Chapter Text
To Lance’s credit, Keith isn't exactly known for his perceptiveness. That's largely due to the fact that he actively tries to keep what he knows to himself, but also because Keith leads a relatively private life. He doesn't have too many people that he would consider himself close to – at least, not to the degree where they’d be able to identify such things about him.
The things people knew about Keith were typically very surface level. Maybe he might be in one of their classes, or they’d seen him around campus. Maybe they’ve been a client at the garage he works at part time, maybe some unfortunate soul ended up on the other end of his “resting bitch face” and have since dedicated themselves to avoiding him however possible.
Keith hadn't even been aware of what a resting bitch face even was until Lance had told him, in very dramatic fashion, how awful it was.
All this to say: nobody really knew him, and nobody really tried. Until recently that had just been a consequence of his personality – nowadays, it was by design.
If, per say, his face was suddenly plastered on every news channel in the country one morning, he wouldn't put it past his peers to, at the very least, recognize him. Unfortunately, that hypothetical wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility nowadays and that meant keeping a low profile had become somewhat of a necessity.
He couldn't exactly control being recognized, but being on the lam would be easier if recognition was as far as it went. The good thing was that nobody really made that a difficult task for him.
Nobody except Lance.
Lance only knows him beyond the ways that most of his peers do because, for some reason, he’d come to the conclusion that Keith was his academic rival. By chance, they’d ended up in a lot of the same courses and, according to Lance, Keith had constantly thwarted his ambition to get the top grade in the class. This meant Lance inviting himself to nag and pester Keith whenever he damn-well pleased, taunting him about something or other. Telling him that he’d win out eventually.
But god, truly it’s a wonder to Keith that it’s not common knowledge for everyone the way Lance can’t help but be smug about it all. Like, honestly he’s not subtle in the least.
In all fairness, Keith had a bit of an unfair advantage when it comes to Lance specifically. Or rather- Lance’s alter ego. Keith likes to think he would have figured it out regardless, but unfortunately that’s something he’ll never know for sure, because like it or not Keith was involved more than either of them had known at first.
Keith’s little “hobby” came about with… less noble intent than Lance’s had. Lance is the vigilante. Keith is just an undercover criminal. Keith didn’t do what he did for the greater good, he did it to get answers. He did it because he had a bone to pick. Of course, he wasn’t going out of his way to hurt anyone that didn’t deserve it – the people he had on his hit list were far from innocent civilians.
Incidentally, this meant that Lance and Keith unintentionally ended up having a lot of the same enemies and showed up in a lot of the same places.
The first night they’d landed in a scuffle together Lance had been unsure about him, even after he’d taken out half of Lance's combatants on his lonesome. When it was all said and done Lance had crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head at him, the eyes of his mask displaying his scrutiny.
Keith had been searching the bodies of the unconscious assailants and not paid him much of any mind and Lance just… let him.
Watched him.
When Keith stood up, finished with his search, Lance was standing right in front of him, hands on his hips. It made Keith jump, not having heard him move around to his front at all.
Lance’s hand rapped on his bike helmet then (his only means of a disguise), three times right on top, and uttered the immortal words:
“Who the hell are you, hot-shot?”
Keith hadn’t responded, and Lance had sighed, hands on hips again.
“I’m Spider-Man. Obviously.”
Keith had rolled his eyes, not that Lance could see through the tint of his helmet.
“And though I’m not un-grateful for the help, I would much prefer that you not stab my poor scum of the Earth criminals. I have a friendly neighborhood reputation to uphold.”
“I wasn’t helping you.” Keith snapped. “This is my own business.”
“Maybe it was, but I’ve made a mess of webs all over these guys so now it’s officially my business too, and I don’t want the front page headline tomorrow morning saying ‘Spidey stabbings? What you need to know!’”
At the time, Keith had found his behavior grating and had decided that the interaction was no longer worth his time. He’d turned to leave, unceremonious and with finality, but Lance had caught him by the shoulder before he could, his grip threateningly tight.
“I’ll be honest, helmet head, I’m currently trying to decide if there’s any reason I shouldn’t web you up by your ankles and leave you for the cops to find.”
“Making an enemy of me isn’t in your best interest.” Keith replied, hoping it would be enough to end the conversation.
“Ah see? Right there! That’s not helping your case! So, why don’t you tell me your deal and maybe we can work something out.”
Keith sighed, shoulders slumping with exhaustion.
“Man, leave me alone! I’m not involved in your shit!”
