like she was merely a glass pane. He must have thought it was Keith who had yelled. But, if that was the case, how did Mr. McClain hear him?

Mr. McClain took a long stride forward, but Mrs. McClain stopped him in his tracks. "No, Jone. Leave him be. He did nothing wrong."

"His whole self is sick!" Mr. McClain roared. "He needs to join Lance in hell, where they both belong!"

"Don't talk about my son like that!" Mrs. McClain pushed his shoulder back. She looked ridiculously small compared to her husband.

"Don't push me, bitch!" Mr. McClain continued forward, thrusting his shoulder into her's on the way to Keith.

Alice McClain grabbed his arm and spun him back around. She narrowed her eyes and jabbed her finger in his face. "My son is not in hell, and this young man is not sick. It's you who's the ignorant bastard!"

"Know your place, woman!"

"Rot in your cowardice, Jone."

Mr. McClain's hand flew to Mrs. McClain's head and clutched a handful of black hair between his fingers. He pulled her scalp until she shrieked, then yanked her to the side. Her stomach collided with a coffee table, and Mr. McClain let go as she doubled over, clutching her stomach. Hot tears ran down her eyes, and a trail of blood fell across her chin as she groaned, rolling helplessly on the floor.

No one saw it happen. It was too fast, Keith wasn't sure if there was a point in time between then and when Lance had his fingers wrapped around his father's neck, sending them both careening backward. Lance ran him all the way into the wall, his nails digging into the tough skin around his neck. Mr. McClain clawed for Lance's hands, mouth foaming and face purple. He thrashed desperately in his grasp, but was unable to break free. Lance was too strong and his hatred too great. "Lance..." Mr. McClain gargled, wide eyes meeting Lance's.

Lance gasped. "Y - you can see me?"

Keith, Nico, Jordan, Alice, and Chloe all stared at Lance, silent, thoughtless, unmoving.

Lance vanished.

ooo

Stepping forward out into the day

Shrugging off the dust and memory

Though it's soaring still above your head

It is out of sight and none shall see

~Bastille / The Weight Of Living Pt.1

ooo

Mr. McClain collapsed.

His hands flew to his bruised neck, his lungs gasped for air, his body thrashed, limbs slammed into the wall and furniture. "Demon!" He wheezed.

Nico pulled Jordan closer, a protective arm around the boy's shoulder. Them and Chloe stood in the opposite corner from Mr. McClain, Jordan but a blur in the eyes of Nico, and invisible for the rest. Keith — who stood traumatized five feet from Lance's father — found himself in a nonmotile state. All he could do was stare in awe as Mrs. McClain reached for the end of the coffee table she had been rammed into moments ago and hoist herself upright. When she took her first step, Keith saw her stumble. She ran the back of her hand across her cheek and smeared a streak of blood away. "Get out." She demanded, taking another step.

Mr. McClain rolled over and used the last of his strength to get up on his hands and knees. Not looking up, he spat, "Whore."

Mrs. McClain lifted her left hand, yanked the golden ring from off her finger, and held it up for him to see. "Thirty two years ago you gave this to me. I was fourteen and in love. But you weren't, were you? You stripped me away from my family, from society, from my dreams. You took everything away from me, yet I can't be mad. You know why?"

Mr. McClain kept his head down. He sneered at the ground as sweat and spit dripped from his face.

Mrs. McClain motioned to Nico, inching closer as Mr. McClain inched away. "Because of him. Because of Lance. Because of Penelope, Rio, Jason, Jill, Cleo, Dan, Fin, Calla, Cindy, Candy. Because they are my world. But you? You're the meteor who wants to demolish my home, my natural beauties. To dictate their lives. To force my flowers to shrivel to ash in hell."

"It's not my fault they were touched by the devil." Mr. McClain struggled up, but collapsed again shortly after. Apparently, his recovery rate wasn't as strong as Mrs. McClain's.

"No, it's my fault." Alice McClain cupped the ring in her white-knuckle grasp. "You know why? It's because I've kept you here for as long as I have. I should've tossed you out ages ago. Get out of my house, devil."

"You can't tell me what to do!" Mr. McClain finally managed to get to his feet, though his legs shook underneath his weight. "I'm the man of the house!"

"Like hell you are!" Mrs. McClain chunked her ring straight at Mr. McClain's face. He brought his arms up as a shield, but was one moment too late. The ring collided between his eyebrows, causing him to bleed, and leaving a large, nasty gash. Mrs. McClain had quite the power behind her, for such a little thing.

Before Jone McClain had a chance to recover, Mrs. McClain took a lamp from the coffee table, yanked the cord from its socket, and chucked it at him. It hit his forearm shield, shaking on impact.

Mr. McClain bent down and took the lamp. He attempted to throw it back at her — with a lot less power and a lot less precision. Alice McClain dodged it easily.

Chloe boldly stepped from her corner of the room and moved to her sister's side. Nico pulled Jordan behind him and joined Chloe on the other side of his mother. Though he was taller, Mr. McClain seemed to shrink beneath their conjoined, looming shadow. "I won't ask again, Jone." Mrs. McClain warned through uneven teeth. "Get. Out."

