Bullets {Klance Gang AU}

Trauma

(( Oh Lance ;-; poor bby.))

Hours, literal hours had passed by the time Lance could breathe right again. And even then his respirations were questionable. After the gunshots, after the slamming around and the screaming, he'd been petrified. At only the age of thirteen, he was able to fit under his bed, where he'd taken refuge after the door was kicked in.

It was past sunrise by the time he dared to squeeze out from beneath the bed, despite the murderers having long fled the scene. The cops didn't show up until then, mainly because the neighborhood was no stranger to gunshots. Response time was often delayed, and everyone knew that all too well. There were too many crimes and not enough law enforcement to help.

In his pajamas, out of tears, and ailed with fear, Lance stood to his feet. His breath shook with every step his bare feet took, and with every creak of the floorboards they created. Red and blue lights were flashing outside the house, and the sirens were still blaring. He figured they'd just come, but it wasn't to save him.

Nobody could've done that.

" Mamá?" Lance asked, a large lump forming in his throat as he croaked out the question. He came out from the hallway, where he was met with a gruesome scene a few feet away. He gasped and put a hand over his mouth, seeing his sister, Veronica, first. She was dead, shot and having her face flat atop the dining room table. Then there was his older brother, Marco, who was shot against the wall. He was full of holes and had clearly slid down into his sitting, half lying position. Blood was splattered and dragged down the wall, having been smeared by his back.

His eyes darted around the room, where he saw his pregnant mother dead on the floor. There was a broken plate beside her body, which must've been the dinner they were supposed to eat. Lance's father was by the door that was all but kicked in, having a bullet wound to the head.

Blood was like a lake on the floor, and Lance's feet were painted with it as he knelt by his mom.

" ¡Policía! ¡Abre la puerta!" Was yelled from the Cuban police officers at the other door of the house, the back door. Lance was too out of it to listen and open the door. Meanwhile, other officers had circled around to see that one of the doors was already inside the house, laying flat and stomped down.

The scene was stormed as Lance stayed by his mother. He was asked questions in Spanish while other officers rushed around to search for survivors. His shoulders were shook as he zoned out, and he couldn't help but cry and sniffle.

They were gone. His whole family had been massacred and left with no regard, like they'd never even mattered to anyone. Lance wished he wouldn't have been spared in that moment, because after all... bleeding out would've been exponentially better than seeing them like that.

...

" Lance, hey!" Keith said, running his hand through Lance's hair before cupping his cheeks. " Listen to me. You have to breathe, Babe..." He told him, and Lance realized he was having a panic attack. His breathing was erratic and tears were rushing from his eyes as he remembered everything.

Seeing her body like that, how it had been left for them to find, it was too similar to what had already happened to him once before. The old, coagulated blood wasn't helping matters. The stench, that same odor of it had slapped him right in the face.

Lance found himself staring into Keith's indigo eyes as he seemed to come back in touch. The small jingling noise of Keith's bracelet beside his ear, and the soft surface of his boyfriend's palms cupping his face, they helped.