“Do I have to go over again how exactly that is no longer true?”
Keith tried to escape Lance's grasp, but not only did his grip seem made of steel itself, it literally felt like his hand had adhered to Keith.
Exhausted and completely beyond his usual limit for being annoyed, he’d let himself give in, groaning with every bit of irritation in his body as he drew up the willpower to let Lance have his way.
“They’re not lethal.” Is how he’d chosen to respond. “The stab wounds, I mean. Shitty as these assholes are, I refuse to kill anyone. They deserve to live out their punishments. Death is too merciful.”
“Well isn’t that just a relief.” Lance had replied, voice lathered with sarcasm. “Pretty sure it’s considered crazy person behavior to know how to perfectly stab someone so as to make them suffer but not kill them.”
“Call me whatever you like. Just stay out of my way.”
“No can do, compadre.”
Keith was going to scream.
“What do you want from me?!” Keith bit out, his nerves running thin.
“Not to stab people! I thought that was clear!”
“I can’t un-stab them, man, so just fucking leave it be!”
Keith had heard the sirens ring out then, sharp and piercing and bristled immediately. That was bad.
Lance's grip on his shoulder had slackened a bit at the sound, so Keith had used the opportunity to shove out of his hold, successfully this time, and run for his bike, which was parked against the wall.
Keith had heard Lance groan exasperatedly from over his shoulder, muttering something about cops and difficult situations. There was also a vague recollection of him talking to himself about having to request medical help for the wounded, as well as a few choice curses lobbed at Keith and his character, but Keith had drowned them out with the sound of his engine roaring to life.
He took off without a second glance, leaving Spider-Man, the cops and the criminals behind.
He took the long way home. A different path every time, weaving through traffic at back breaking speeds that were probably enough to get him arrested as it was, even without his criminal side gig. He hadn’t been caught yet though. He couldn’t afford to – interference from Spider-Man or no.
Keith hadn’t figured out Lance's identity until their next encounter. however.
Foolishly, he’d thought their accidental meeting would be their first and last soiree, but he was, ultimately, mistaken just a few weeks later. They’d ended up in the same place again but this time, with Keith as a civilian.
He’d been walking to class when his back was seized by webs and he was yanked unceremoniously into the air, a massive piece of shrapnel just barely avoiding him in the process.
“Dude!” Came a voice from behind him. The same voice that had driven him up the wall weeks prior. “You almost lost your mullet there!”
Keith immediately had attempted to wriggle his way out of the sticky restraints, but Lance, infuriatingly, had doubled down, shooting a web right over his hands, affixing them to where he'd been trying to pry the webs on his back from his shoulders.
“Can’t let you do that pal! Not yet! Just let me take care of this guy and I'll be right back!”
And then he just… left him there. Flung himself into the air with two webs shooting out to grasp a sky scraper on his right, leaving Keith to have a front row seat to the Spider-Man show. The playful taunting. The quips. Rapid fire Spanish cursing when the enemy did something displeasing.
Keith had nothing to do but study him, the shape of his shoulders down to the curve of his waist. The triangles over his hips with little stars in them that were definitely an homage to the Cuban flag. The, frankly, ridiculous amount of brightly colored friendship bracelets stacked halfway up his forearms.
He'd started wearing one a few months back, claiming, when asked by the press, that it had been given to him after he'd saved a guy from being crushed by a falling bus… or something to that effect.
Lance had been the guy Spider-Man had claimed to save. Keith knew that because Lance had sat next to him before class in their morning lecture hall, talking Keith's ear off, without having been prompted, about how Spider-Man had come to his rescue the day prior. How some creepy purple villain with a robot arm and ears that looked like a cat's (Sendak, Keith’s mind supplied) had taken out a bridge while he’d been walking under the overpass. How Spider-Man had swooped in to grab a falling bus with his webs just before it could crush him. How he was so overwhelmed with his coolness and a deep sense of gratitude that when Spider- man had eventually come back to check that everyone was unharmed, he was compelled to give him a gift. A keepsake.
He’d given him a friendship bracelet that his niece had made for him. One that he wore all the time, the act of having given it away evidenced by the fact that he was no longer wearing it.
It had clicked for him, then, suspended in midair, watching Spider-Man hit the villain in the face with a taxi, as the memory of Lance telling him that story played through his mind. The flaw in the tail had spun.
Lance treasured that little bracelet. Wore it everywhere he went. Probably never took it off. The idea that he would give it up as a thank you for Spider-Man saving his life made sense on paper, but not if you knew anything about Lance personally.
