That night, Lance dreamed.

His dreams usually weren't too bad, but it seemed that his issues with Keith and his argument with Pidge had been enough to pull out the bad memories. Which sucked. A lot.

And, yeah. They were memories. Terrible ones that Lance wished he could forget a thousand times over, but seemed to keep holding onto anyways. He dreamed, and they blended into each other, overlapping, blurring, until Lance couldn't quite tell what he was dreaming about.

Until it sharpened with a snap.

His mother. Her beautiful smile. Her long, dark hair. Her warm eyes. All of it gone in an instant. Lance didn't remember much after that. Just. One minute she was there, warm eyes fierce as she screamed at Lance "RUN!" like it would make any difference at all, and the next she was gone, taken from right before his eyes, bitten.

There was no saving her.

Lance didn't know that, though.

Ben, however, did.

Lance tried to fight when his big brother dragged him, Mari, and Lira away, Jaime charging after them. They didn't stop. They kept going and going until they reached the forest. Lance could barely breathe, barely listen as Ben told them to start climbing the tree he'd picked out.

What in the hell had just happened.

Lira started sobbing, but that didn't stop Ben. He just scooped the twelve-year-old up, Jaime helping him get her arms around his neck, and started beckoning his siblings back up the tree again. Lance, pretty much on autopilot, was cajoled into the tree, and then he started crying, too.

He was so mad. At everything. And so confused. More confused than he even knew how to deal with. So he just started crying and let Mari, already sitting on the branch Ben had pushed him onto, pull him closer, and pet his hair, even as the spark in her eyes flickered.

They came when Jaime was still on the ground. It was so sudden that none of them were prepared for it.

Ben had just deposited Lira in the branch above Lance and Mari's, and Jaime was just about to make his climb up, and then suddenly they were there. Zombies. The things that had taken his mother. The things that Ben had saved the rest of his siblings from.

Or. Maybe not the rest of his siblings, because they were here, and it was too late for Jaime to climb the tree. He wouldn't make it. They weren't as slow as the movies made them out to be, and Jaime didn't have any time. He had to run or they'd get him.

"JAIME!" Ben shouted. Why, Lance didn't know. Jaime knew the things were there. Jaime knew there would be no time. Jaime knew he had to run. Lance could see it in his eyes. So Lance didn't know why Ben called out to Jaime like that. Maybe it was a 'I'm going to call out to you while I know you can still answer' kind of thing.

If it was, then maybe Lance should do it, too. Because from the look in Jaime's eyes, Lance didn't think he'd get the chance again. Just like his mother. Just like his father.

Jaime yelled up, "Ben! I'm going to lead them away from you guys! I'll catch up with you soon!"

And then he was gone.

Lance never saw Jaime again.

His second oldest brother, his mother. Both lost to the Apocalypse.

Lance lost his grip on his tree branch, slipping, and instead of barely catching him like last time, his dream took control. Ben's fingers didn't grab him in time. Lance was falling. And as he watched himself devoured by the swarming zombies, the things that had decimated his family by just existing, Lance thought that the pain of death was nothing compared to the pain of losing his mom and his brother.

Lance woke up gasping for breath, and he couldn't seem to catch it, no matter how hard he tried.

"Lance, you're okay," Hunk hushed, wrapping him up in his arms, just like he used to when the nightmares used to get too vivid, back before Lance was able to push it all down—just be Lance and not seasoned war veteran number four.

Lance buried his face into Hunk's chest and tried to make it all go away. Tried to breathe. Tried to feel like his whole wasn't crashing down around him over and over again. Damn Keith. Damn him. How had one person done so much to bring out this ugly, ugly part of him? It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense anymore. At least, not right now. Not while he—while he—

He felt sick.

He pushed away from Hunk's comfort and out of bed. "I gotta—I gotta go," he murmured, tears still in his eyes, lungs still heaving for oxygen.

Hunk managed to snag him before he could get very far, though, and he pulled Lance back onto the bed and—shit. Lance let him. "No, Lance. It's okay."

"It's not okay," Lance told him, gasps turning into sobs. "I've gotta go see her. She needs me!"

Hunk shook his head. "She's fine, Lance. Lira's with her, so you don't need to worry, okay? Just go back to sleep. You've got patrol in a couple of hours."