"Y - you can't kick me out of my own house!"

Chloe took the lamp from off the floor and chucked it at Mr. McClain for the second time. He managed to avoid a collision with it this time, but not the cluster of other objects that then preceded it. Alice McClain, Chloe, and even Nico all joined in. They tossed furniture after furniture, from clocks to chairs. Mr. McClain — of course — took nasty damage from the projectiles. He yelped in pain as his head got knocked back by a paper weight.

Eventually, he scrambled back into the hallway and toward the front door. He seized the doorknob between his rough fingers and fiddled with it as though he had forgotten how it functioned. "Fine! Stay alone in your haunted home, woman!" He hollered when he finally managed to push the door open. Mrs. McClain launched a book at him. He cursed them in Spanish and vanished behind the doorway, nearly shaking the frame from off its hinges.

Then everything was silent.

Mrs. McClain was the first to move. She took a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed the last of the dried blood from her lip. She then turned to Nico, took his chin in her hand, and inspected him from right to left. "Did he hurt you?" She demanded.

"No." Nico muttered, eyes blurry. Mrs. McClain wiped his face clear of blood, wrapped her chubby arms around his neck, and pulled him in for a hug. She was crying.

"Ma!" Jordan wailed, causing Keith's attention to snap another way. The freckle faced ghost was nothing but a silhouette, his voice barely comprehensible, white noise. He was there one moment, gone, whole, then a fraction of himself. This strange entity, whatever shape he took, scrambled to Chloe as a stream of tears fell from his face and disappeared before reaching the floor. "Ma!"

Jordan fell against Chloe, his small arms reaching only to her twig-like legs. She screamed and would have fainted if it wasn't for Nico, who kept her upright. She screamed even louder when the boy let go of her, a sad ora about him. Nico took his small hand and dragged him away.

Nico bent to his knees to be face to face with Jordan. His lips thinned as he shook his head. Though he said nothing, Jordan understood him completely.

"I can't do this anymore. I'm tired."

Nico stared blankly at him.

"I can't do this anymore." Jordan repeated. "This hiding. T - this disappearing. Watching people around me grow, and change, and not knowing if seconds passed or years. I'm losing my memories, I'm losing my sanity, I'm losing my family. I just want to be free. I want to see Ma."

"You can't have both." Nico sneered. "Which is it? Freedom or Ma?"

Jordan hesitated, his once transparent feet disappearing completely. "I don't know."

"Freedom or family?" Nico whispered.

Jordan's legs were slowly fading away, the nothingness that consumed them making its way to his upper half. He didn't have much time. "Take care of her."

"I will."

Jordan sniffed, lifting his blurry eyes to meet his mother's. "Promise."

"Fuck you. You still don't trust me after all this time, leech?"

Jordan's glare snapped back to Nico. He smiled warmly - the smile of fond memories and sorrow - and nodded. "No, Mr. Nico. I don't."

Nico grumbled as Jordan went away completely. "After all this time, he chose now to reveal himself completely." When Nico stood, Keith realized his cheeks were stained wet. "Morsel."

"That was..." Chloe choked on her own words. "Jordan."

Nico only stared at her. Chloe gasped, covered her mouth, and let tears trickle down her backhand.

"Ok..." Mrs. McClain said, shaking her head. "Someone tell me what the fuck is going on."

She turned to Keith. He looked back, limbs limp, mouth slack. He didn't have time to process what had just happened to Jordan, or how the McClains ran out Jone McClain. Lance was gone. For a second time, he was gone, and Keith had a feeling he wasn't coming back.

Instead of an answer, the three McClains watched Keith sink to his knees, lay his side against the floor, and curl into a ball. He drew his knees to his forehead, blank face, and arms tight around his legs.

Mrs. McClain inhaled and exhaled shakily. "He was here. I saw him. Don't tell me I am crazy." She said in her heavily accented voice.

Nico clenched and unclenched his knuckles, his focus darting from Keith, to his mother, to his aunt, and nowhere in particular. He bit his bottom lip, forcing his tears away. "You're not."

"He was here. He was alive. Mi hijo. Lance." Mrs. McClain reached her arms out, splayed her fingers, and grasped for the air.

"No, he's not." Keith finally spoke, gaining everyone's attention. "He's gone. He's always been gone."

Mrs. McClain shook her head, refusing to believe it. "I saw him! He was here, h - he -"

"HE'S GONE!" Keith yelped, shielding his ears in his cupped palms. It wasn't enough to muffle the pounding that radiated throughout his body. "Nico, you said it yourself."

"I -" Nico shook his head furiously. "He extorted too much energy. Energy, energy, energy. He's weak. He's fading. He's not gone, but he will be. To be seen by mortal eyes, that's... that's unheard of. To not be blurred..."