Somehow, Keith did, and his realizations all came together rather flawlessly.
Lance hadn’t given away the bracelet, he’d forgotten to take it off. Because he was a scatterbrain and was seriously overworking himself. His niece had probably seen Spider-Man on the news and wondered why he was wearing the gift she’d given to Lance. Thus the excuse was born.
Whether it was a lucky break or some quick thinking, he'd managed to dodge the dead giveaway with that story.
Lance had told the story to him that day with so much excitement and gusto that it really had seemed like he was an awestruck fan. He was a good actor. Keith will at least give him the credit for that.
After the press had broadcast the events of the incident, people were apparently touched by Lance's gesture… to himself… that never actually happened, and it had since become a trend for people to give friendship bracelets to Spider-Man when and if they manage to interact with him.
It hadn't been an intended outcome on Lance's part, but he still keeps every one that he's been gifted, wearing them as though they’re an integral part of his disguise.
Keith stood by the fact that every goddamn bit of him was a dead giveaway though, regardless of the excuse he'd woven about the bracelet. The Cuban spandex suit, the Spanish, the bracelets, that little chain he wore around his neck that Keith then realized he often saw peeking out over the back of his neck from where he keeps it tucked under his shirt.
This guy... honestly, did he have no instincts at all on how to keep his identity a secret??
And seriously, an Astro-engineering degree on top of a full time job as a superhero?? No wonder he was always late to class. No wonder he felt so strongly that he should be getting the top grades of their cohort despite acting like he could care less about his academic standing with the way he was always falling asleep in class, or not showing up at all.
Everything fell into place as he hung there, strung up by webs. Knowing everything Lance had never meant him to and completely unsure of how to feel about any of it. Other than more exasperation that is. Exasperation at the coincidence of it all. That the one and only person who had ever sought to really get to know him as a civilian was now intrinsically entangled into his life as a criminal.
By the time the villain was dealt with and Lance did eventually return to let him down from the webs, he, rather instantly, saw right past the mask. He could no longer look at him without seeing him beneath the suit. His mannerisms, the way he moved, the shape of him. All he could do was see that smug little grin Lance always seemed to wear. It basically radiated through to him. He could hear it in his voice as he told him to “stay safe out there, guapo.” Before he was out of sight.
Keith had stared for a long time after him, mouth twisting. When he went home, after a while, he couldn’t sleep. And the next day, seeing him in class, Keith could barely make eye contact.
But as fate would have it, avoiding lance was a complete nonstarter. At every turn Lance seemed to be there, for better or for worse.
After that, they somewhat fell into a rhythm – A rhythm that only Keith was fully aware of, but a rhythm all the same. While Lance continued to fall asleep in class, Keith couldn't help but notice makeup covering scrapes and bruises. His stomach started to twist when he caught Spider Man on the news, freshly beaten up by the monster of the week. His tolerance for the fool begrudgingly grew when their paths crossed, even as that irritatingly cocky voice still picked at his sanity"
The more they started seeing each other in battle, the more they started to accept it, and after a while, started to even rely on each other when things got dicey. None of it was intentional, of course, but it wouldn't be in either of their characters to witness the other with their back up against the wall and not offer help.
Keith, as agreed, kept his blade strapped to his thigh, and when their circumstances dictated that it had to come out, he promised to only make shallow cuts.
Months went by and getting each other out of pickles gradually turned into understanding each other's strengths and weaknesses and coordinating their fights accordingly. They didn't always work together or end up in the same place, but it was hard not to notice how much easier things became when they did.
Lance had seemingly realized this too, as it had been his suggestion to start intentionally working together whenever they could.
“We made a pretty good team.” Had been his explanation.
“I’m not talking anything major, but maybe we can start doing things to make it easier when we collaborate. Like… an intercom system? We can use it just between the two of us, y-know, so you don’t have to scream your head off for me to hear you when I'm up in the air anymore. Oh! or some burner phones! That way I can keep tabs on ya without ruining the whole secret identities thing.”
“What if I don't want you ‘Keeping tabs.’” Keith had argued.
“Hey,” Lance replied, putting his hands up in surrender. “Not my fault you lead such a reckless life! I mean, someone's gotta keep you in line, right? It’s a matter of safety!”
Keith had been against it. Remained against it for a long while. He didn't want to implicate Lance in his business, and definitely didn’t want to become personally involved in Spider-Man’s business either.
But then he got hurt.