Lance let the tension in his body go, slumping into Hunk's hold. He wouldn't sleep, but he wouldn't go, either. Not if Hunk said it was okay. And he trusted Hunk enough to know that Hunk would tell him if it wasn't.

"Everything is so messed up," Lance whispered, and Hunk said nothing in response, because they both knew it was too true.

And they stayed like that until morning.

Pidge's nose was scrunched up at Lance when he met up with her in the morning. Thankfully—seriously, she was actually doing him a favor which was weird enough—she didn't mention how absolute crap he looked in front of the others gathering in front of the inner wall.

"Iverson's on a war path," was all she said, and he was kind of glad that she was dropping all tense subjects that could lead to potential arguments. They were about to go on patrol. She stared at him, though, her eyes knowing. "Just watch out."

Lance nodded, and didn't answer.

It was a good thing, too, because Iverson—the biggest jerk face ever to live in the entire universe—stomped up to him, nostrils flaring.

"Nice of you to join us," he sneered like Lance wasn't there on time with literally the entire patrol unit. Iverson was just looking for an excuse to kick him off patrol duty, though, so Lance still kept quiet. He needed this, and he wasn't going to let a stupid comeback ruin it for him.

Iverson walked away, but Lance didn't relax. They were about to go back out there. Guard up.

"Make sure everyone has your knives ready," Iverson called out as he paced back and forth in front of their group. "Guns, too. No bayards today. The science division wants them to stay in the camp, so if you have one, come forward now."

No one came forward. And even if they had one, they probably wouldn't tell Iverson. Pidge was giving Lance the stink eye. She had probably already guessed he was still toting his bayard around—which. He didn't really care. She wouldn't tell on him. And as long as Iverson didn't catch him, he was golden.

After a moment, Iverson clapped his hands together. "Right. We're to take the path through the woods today, check the far town for any lingering zombies." The town Lance had found Keith in. Great. "Our goal is not to fight them, just check out how many we're dealing with and if we can expand the walls of the camp that far. If you find one, do not shoot on sight. You'll be splitting into groups of two or three and leading them into the woods to pick them off. If you encounter a hoard, don't be stupid enough to get noticed. Don't try to fight them. If you do somehow get noticed by the hoard, then by all means. Shoot. No guarantee you're coming out of it alive, though."

See? Just generally assholery (Was that a word? Probably not, but Lance was keeping that).

But it was a spiel that they'd all heard before. It was the patrol unit's job, after all, to find and clear out the loner zombies, leading them into the woods, away from the walls and the towns. Patrol didn't handle the hoards, though. That was the big guns of the camp.

The Artillery Unit.

(It was actually a pretty badass name if he did say so himself. And that wasn't just because he helped pick it.)

"We clear?" Iverson asked.

A chorus of scattered "yes sir"s rang out, and then the inner wall's gate was being lifted. They went through, and then Iverson punched in the code for the outer wall's door, and they were through that one, weapons at the ready as they stepped away from the safety of the camp.

"Wanna team up?" Lance asked Pidge.

"Team up with you?" Pidge snorted. "What makes you think I want to?"

Lance forced a grin, elbowing her lightly in the shoulder. "You know you want to."

Pidge rolled her eyes. "Fine, sure. Whatever. Just don't annoy me with that thing you do."

"What thing?"

"The thing."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Lance feigned ignorance.

"You do!" Pidge huffed. "You get all edgy and twitchy."

Lance shot her a look. "They're zombies, Pidge. You want me to just walk up to one and shake their hand? I'm sure that'll go over real well."

In a way, she was kind of right, though. Sometimes, he could turn up the dial a bit too high when it came to being out here. Pidge knew him inside and out, and she was really the only one who could handle him, even if she said she hated it.

They did this every time, though. Lance didn't know why, but it made him feel a little better. Maybe if he tried a little harder he could keep things just a little bit lighter. Maybe he wouldn't be so paranoid and on edge.

But then he ran the risk of being too lax.

He could never win, though, so best not to think about it too much.

Pidge nudged him. "You ready?"

Lance forced his grin a bit wider, remembering what he'd told Keith the day before. "You kidding? You're talking to the Zombie Slayer extraordinaire."

Pidge shook her head, but she looked like she was fighting a smile. He was glad. He hated how they'd left things the night before, and they were a great team once they'd started working together. Perfect to watch each other's backs.

"Right," she said. "Let's go Zombie Slayer. It's time to slay some zombies."