Keith's head tilted up. With as much power as he could manage with his sore muscles and shaky limbs, Keith propped up on his elbows and hoisted himself to his knees. He could feel blood surging through him, thick and red in his veins. "Do it." He spoke, clutching his wrist and moving his thumb in circles in search for his pulse. Soon, it wouldn't be his own, and he knew that.

Mrs. McClain, face white, glowered down at him. Keith didn't meet her gaze, but instead caught Nico's. "Do it." He repeated. "I'm ready."

Nico swallowed, his adam apple quivered against his thin neck, and eyes blackened in their hollow sockets. He knew exactly what he meant, Keith could tell. He just didn't want to accept it. "No."

"God dammit, Nico. Just do this for me. No, do it for Lance."

"You think Lance would want this, itch?" Nico demanded. "To live in a body that's not his? To have to look in the mirror everyday and be reminded of what he lost and how he is alone? I can't do that to him. I - I can not... I may be an asshole, but I still love my brother."

Keith stood up fully and took Nico's wrist. Before he could pull away, Keith yanked him into a hall away from the others. The two women watched in silence as they left. Keith led them out the door and onto the lawn. The afternoon air smelled of smoke, and the plain, gray neighborhood was silent.

Nico freed his arm and stepped back. He shot Keith a death glare, but said nothing as Keith spoke. "Look, Nico. There's a difference between Lance and me. A big difference. Namely, this." He pointed a finger at Nico's chest. When Nico snarled, Keith jabbed his finger toward the house. "You, her, Chloe, Jordan, Allura, Pidge, Hunk, Coran, Shiro, your siblings, shall I go on?"

Nico didn't answer, but Keith continued anyway. "Don't you think I want there to be another way? Of course I want things to go back to how they were. But that's impossible. Lance's body is unfit, — decomposing in a coffin somewhere — and I'm the only alternative."

Nico stared at the place behind Keith's head. He looked detached from their conversation, but answered in spite. "You do realize this doesn't guarantee anything."

When Keith thinned his lips, Nico brought two fingers to his own neck and felt around for his pulse. When he found it, he tapped his fingers to the uneven beat. After a second, he touched his pointer finger to his temple, tapped it twice, then touched Keith's forehead. Finally meeting Keith's eyes, he clarified, "His memories. They are still fading. Doing this won't change a thing."

Keith gulped, the pressure of Nico's finger weighing heavily on his brain. He pushed the hand away and took a step closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. "If we wait any longer, he'll lose all his memories anyways."

"That includes you."

Keith felt himself shutter. "Yes, I know."

"And you're ok with that?"

"Yes."

"Somehow I don't believe you." Nico brought his thumb to his mouth and bit hard at the skin. Keith cringed as a stream of blood fell between his teeth. "Do you hope he'll be reminded of you because he will be in your body?"

"Will he?"

"It's a possibility." Nico admitted. "One terrible, horrible possibility. I've never seen the aftereffects of this sort of ritual. Life and death, death and life. It's the ultimate sacrifice. Ah, what a shame. Two young lives wasted, and for what? Love?" He scrunched his nose in disapproval.

"You said you loved your brother."

Nico huffed, not bothering to give such a statement a proper response.

"Does that mean you'll do it?"

"I never said that."

"But you implied it." Keith tapped his temple, mocking Nico's action. "It'll be a lot easier if you just agree now, because I'm not going to stop bugging you until you do."

Nico scratched the back of his hand hard enough to leave red streaks. His expression was less than pleased. "Nag, nag, nag. You never shut your damn mouth, wonder eyes."

That wasn't an answer, so Keith glowered at Nico's reverted eyes until he begrudgingly went, "Fine. Get in the fucking drivers seat. I don't know how to sway that metal, death machine of numbers and gears."

"Where are we -"

Nico cupped his hand over Keith's mouth before he could continue. When Keith furrowed his eyebrows at him, he said, "Rule one: no blabbering until we get there. Rule two: follow my directions, and I will consider not pissing on your grave."

Keith peeled Nico's hand away. "You're getting me a grave?"

"Not anymore." Nico snapped, stopping his way to the Honda, Keith close on his heels. They entered, Nico sitting uncomfortably in the passenger seat, looking as though he hadn't been in a car before in his life. Keith pulled his seatbelt over his chest, knowing he needed to preserve his body for as long as possible. His limbs felt detached from his body as the unsettling truth sunk in again. He was going to die today, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. This car ride was going to be his last, and the heavy, gray clouds that loomed above was the last view he was going to get of the sky. With a shaky breath, he wrapped his fingers around the leather of the steering wheel and turned the key to his ignition. The car shook and coughed to life. That's when Nico said, "Go straight, then turn left."

ooo

All that you desired when you were a child

Was to be old, was to be old

Now that you are here suddenly you fear

You've lost control, you've lost control

~Bastille / The Weight Of Living Pt. 2

ooo

The sun began to fall as Keith drove.

The sun that loomed just above the horizon was a ball of red against the murky sky. Soon though, it would be gone, and all that will remain would be inky blackness. Keith thought about his red blood and blue breath. Keith's fiery, red temper and Lance's cool, blue persona. Soon the two would merge, blue trapped in red, red dictated by blue.