Really hurt.
Shot through the side hurt. Bleeding out on the pavement hurt, and suddenly he wasn’t so invincible. Suddenly he realized that he would never accomplish what he'd set out to do if he died in the process. Suddenly he’d wanted nothing more than for Lance to be there. If not to help, then at the very least to keep him company so he didn’t die alone.
His body screamed into the silence of the night, the alleyway cold, dark, and empty, his eyes fixed onto the weak flicker of stars that barely managed to peek their way through the cracks in the city skyline.
He doesn’t really remember much of how he'd eventually managed to move again, just knows that he'd done it and bled all over his bike on the way back.
After he got home and managed to patch the wound, he’d knocked out for three days straight. When he'd woken up, he got right to work on his helmet.
The next time he and Lance met, it had been after searching the city for an hour. Scanning every rooftop, every place where shady shit tended to go down.
Despite his efforts it had been Lance who ended up finding him, sat on a rooftop, looking defeated.
He’d dropped down to his side silently, chuckling as Keith jumped, yet again.
“Where you been, Hot-shot?” He’d asked. “Come here to brood?”
“…Sorry.” Was all Keith managed to say. He’d meant sorry for disappearing. Sorry for being weak. Sorry for needing you. Sorry for taking you for granted, but all that came out was “sorry.”
The eyes of Lance’s suit softened. A smile probably, and he shook his head, letting out a sigh as he leaned forward to brace his elbows on his knees.
Lance let them fall into silence, and maybe Keith was the only one that found it charged when it should probably be relaxing. He couldn’t take it after just a few minutes.
He’d shoved his hand into his pocket then, producing the earpiece he’d set up, and handed it to Lance.
Lance looked down at it, his suit eyes growing big with curiosity.
”What’s this?” He’d asked.
“Earpiece.” Keith replied. ‘Wired into my helmet speakers. So we can talk easier… like you said.”
Lance took the device and studied it.
Keith couldn’t really tell if he was still smiling, but it felt like he was.
Lance had let it become silent again – Keith really hated that he kept doing that, but this time, he spoke up again after only a moment.
“You still haven’t told me your deal, Hot-shot.”
“The hell does that mean?”
“You. Your deal. Why you’re out here risking your life and patting down criminals? Why you want to make your enemies suffer, but you’re not ok with killing them. I know next to nothing about you other than the fact that you’ve probably – definitely – took martial arts classes your whole life, your bike is your baby, and you’re pretty damn good with a Blade.”
“My… baby?” Keith questioned, thoroughly confused.
“Your baby, yes. Dude, that thing is spotless, and you knick it up at least twice a week. The only explanation is that you’re precious about it and do maintenance religiously.”
Keith sighed.
“It helps me relax.” He admitted.
Lance chuckled. “Despite knowing nothing about you, that seems pretty on brand. I get it though, those things are expensive.”
“I built it.” Keith said, almost too quickly. “Didn’t buy it.”
Lance's eyes went comically wide to the point they basically consumed his entire mask.
“You built that thing?!” He balked. ”As in from scratch?”
“Took a few years, yeah.” Keith told him. “Only problem that now its kinda… a big part of this gig. A way I can be identified. It being hand maid makes it unique enough that if I drove it around the street casually, while not under cover, it could be a dead giveaway if the wrong person were to see me. I don't have a car though, and my bike had been what I'd planned to use instead but that plan is shot and now i just… walk everywhere. It's super fucking inconvenient.”
He sighed again.
“So now I gotta make another one to get around in.“
“Oh yeah sure because that's so easy and simple to do. Just build an entire other bike for fun.”
Keith laughed. Just a huff through his nose, but… a genuine laugh.
It had been a while.
Another moment passes as Keith realized he’d yet again gotten away with not telling Lance his so called “deal”, and debates for a bit if he should let the question go unanswered.
”I’m trying to find my brother.” He says after a while, having decided then that he really didn’t care anymore if Lance knows.
“Well… he’s the closest thing I've got to a brother. I've got no blood family to speak of anymore. But he… stepped in. Basically raised me. Tried to keep me out of harm's way. I wasn’t an easy kid so… he had his work cut out for him.
He’s been at my side for what feels like my whole life, and then he just… vanished. Without a fucking trace.”
“He’s smart. Too smart for his own good, and I think he was taken. Maybe kidnapped by people that want his knowledge. He worked for the military. Fronted a lot of special projects. I’ve been doing what I can to follow the breadcrumbs, but that means lots of illegally infiltrating government databases and getting information from the crime populations around the city. I look for any flash drives or the like on my victims and try to collect as much as I can to research in the hopes I can connect it to whoever is responsible for what happened.”
