Hey not all character death is meant to add shock to the narrative.

The existence of a character who is “doomed” by the narrative, whose death is fated by factors both of their creation and not; factors that may have once been in their control but haven’t for so long that they were effectively factors created by a different version of themselves is not “shock”.

It’s a form of classical tragedy.
a lane to the land of the dead
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works


Steve’s not alone in his dreams.


This is a gift for Lena on the occasion of her birthday, so first of all you should totally go wish her a happy birthday. She’s wonderful and deserves all kinds of lovely things.

This fic ended up straying a little off my usual path, partly in order to keep the thing self-contained (because several of my initial ideas would have, uh, exploded into epics, and I wanted to have something finished). I had fun, though. Really I should write more things with characters mucking around in each others’ heads, it’s way too much fun. There’s so much potential when you’re writing about peoples’ dreams.

A note: there’s some horror imagery in here, though it remains (imo) fairly mild. Title, if you were wondering, comes from “As I Walked Out One Evening” by W.H. Auden.

Thanks to my ever wonderful beta for a quick turnaround, enabling me to actually post this on time. And happy birthday to one of my favorite people in fandom.

  • Keith, hurts his hand: Ow, shit!
  • Lance, a big brother who is so used to kissing younger siblings hurts it's now a reflex: I got this!
  • Lance: *grabs Keith's hand and kisses it*
  • Keith: ...
  • Keith: *starts slamming his hand in doors so Lance will kiss him again*