"Turn at the next exit." Nico demanded, fingers digging anxiously into his seat rests. Keith obliged, turning right onto an empty road.

The absence of Lance was alarming, as Keith had been stuck with him for so long. Back then, he wanted privacy, but all he craved for now was Lance's return. As they drove passed flat terrain, silent lights, and empty, wordless storefronts, Keith prayed to a being he — and everyone — knew nothing about, sure it wouldn't do any good.

It was halfway through the trip when Keith realized where Nico was directing him. "Why are we going to the beach?" He asked, not averting his focus from the endless road ahead.

"Shush. Rule one. Right up ahead."

Keith turned and waited a beat before speaking again. "You never told me why we're driving. Can't we do the ritual in the house?"

"Rule one." Nico repeated, reaching across his body to put an agitated finger over Keith's lips. Keith pulled his head away with pinched features, but didn't dare to say anything more. The beach was far, and this was his second time in a day driving there. It was also his last.

Nico reached for Keith's phone, which sat powered off on the armrest. Before Keith could protest, Nico switched it on and listened as it shook with inflowing notifications. "What the hell are you doing?" Keith's eyes widened. "Don't touch my stuff!"

Nico ignored him, instead opening the phone to read the messages. "How annoying." He said after a while of scrolling through the endless ocean of concern. "I see your leech friends are just as aggravatingly unnameable as you, 'Mr. Not-worth-a-damn'."

Nico typed something with surprising swiftness and sent it. Keith glared daggers at him. "What did you send?"

"'Fuck off'." Nico answered, holding the screen up for Keith to see. It was addressed to Shiro, who had sent the most texts and voicemails after Keith's inexplicable disappearance that morning. "He's the one who keeps bugging you. Doesn't know when to stop. Ah, mortals. Such an interestingly bothersome bunch."

"Get off my phone." Keith muttered, knowing it was useless. It wasn't going to matter in the long run, which was why he made no move to take the phone back.

A second later, Shiro called. Nico snarled at the buzzing device, with bared teeth and disapproving eyes. In spite, he answered the call with a swipe of his finger, bringing it to his ear. "Go away, Scrooge." He hung up. Keith rolled his eyes.

"Left here." Nico instructed rather snappily, turned off the phone, and chucked it into the backseat.

"This isn't the way to the beach." Keith said, pulling into the parking lot of a nearly abandoned gas station.

"I have eyes, you know." Nico rammed his elbow against the window, then doubled back in pain. He clutched his arm and grumbled, "Told you this thing is a torture mechanism. Damn humans. All they care about it war, sex, fast food, and inventing useless contraptions which inflict pain. Blah!"

"Do you not know how to open a car door?"

"No, the 'door' doesn't know how to follow my instructions." Nico kicked the compartment in front of him, lip tugged in a frown.

"How did you know how to get here if you've never been in a car before?"

"There's something called the seventh sense, fool!"

"There's also something called a map."

Nico glared daggers at the closed compartment in front of him, kicked it, and went back to wrestling with the car door. When he finally managed to push it ajar, he leaped out, stumbling for a moment before straightening himself back upright. Well, as much he could manage with his horrendous posture.

Keith followed him, locking the car with a press of a button. The Honda blinked, indicating that is was safely secured. Unsure of what they were doing, Keith trailed Nico as he apprehensively shuffled into the gas station.

The front entrance hit a bell when it slammed open by the violent swing of Nico's foot. The person behind the counter looked up from her newspaper, gave the two a once over, then went back to her important business in the sport columns. Keith wanted to scold Nico's violent tendencies, but decided to ignore it. He had one too many oil spills to clean as was.

The convenience store was like all others. Isles of low shelves holding candy, camp gear, and patriotic Texas memorabilia. The cigarettes were behind the worker women, and a wall of fridges on the opposite side of the store held the usual: Dr Pepper, Coca-Cola, and AW root beer. Keith's tongue felt dry as he eyed the beverages. He was tempted to grab a bottle of the root beer and swig it down in a gulp, when Nico snapped him from his daze. "Gasoline. Gasoline, gasoline, gasoline. We need gasoline."

It took Keith a long second to process his words. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Why do we need gasoline? Are we starting a fire?"

"Don't be an imbecile, imbecile. Of course we are." Nico's eyebrows bent into straight lines above his hollow stare. "Rule one. Go get matches."

Keith sighed, then nodded. The two parted in opposite directions, one towards the counter, one towards who knew where. Keith stopped before the worker woman and leaned forward with his forearms crossed on the glass display case. It took a showy cough to gain her attention. With an irritated eye, the woman put down her paper and asked in a scruffy southern accent, "May I help you?"

"Matches, please." Keith looked everywhere but the woman's fading eyes.