“Damn.” Lance said. But the word wasn’t flat. It was genuinely sympathetic. “I'm so sorry, man. That's… that's really awful.
Keith nodded, enough so that his helmet bobs with the movement.
“So you were an orphan?”
Keith nodded again.
“I never knew my mom.” Keith tells him. “And my dad died when I was eight.”
Lance swallowed. Shoulders slouching a bit more. “Suprisingly it seems that we're not all that different, Hot-shot.”
He paused, the energy tense as he gathered his words.
“My niece and nephew became orphans around the same age. My brother and sister in law were shot. They didn't do anything, just… wrong place, wrong time. Shot dead on the streets for no reason. Just some stray bullets from a fight between two gangs.
My parents, and my younger siblings still live back in Cuba, so it’s just me and my older sister left here. She’s… the police chief actually. Out to get my ass because she thinks rogue crime and vigilantism are basically the same thing. I'm trying to figure out how to raise two kids as an early twenty something, finish my degree, keep the city from falling apart, manage crime so that more innocent people don't die for no reason, and keep my life from my sister, who is the person I was possibly the closest to out of anyone before I became Spider-Man.”
”The kids… live with you?” Keith asks, shocked, struggling to imagine how exactly that works. Kids, in his eyes, would make it impossible to be Spider-Man.
“My sister and I, yeah. The alternative would have been… well… you know what it would have been. Obviously I couldn’t let that happen.”
Another pause.
“All this to say…” he began after a moment. “Is that, at least in some ways, I get it. Sitting idle after something like that… it feels like a crime in and of itself. Revenge is where I started too. Anger. Maybe it’s more difficult to let that go when the person you’re doing all this for is out there, going through who knows what… without the mercy of death, but I’m telling you this because I learned it the hard way: it can end up hurting you as much as it hurts them.”
He paused then, turning the earpiece over in his hand.
“I’ll help in any ways that I can.” He tells him eventually. “If you want help, that is. I’m not trynna overstep my bounds or anything.”
“You shouldn’t be Spider-Man at all.” Keith retorts, feeling almost… scared… at the prospect now. “You’ve got two kids to take care of… and an education you’re pursuing, and… how do you even find the time for this at all?”
“Lots of lying.” Lance shrugs. “And excuses… and… because of what I said earlier. I've got these powers, for what? Definitely not to sit on my ass. In my head, if I do that… It's my fault when someone else gets needlessly hurt. It’s my obligation to help because of what I’m capable of doing. That's… what my brother believed. And even if I wanted to see things another way, I don't think I could. Not after losing him.”
Then Lance sighed, the air shifting and the energy changing in one fell swoop as Lance straightened his shoulders and stood up. Tossing and catching the earpiece in his hand as he went.
He then tossed something into Keith’s lap and cocked his head to the side, suit eyes smiling.
“Thanks for… chatting.” He said. It’s nice to… not have to be alone in this for a change.”
Keith nodded.
“I’ll see you around then?”
Keith nodded again.
Then, with a two finger salute, he shot a web off the side of the building and disappeared.
Keith looked down at his lap. Lance had given him a device. Homemade by the looks of it. He picks it up, confused as to why Lance was so shocked he’d built his own bike if he had the capability to make gadgets of his own.
A message blinked on its screen.
“What do I call you?” It said. “Can’t just keep calling you Hot-shot.”
Keith blinked at the text. Had read it over one- five times.
“Red.”
Keith typed out the three letters, thumb hesitating over the send button.
It took a moment. Maybe several, long moments, because honest to god, he really shouldn’t do this. He shouldn’t become involved with him. He shouldn’t rely on someone who’s career is so volatile. A vigilante that could end up dead at any time.
But he missed having someone to talk to. He really did.
So maybe stupidly, he hit send, powered off the device, and climbed back down the building. He let this little arrangement they have now begin, and so far it's worked out well enough. They've worked through all the kinks now and if they can’t both be in the same place at the same time, then they're at least always aware of where the other is.
Lance is still not subtle about it, at least not to Keith. Though him leaving in the middle of class or not showing up at all usually cues him into the fact that Lance is off being Spider-Man before he can even message him to let him know.
