prompt from @ja-e-muffin-art-dump // “I’ve got you.”
Keith is drowning. He’s drowning and he’s helpless to stop it. The panic crashes through his body in violent waves, cascading down the walls of his ribs, swallowing the breath he tries so desperately to drag through his overworked lungs. They fill with murky liquid, and he knows he’s crying, tears lost in the mass around him. His head pounds, and still he whips it around to take stock of his surroundings with bleary eyes. He searches for the team, but something in him knows they’re not there. He looks up and the dread takes hold in his stomach. The sky is all wrong, an inky sea of blacks and purples and blues that swell above him, pressing down as he barely keeps himself above water. Help. Somebody help me, please. He screams. He screams and screams and screams until his throat feels raw, until his shouts reverberate in his aching head, but no sound escapes him. His efforts are useless, he’s alone here. Alone, untethered, forgotten. He thrashes his limbs about him, fighting to stay afloat. Distantly, he registers the massive wave forming at his right, and he closes his eyes, brows furrowed. Heart in his throat, he tries to brace himself.
Clammy hands on his face, and a warm voice calls to him. His eyes snap open, and he gasps as he shoots forward. Someone curses in front of him, and his forehead hurts but it’s nothing compared to the wrenching ache in his chest. Where am I?
He blinks, tries to slow his breathing as he looks around the dim room. He grabs at the bedding beneath him, a sigh of relief leaving him. He reaches up, feels the wetness on his face and swipes it away. Not drowning, then. Safe at the Garrison. He searches the room, and his chest tightens at the sight of Lance before him, rubbing his nose.
“Lance,” he tries, voice hoarse and small. Keith frowns, clears his throat. Embarrassment courses through him, realizing Lance heard his screams. He knows about them, Keith’s told him, but he’s yet to see one unfold. “Lance, I’m- I’m sorry.”
Lance snaps his head up at him, his sore nose forgotten. Worry swims in the depth of his eyes, and guilt joins the mess of emotions that have jammed themselves into Keith’s chest.
“Idiot, apologizing after a nightmare. Come here,” he says quietly, reaching for Keith’s hand. He’s too tired to resist, and falls willingly into Lance’s open arms. Lance leans back, and Keith follows, his head on Lance’s chest. He closes his eyes and listens to the beating of Lance’s heart. He tries to match his breathing to its rhythm as the last tendrils of the nightmare slip away. Lance presses a kiss to Keith’s hairline, and the urge to quip at him gets stamped down by his exhaustion. Instead, he wraps his arms around Lance’s torso, drinks in his steadying warmth. He won’t admit it, but he’s grateful for his presence; this is leagues better than waking up from the terrors alone. The tension leaves his shoulders as he sinks into Lance, a content sigh on his lips.
“Are you all right?” He asks, a whisper. Keith swallows, pausing before he answers.
“I will be. Thank you, Lance,” he says. And he will be, he always is when Lance is here.
“I’ve got you,” Lance says, rubbing small circles on Keith’s back, “I’ve got you.”