With a deep exhale through her nostrils and a finger pushed against her temple, the woman hoisted herself up and scuffled down the long counter. She got a few feet when she bent down and opened a drawer. When she appeared standing again, she held a match box in her hand and a bored expression on her face. "Anything else, sir?" She tossed the matchbox, which skidded across the countertop to Keith.

"Not at the moment."

A crash sounded from across the store. Keith snapped his head back and the worker woman glanced in that general direction with disinterest. "Can you tell your little boyfriend to stop trashing the store. I know it's weird, but I kinda wanna keep this job."

Keith nodded, narrowing his eyes at Nico. The crash had come from the metal trash can he had emptied in one of the isles — the action, in reaction, knocked over a shelf of candy. Though Keith's attention was drawn to him, Nico didn't seem to notice or care.

Nico met Keith by the counter, gasoline container and trash can in tow. "We need four more of these." Nico declared, pointing at the metal cylinder.

"I would ask why, but I'm honestly too high to give a fuck." The worker woman answered. "Check the back by the dumpster. The boss has a real eye for them rust buckets."

Nico wordlessly turned and exited with his supplies. Keith watched the door slam open and closed, the bell ringing like crazy. Keith then turned back to the woman, rubbing the back of his neck. "How much?"

"Pshh. I don't know. Not everyday folks come around and snatch our bins of garbage." The woman took a pack from the back wall and shook out a single cigarette. She lit it with a lighter from her work apron, not bothering the cover the stream of smoke. "I'll take them gloves you got on, and we'll call it even for that." With a nod, she motioned to the mess at the end of the store.

Keith spared one look over his shoulder, then to his gloves. "Why do you want these?"

The woman gave a one shoulder shrug. "I've always been a fan of biker fashion."

"Can you take anything else, like... money?"

"Y'all'd've thought about that before you came in, fists blazin'" The woman blew out a cloud of smoke, which dispersed spastically into the air. Keith had to fight not to cover his nose from the dreadful smell.

Keith turned his palms up, then balled his hands into white knuckled fists. He couldn't remember a day in which he went without his gloves. They helped him through so much. When he worked alone, struggling day by day to keep afoot. When he lived with his grandma, the one that he despised yet loved so deeply. When he kissed Lance for the first time and held his hand. Under any other circumstances, Keith would've answered with a definite no. But, now, it didn't matter. Though he loved his gloves, they were mere accessories: so easily replaced. Lance wasn't like that. He wasn't some store made shirt that could mend with a needle and string. He was one of a kind.

"Sure." Keith finally peeled his dazed eyes from the gloves and tore them off. When he handed them over, he noticed a pale — paler — tan line between his fingers and palms.

The woman took them, put them on, and brought them to her cigarette. With another puff, she said, "I like the feel of them. Thanks."

Keith nodded, shoved the matches in his coat pocket, and turned on the balls of his feet. Pushing the sinking feeling aside, he left the store with a hung head. Once out, he saw Nico, gasoline in hand and five rusty, metal trash cans in a circle around him. When Nico spotted Keith, his lip twitched. "Help me get these into the car." He instructed.

Keith went to his Honda, opened the trunk, and seriously doubted the possibility of being able to fit all the junk Nico wanted into it.

Nico hoisted the first empty container up and inched his way to the car. He threw it - rather forcefully - into the once empty trunk and went to get another. Keith copied him and, being much stronger than Nico, got most of the work complete. With three garbage cans side by side in the trunk and two in the second row, the pair was finally ready to go. Keith hopped into the drivers side, heart pounding, and Nico in the passenger side, gasoline can neatly laid atop his lap. "Left at the next turn." He instructed as Keith pulled back onto the road.

The first half of the trip was silent. Nico had what he wanted, and Keith knew where he was going. But eventually, Keith couldn't take it any longer. "Why are we going to the beach?" He repeated, more as a demand than a question.

"I seriously regret helping you." Nico mumbled, hugging the gas tank tight against his chest. Keith waited as Nico shifted uncomfortably in his seat, only to answer with, "He needs a place with memory attached to it. A lot of memory. A whole lot of good memory. The house won't due, no. First, I don't want to burn the place down. Second, there's too many people. Third, too many bad emotions attached to the place. You'd both die. The beach is an open area, uncrowded, — because it's a trash beach — and happy emotions. A lot of happy emotions. Here, there, everywhere. We need to summon him, not repel him. That's why you're going to be the bait."

"Bait?"

"Shh, shh, shh, shhhhhh. I answered one of your oh-so prevalent queries. You are never satisfied, are you, wonder eyes?"

"I suppose not." Keith said truthfully and continued down the road with nothing but his thoughts, bare hand grasped to the steering wheel.

It took them a bit, but eventually they arrived at the beach. When the car winded down to a halt, Keith felt his heart ping in his chest. This was it. This was really happening. The sun was gone, the moon replacing it in the sky. Like always, all but a few stars dotted the landscape above, but were unable to be seen due to the thick, gray clouds. It looked as though the saddened sky was seconds away from becoming a downpour, and Keith prayed the bad weather wasn't enough to thwart Nico's little scheme.