If Lance suspects that the people Keith’s looking for have any involvement in his fight of the day, he’ll let Keith know, and Keith will make his own excuses to go and join him. Because of that- because of Lance – he actually feels like he's making a bit of headway. More than he'd been able to before, for sure.
This time, he gets the message from Lance while he’s in his apartment studying; Well- Shiro’s apartment. He’d moved here from his dorm to be with Adam after Shiro disappeared.
Thankfully Adam wasn’t home so Keith could put on his helmet and slip out easily.
Retrieving his bike from where he kept it hidden, he jumps on and takes off as fast as he can, flying through the streets until he gets a glimpse of Lance in the air. As soon as he does, his comms buzz to life.
Keith speeds up. Faster and faster, whipping through the streets and weaving through cars, the drag of the wind heavy against his limbs.
Lance moves fast and a bit sporadically; He’d had to master splitting his focus between the road and the sky.
Lance changes course and Keith punches it, making a dash for it through a red light and across traffic.
“You keepin’ up, Red?” Lance asks with that cheeky voice of his through the speakers of his helmet.
“Eyes forward.” Keith scolds, very much aware of how Lance keeps looking down at him, keeping tabs on him as they go.
“I’m hurt that after all this time you still think me an amateur. I can very well admire the view and not smash into a building, thank you very much.”
The flirting — or, if not flirting then the acknowledgement that Lance found Keith to be attractive — had been confusing at first, given the fact that Lance had no idea who he was or what he looked like. But that confusion had dispelled one night after a particularly grueling battle. Lance, a veritable dead man walking, had declared, with no energy in his voice at all, that he was going to Taco Bell. It was 2 in the morning but Lance clearly could not have cared less, Keith watching him from a distance as he waddled stiffly inside as Spider-Man and returned back with a “crunch wrap supreme" for both of them. He then exhaustedly bemoaned, upon unfurling the paper wrapping, that “this crunch wrap supreme is the sexiest thing I've ever seen in my life.”
Keith didn't question a thing after that.
Lance was a flirt. With anyone and anything that spoke to him. Apparently Keith’s masked figure beating up evil people fell into that category. Along with the crunch wrap supreme, the old ladies that walked through the park every day, the bodega guy he and Lance had stopped at once to get a bottle of water for a cat he’d found. The list was endless.
Lance tucked into an alleyway then, so quickly that Keith nearly missed it. His tires screeched across the pavement as he forced the bike to turn 100 degrees with only a small decrease in speed. The alleyway was narrow but Keith's bike was trim enough to weave around the jutting out pipes and debris. When the path got blocked completely, he was able to ride up onto the wall just a bit to get over the hurdle.
Keith had been developing grips on his tires to allow him to climb up the sides of buildings if he was able to maintain a fast enough speed. He’d not had as much use for it before, but now, with Lance, it had become a necessity.
The warehouse was fast approaching. A tracking device that Lance had snuck onto a criminal that had managed to get away from him had just started pinging. Aside from Lance simply wanting backup, he'd told Keith he'd heard talk amongst this guys team that he had involvement in human trafficking and the US government. A prime suspect for Shiro’s disappearance.
Lance flung himself effortlessly through a window at the top of the structure ahead and Keith revved his engine. It was a little steep, but he could make it. He just had to gun it.
He took a breath, held it, and took off towards the wall, lifting the front tire of his bike off the pavement just a second before he would have crashed. The traction of the tire caught the brick and just like that, he was jolted skywards, bike roaring as he approached the same window Lance had just crashed through.
Keith dug his feet into the footrests, clasping them to the soles of his shoes as he stood up. Twisting his hips to the side he grasped the windows edge with his hands and hauled himself through, using the momentum from scaling the wall to launch through the opening and get his bike up over his head. Then he jumped, detaching his shoes from the footrests as he went and aiming the bike to slide out across the floor from under him. It tore through the room, people screaming, trying and failing to jump out of its way as Keith fell into a somersault and un-sheathed his blades from his sides, sprinting after the bike, arms in position.
He never had to worry about hurting Lance when he had to make an entrance like this. His senses were too keen. He always was out of the trajectory of the bike before Keith was even on the scene.
Keith didn't waste time. Tightening his fists around the hilts of his blades he kicked out at someone charging at him, Lance shooting out a thick web to catch some bullets shot his way. He flung himself over Keith's head, protecting his back as Keith took out assailants in front of him.
“Conscious, Keith!” Lance's voice rings through the speakers over his ears.
“Roger.” Keith replies, scaling a tall man and crushing his neck between his thighs as he twists his body and slams him to the ground, cushioning the guys head as they land with his forearm but landing on the ground with both of his feet over the guys knees, breaking them both.
“Conscious” meant disabling the enemy to the point that they couldn't fight back, but not so much that any attacks he administered knocked them out. They needed to be questioned.
The fight was fast. Efficient. Painless. As much as he might have begrudged to admit it at first, they really do work well together. They fit like gears in a well oiled machine. A force to be reckoned with on their own and seemingly unbeatable together.
With one final kick, Keith brings down the last of his combatants. Lance is quick to mobilize him in a web, and with no trouble at all, the two are left to survey the area.
It's bare bones. There’s some devices on a table that Lance quickly confiscates as Keith searches the criminals.
“You know how to hack tech like that?” Keith asks from over his shoulder.
“No, but I got a guy.” Lance replies easily. “Well guy and girl. “Same ones who made our communicators, actually!”
That explains it. Keith thinks to himself.
He stands, disappointed to have found nothing useful and lightly kicks his toe into one of the criminals' sides, watching him wince.
“Who do you work for.” He asks, his voice flat and measured.
“Like hell I’d tell you shit.” The man rasps, his voice breathy.
“Keith goes for his knife, but quick as a flash, Lance is there, gloves hand lightly placed on his as he steps forward.
“You’re really not in the position to refuse him, bucko.” He grins. Or … that’s at least what it feels like he does. Keith can never truly tell.
He opens his mouth to say something more, but before he can even get the words out, a guy from behind him speaks up.
It’s one word. Just one. But it makes absolutely no sense.
“Sendak.” The man says. “We work for Sendak. Doing this is the only way we can stay out of the arena.”
“Doing what exactly.” Lance questions.
“Working for him. Taking out people he doesn’t like. If we’re loyal we stay alive. That’s how this works.”
“Sendak…” Keith breaths. The monster. The mutant. He would have never guessed that he had criminals working for him.
“What’s the arena…?” Keith asks.
“A death sentence. That’s all you need to know. But I told you the rest of it. I told you everything. So you gotta help me. Please. You gotta help me esca-“
Bang!
A gunshot. Loud and jarring and so completely unexpected. It rips through the room, straight through the man’s head. He’s dead in an instant and the rest are soon to follow in a barrage of bullets.
Lance dives for him before the next shot is even fired. They’re hitting the ground as the shot quickly turns on them.
Keith’s head spins but Lance seems unaffected, sliding towards the assailant with some quickly shot webs.
It takes a moment for him to get his wits about him again, but the sight in front of him doesn’t feel real.
Sendak is there. In the flesh- or… fur, metal arm screeching, and Lance is fighting him like it’s just another Tuesday. Like he fears nothing.
Sendak is big and lumbering. Lance is moving at at least double his speed, and even still it feels like the fight is somehow stacked in his favor.
Lance looks small. Too small to be fighting him. Too fragile. And Keith’s seen him fight him before. Bits and pieces of the fight only but still… this feels different than last time. Keith’s heart sizes in his chest. He feels panicky.
He reaches for his blades to, terrifyingly, find that they’re not strapped to his thighs. He can’t even panic for long though because lances voice, strangled and tired, comes through their coma system.
“You stay out of this one, Red! One step closer and you’re dead.”
Keith blinks. Somehow Sendak and Lance are in the rafters now. Somehow Lance took his Blades when he pushed him out of the way of the bullets. No more shots had been fired so Lance also somehow found a way to disarm Sendak too.
Somehow Lance was aware of the exact moment Keith started to panic.
Lance is called a super hero for a reason, he remembers. He’s not just some guy in a suit. Lance, somehow, has superhuman abilities. A fact he often forgets about. The gulf between them is vast despite the guy acting like a goof in his civilian life. Tripping over things. Stumbling. Dropping his books.
Is it all an act? Is he actually that good? Is every little thing he does in his civilian life a performance?
Keith feels angry then. Really he has no good reason to be. But the last few moments of rumination make him mad. Not at Lance, per say, but… he certainly has something to do with it.
He huffs, gets up, and takes off after the pair, running as quickly as he can.
He respects Lance’s desire for him to stay safe and out of the fight, but like hell he’s actually going to agree to it. Lance may be super human but he’s only one guy.
And then the walls start to glitch. Because of course they do.
Keith thought his head was spinning before, but now it’s on the brink of being broken. The walls turn into technicolor blocks, pixelated and vibrating in a way that nearly makes him sick. His ears ring, his chest feels heavy and what the actual hell is going on?!