Nico jumped out - remembering how to open the door from last time - and went immediately to the trunk. He hauled it open as Keith turned off the ignition and went to help unpack the trash cans. "I've got it." Nico protested as Keith reached for the nearest one. "This requires precision. No offense, but you don't come off as the precise type, morsel."

Keith backed up to let him work. With much difficulty, Nico dragged the materials to the sand and laid them where his unknowable mind had mapped. Luckily, no one was there to witness their shenanigans. The beach was always empty, especially at this hour. Well, besides when the McClains make their visit.

Nico arranged the cans in a sort of pentagon. When he was finished, he took a stick from the beach and drew a curved line between each one of them, forming a circle. He then proceeded to draw a star with each of the trash cans as a point. Keith sighed. But of course it was a pentagram. Can't have a ritual without demonic shit.

"Gather sticks." Nico instructed. "Dry sticks. Put them in a pile over here so you won't ruin anything."

Keith nodded and disappeared into the grass. There was a limited number of trees, but eventually he came back with an armful of twigs and sticks from below a great oak. Dropping them where Nico told him to, he backed up and watched Nico work his magic. He divided the sticks equally in each trashcan and grumbled when he didn't have enough. He sent Keith back for more, and, when not satisfied by the second batch, sent him a third time to gather sticks. After about eight runs or so, Nico finally finished filling the cans to his desired height. With that, he fetched the gasoline.

Nico poured a puddle of gasoline atop the sticks and held his palm up, prompting Keith foreword.

"What do you need me for?"

"Matches." Nico snarled as though it were obvious.

Keith tensed, remembering then, the weight in his coat pocket. He dug his bare hand into his coat and pulled them out. Nico took the box of matches, struck the first stick with a flick of his wrist, and threw it into the trash. The two shuffled back just in time to avoid the first flame, which shot into the air like an angry beast. Keith's skin was hot and eyes burned from the flame's strange, orange light. It started out strong, then gradually decreased in size until it was but stirring.

"Get in the center." Nico instructed. "This is strength." He motioned to the fire.

As Keith did as he was told, Nico poured another layer of gasoline into the next trashcan and struck a second match. "This is weakness." He set it ablaze, and the flame seemed to stay bigger for longer.

He went to the remaining three and repeated the pattern. "This is vengeance. This is pity." He stopped at the last one. "This is love." The flame lit his features a red fury. Keith couldn't help but shiver.

"Now." Nico tossed his supplies behind him. They landed inches from the reseeding shoreline. "Now you must clear your mind. Think of nothing. Not everything, not a few things, not one thing. Nothing."

Keith took a breath in and closed his eyes. He tried to think of nothing, but it was impossible. The moments he wasn't sorting through questions, pushing back the fear, or seeing the face of the most precious one in his life, he was thinking about not thinking. The strain of his brain, or the distinct sounds of his organs working together, keeping him alive and standing.

"Clear your mind." Nico repeated, his voice a distant whisper.

Keith thought of his breathing and suddenly found it hard to continue. It was supposed to be an automatic thing, but his lungs seemed to shrink if he didn't inhale and exhale manually. "I can't do this. I - I..." Keith noticed the warmth on his cheeks. The fire. He recognized the sweat sliding from his forehead to his mouth. A salty taste. "No one can turn off their mind."

"Then, think of him."

Keith felt his pulse pound at his temples. Him. Yes, he could do that. He focused on Lance's features. The unparalleled smile that blew Keith away. The brashness of his words mixed with the softness of his heart. His dreams in life. Kaltenecker's cage, and his big ambition to free her and the ones like her.

Keith believed he had succeeded, when his thoughts abruptly jerked to his grandma. Not knowing why, he played back the memory of their walk in the park. Mrs. Kogane tripping, and the younger version of Keith touching her cold skin and testing the pulse on her wrist, only to find there was none left to feel.

Keith shook his head, smacking a violent palm against his forehead. He didn't want to think of her. He promised himself never again.

Keith saw his mother and father. At first, he didn't recognize their faces. He didn't have any past conceived memory of their looks, but somehow, someway, Keith knew one thing for certain. These people, they gave birth to him. And then his mother left and his father died.

Keith clutched his hands around his arms. Nico's voice came from a different spot than before, yet he couldn't seem to pinpoint the direction. "I said think of him. What are you doing?"

"I'm trying!"

"Try harder!"

Keith let go of his arms with an exhale. His kisses. Keith brushed his finger against his bottom lip, recalling the distinct taste of Lance and the weight of his kisses. They were such a strange, fleeting thing. A sensation like no other.

"I want to kiss you now." Keith whispered, barely audible to even himself. "I didn't know when it started, but I know it hasn't yet ended. I don't believe in true love. I don't believe in fate. But what I know for curtain is that I want to save you. No matter what, because you are important to me. Whether it be enemies, friends, or lovers, I want you to live on. Because my heart is certain. I love you."