The. He sees it. A black mass. Thick and swirling and growing before it lights up with a bright white light too intense to look into. The urge to puke returns just as the vortex finally stabilizes.
The fight between Lance and Sendak has all but halted, both of them being affected by the world warping phenomenon taking place that they can’t stay on their feet.
And then- just because things didn’t make enough sense already, the vortex closes. The world is thrown back into stillness and sense, and in its wake stands a man. White suit. Violet eyes. Silhouette striking and strong. It almost reminds him of-
The man flashes out of his line of sight in a crack of white light. Thunder rumbling in his wake. It nearly knocks Keith over somehow.
Then the man shoots webs. Black webs.
Keith’s comprehension snaps in half.
Another spider man??? There’s more than one???
He looks to Lance who’s from body language alone looks a little shell shocked himself, which is a comfort only for a moment before Lance sees Sendak fall out the south window, white Spider-Man having to seemingly completely incapacitated him.
Lance dives out the window after the two without so much as a second thought and Keith curses. He runs to the window. Thankfully seeing that they’ve all landed on the roof of a lower level of the same building. It’s a jump he can make. Webs or no.
He takes a breath, clenches his fists, and backs up for a running start.
He doesn’t think. Doesn’t give himself the time to second guess himself. He takes off. Diving out the window and falling, falling, falling for a lot longer than he’d anticipated.
At the last moment he tucks himself forward to land in a somersault, finding it to be a success when he only slightly tweaks his neck and shoulder on impact.
He springs up as quickly as he can and takes off after the group, extracting the small blades he has tucked in a secret compartment in his boots.
He’s ready to fight. Blinded by the desire to do — something. Anything other than just sit around and be useless.
Lance sees him coming and sighs a heavy sigh in his ears. “Stay OUT of this red.” He yells, but Keith doesn’t listen. He looks for an opening. Waits for the right moment, running at full speed towards Lance and… the other one. And then, when the time is right, he throws his knife with every amount of force he can muster.
It lands square in his eye, causing the mutant to scream, and giving both spider men the opportunity to utilize his moment of distraction. They both lunge, pulled by an instinct that Keith can’t understand, like there trying to get to him before-
Oh.
In a flashy Sendak is gone. Yellow light consuming him into nothingness.
They were trying to get to him before he disappeared. Meaning they knew he was going to disappear. Meaning that his disappearance was not a victory, but a loss.
Keith’s blade had made him retreat… maybe Lance had wanted him to have no reason to retreat. Maybe he’d wanted to do everything he could to get him to stay. Maybe… this was Keith’s fault.
He braces himself for a lecture. Prepares to fight back. Prepares to defend himself with every bit of anger that Lance turns on to him.
But Lance doesn’t even look at him. Instead, he snags Keith’s other blade from his hand and turns it on the white Spider-Man.
Keith can’t see his face but he knows he’s terrified. Livid. Confused.
“Who the hell are you?!” He growls, teeth clearly clenched. “What the hell was that?!”
Keith doesn’t understand why he’s angry. The guy was clearly on their team. At least… that’s how it came across. Maybe Lance is aware of something he’s not.
The white Spider-Man holds his hands up in surrender, taking a small step back
“It’s alright.” He assures, his voice much more gentle than Keith would have thought it to be with the way the guy was built. Almost like-
The man takes off his mask.
The world stops.
“I can explain.” He tells them both. “Please trust me.”
He continues talking. Something about diffrent dimensions. Portals. A network of spider- people or… something. It might have gone over his head even if he had been truly listening. But his mind was blank his heart in his stomach. Because why the hell was shiro standing right in front of him.
He’s shaking. Tears welling up in his eyes. A mixture of confusion and panic and relief that makes him sick all over again.
He’s not even thinking straight. Doesn’t imagine the consequences as he takes his helmet from his head and lets it clatter to the pavement under his feet.
He’s on the brink of sobbing, a hole gaping in his chest as Shiro turns to meet his gaze, eyes widening.
He doesn’t even realize the way that Lance falls still beside him, suit eyes going wide too.
“Shiro?!” He chokes out. “Shiro is that-“
His hair has a shock of white through his bangs now and there’s a scar across the bridge of his nose, but it’s Shiro. It has to be Shiro. There’s no other explanation. No other options.
And yet somehow Shiro still shakes his head no.
“Kuron.” Is the name he replies with. “My name is Kuron.”
“You don’t know me.”