That moment, Keith felt a waft of coolness, opened his eyes, and was greeted by a familiar face. The face of love. Wide eyes, and quivering palms, Lance asked, "Keith? Are you Keith?"

Keith took Lance's chin, turned it from right to left, then pulled him in for a hug. The two sunk to their knees, grasping desperately at each other all the while.

Nico began chanting. Keith wasn't familiar with language, but he was fairly certain the chanting was Latin with a mix of English, though he couldn't care less. He dug his fingers into Lance's back, hard enough to bruise his skin.

"What's happening?" Lance demanded, hands tight around Keith's forearms.

Keith said nothing, listening to his own hot breaths. Lance was so warm, even on such a cold night.

"What's going on?" Lance tried again, pushing back from Keith.

Keith didn't want to let go of Lance, but he did. Averting his eyes to the ground, he began counting the grains of sand that dirtied his shoes.

"Tell me what's going on." Lance cupped Keith's cheeks and pulled his head up until they were looking eye to eye. "Please, Keith. Tell me what this is, where this is, and who I am. I - I don't remember. I can't remember anything."

"That doesn't matter. You're here where you're meant to be, and you're going to see your family, friends, and everyone soon."

"I don't understand." Lance shook Keith's head. "I don't understand any of this."

"Me neither." Keith admitted.

"No, you don't understand. Nothing. I understand nothing. W - who am I? It's at the tip of my tongue."

Keith felt a drop of water fall from above and land on his cheek. It felt cool against his skin. Keith was glad he got to experience rain at least one last time. He tilted his head to the side, letting Lance's palm hold it upright. "It will all be clear soon, Lance. You're going to be alive."

"But what's going to happen to you?"

"That doesn't matter."

"Yes it does!" Lance let go of Keith's face and opted to pull him closer via coat collar. Their eyes mere centimeters apart, Lance raised his voice. "What's going to happen?"

Keith's mind wavered. He focused on Lance's moving lips, but his ears didn't hear a word. More specifically, he couldn't hear anything. Yet, he knew what he was trying to communicate. It wasn't so much of a sense, but an automatic thing. A second nature. "I'll be free." He spoke, taking Lance's wrists as his body hoisted into the air by Lance's furious grip. He could feel himself slipping away. A lost soul parting from its body, making way for anew.

"You're all I remember!" Lance cried. "How can you not get that? If you go, I'll have nothing left. Y - you have to stay. I can't lose you." He let go of Keith's collar, sending him stumbling to the ground.

Before he could land, Keith caught himself with his last remaining strength. He heard Nico's chant but not in his ears. Lance was becoming part of his body, pushing him out, yet he was still here in front of Keith. "You can't keep me, but, please, keep this feeling."

With that, Keith kissed Lance. He held onto him, knowing he wouldn't again, and Lance kissed him back, not knowing anything but this. The rain picked up, stinging Keith's skin with its speed and soaking his clothes which clung to him.

They parted to breath, and Keith took the opportunity to speak before he went away for good. Feeling the wind howl and vision blur with darkness or light, he said, "Please, remember this. Memories can go. Feeling are forever. Know when I kiss you, that you're loved."

They kissed again, tears, or rain, or both streaking their cheeks. Keith felt his pulse in his knuckles as he dug his fingers into Lance's neck, then slowly, gradually, lost the sensation — lost all sensations.

Before he knew it, the fire was extinguished and the chanting ceased. The rain continued as him — or was it Lance — looked up to the bleak, gray night. Keith was still here, but he was gone. And Lance was gone, but he was still here.

And, at that moment, the person who stood in the center of the circle realized he didn't know anything. Not his name, not his purpose. All he had was a feeling. A powerful feeling, though he wasn't sure what it was. It overwhelmed and consumed him, leaving nothing to do but cry, cry, and cry until he was no longer able.

Then he heard something. Not words, nor a voice, but music. The tune hummed, putting the man at ease. And, when it finished, the man had an epiphany.

Lance. His name... was Lance.

ooo

(A/N): WARNING! Brief mention of suicide. If you're sensitive to this topic, please don't read this part any further!

ooo

"Wanna hear a really cool story?" Nathan's smug expression seeped from behind his goggle-like glasses.

Vtas flopped back in his bed. The mattress felt like a cloud attempting to suffocate him. "I don't know. Something — call it a gut feeling — tells me I don't want to know what your twisted mind finds 'cool'."

"I'm taking that as a yes." Nathan twirled on Vtas' swivel chair. It was astonishing. Whenever he came over, his butt seemed to melt into the seat. Not that Nathan minded. Vtas wouldn't be surprised if Nathan fantasized about becoming one with the swivel.

"Once upon a time, there was a death."

"Of course there was. Because we can't have a pleasant Nathan story without a signature Nathan death." Vtas eyed his ceiling where cardboard sea life hung from strings; the ones he made when he was in first grade. He really needed to take those down. He was fifteen, after all. Far too old for silly, first grade decorations.

"But the death wasn't the interesting part." Nathan's voice shifted into his classic storytelling tone, aka: when his naturally squeaky voice gets uncharacteristically deep. The sudden change was enough to send a shiver down Vtas' spine. Nathan continued, "It's how his friends and family starting acting afterward. They all claimed that they had been with the dead guy weeks after his funeral. They even went to the beach with him apparently. Crazy stuff, right?"

"Yeah, sure. Real scary. Can you tell me why you decided to share this information now?"

"Wait, crabby butt. I'm not done yet. Many weeks after the funeral, one of the friends came back from disappearing, claiming to be the dead man himself. Apparently he was moving in unnatural ways, always crying, screaming, and bleeding black blood."

"Ew." Was all Vtas had to say. He felt weirdly unnerved by the tale.

"Ew indeed. But that's not the worst part. On February 13, three days after reappearing, the guy killed himself. Crazy, huh? That's also the day you were born! Isn't that coincidental?"

Vtas stood and stomped to where Nathan sat. Not knowing why, he punched his friend in the arm. "Don't tell me this shit. I don't want to hear it."

Nathan reeled. "Hey! That hurt! No need to be all up in arms about it! Why do you care so much anyway?"

Vtas sat back on his bed in a huff. "I don't like hearing sad stories. Especially not ones about... about that."

"What? Suicide?"

"Don't make me throw you out the window!" Vtas hissed.

"Jeez. Sorry. I was only telling you because of the two tickets I got us."

Vtas perked up. "What kinda' tickets?"

"It's a sick ass band that my friend from outta school is apart of. Its whole premise is based off this story. They're called, Lance's Funeral."

"That's a dumb name." Vtas muttered. "Lance, the one who died and started the whole 'demonic charade'?"

"How'd ya know? My first guess was that Lance was the guy who committed... passed on after his friend's tragic demise."

Vtas rolled his eyes, though his interest was peaked.

"The lead singer is our age. His real name is Roman, but he goes by the stage name of Keith; the one who... well, you know." Nathan did another twirl in his chair, his white-toothed grin brightening the dim atmosphere of Vtas' room.

"Just Keith?" Vtas asked.

"Just Keith." Nathan replied.

"That's a dumb stage name." Vtas said.

"Won't deny that one." Nathan agreed. "Heard he was hot though, not that I would know."

Vtas sneered. He hated when Nathan tried to set him up with someone. Some people just like being single. Or, perhaps, some people are just waiting for the right one to come around. In any case, Vtas didn't know what he wanted, nor did he like Nathan scooching his nonexistent love life along. "Not going to happen."

"Aw, come on. If not for him, go for the music. It'll be fuuunnn!" Nathan leaned forward in his chair.

Vtas eyed Nathan then the floor. He felt a peculiar draw to the idea of the concert, though he wasn't traditionally the music fanatic. In actuality, Vtas knew a crumbs worth about music in general. Strings strum and horns toot. What else was there?

"Fine." Vtas finally gave in. Nathan gleamed.

The concert was on a Friday after school. Vtas' heart pinged in his chest as they walked down the bad part of town. Avoiding eye contact with the strangers around him, Vtas stayed close to Nathan as they made their way to a bar sandwiched between an ice cream and vape shop. When they entered, a cheery looking middle age man marked their palms with sharpie after taking the tickets Nathan pulled from his man purse.

"I don't feel good, Nathan." Vtas whisper-screamed over the rowdy teenagers within. "I'm going to throw up."

"Well, don't do it on me!" Nathan took a step away.

Vtas could barely make out his friend's form in the blackness. There were only screams and chaos, nothing more. Vtas hated it.

His body was nothing but a husk, mind a complex circuit going haywire. That's when he heard the guitar blast to life. No, felt it rather, in his heart as it came from the speakers. Him and the music were synchronized, its functions acting with the rhythm.

The lights turned on.

The stage was basked in a red light.

He was there. Keith. He was there.

"'Fumbling his confidence and wondering why the world has passed him by'." He sang, red guitar hanging from a strap around his shoulder. His hair was dyed white. Why did Vtas find it so odd?

"'Hoping that he's bent for more than arguments and failed attempts to fly, fl' -"

White light swelled across the audience. Roman and Vtas' eyes met. He stopped singing. The drummer and bass both stopped. The audience died down, confusion in a wave across the bar.

For a brief moment, everything around Vtas was pitch black. The only light came from behind his and Roman's chests. Roman, red. Vtas, blue. Two souls reuniting, covering the world in purple. It was Vtas, Roman, and everything else.

Vtas touched his lips. He felt a weight on it.

Memories go. Feelings stay.

Roman touched his lips, pulling a shaky hand through his short, straight hair. He wore fingerless gloves. Why did Vtas find this amusing?

Memories go. Feelings remain. Always.

Vtas wasn't aware he had spoken. He wasn't aware of anything, really. Just one thing. One thing he didn't quite understand. Something that was gone from him, something that he missed very much, had returned. "I've found you." He whispered.

Then he smiled. Then Roman smiled. Then the world smiled a sad, happy smile.

"I've found you."

The End