Summary: Lance and Pidge crash the supply pod following a freak asteroid storm. And Lance... Lance is hurt. Badly. He's bleeding out and there's no time to wait for rescue. Pidge has to save him. And the emergency flare... Well, it's the only thing she's got.
Timeline notes: Not really applicable, but technically late season two or early season three.
Warning notes: Cauterization, descriptions of injury.
Other notes: Tumblr follower kiriban bad things happen bingo prompt: Can I have Lance cauterizing please? I'm so excited!
Crash and Burn
"Lance!"
Pidge's hoarse scream cut through the crackling, smoky air. "La—" she broke off into a wracking cough, sinking to her knees outside the burning remains of the supply pod.
The supply pod Lance was still in.
Desperation forced her back to her feet and she surged forward, heat blistering her face and the metal sheeting glowing a dull orange.
"Lance!"
He did not respond.
The flames grew higher.
It was supposed to be a simple supply run.
Not…
Not this.
Not a freak asteroid storm.
Not Lance desperately trying to navigate their unarmed, unshielded aircraft out of the barrage.
Not her attempts to contact the castle, static buzzing in the cockpit from the interference of the storm.
Not one of the asteroids striking them, sending the ship into a tailspin.
Not the plummet towards the small dwarf planet below.
Not Lance throwing himself over her, just as vulnerable as she in his civilian clothes, as the ground reared up and the impact was imminent.
Not this.
She'd been tossed free of the ship. Pidge wasn't still sure how, but other than a smattering of thin cuts sliced into her arms and a deeper but not serious gash above her right knee and some no doubt still to appear bruises she was relatively uninjured.
But Lance…
Lance had not been on the ground with her.
Which meant he was still in the ship.
That was on fire.
That was going to explode.
And he wasn't responding.
Fuck.
"Fuck," Pidge said it aloud as well, hands shaking as she wrenched her singed shirt over her head and leaving her in her camisole. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck."
She picked up a jagged piece of glass from the window and holding it as carefully as she could she sliced through her shirt, dividing it into two.
Dropping the glass she pulled the halves apart and bundled them over and over her hands in a terrible imitation of boxing gloves to protect them as best she could from what she was about to do next.
And without giving it any more thought Pidge braced her hands on crumpled door frame and pushed.
She could feel the heat sinking in already, licking at her now bare shoulders too.
She pushed harder.
Acid smoke swirled and she turned, burying her face into her arm as she coughed.
She realized then her glasses were missing, likely launched as she had been.
She didn't care.
The frame gave a creak and the heated metal bent inwards, allowing her enough room to pass through.
The smoke was thicker inside, billowing about her as it sought the open air.
Pidge held one cloth-wrapped hand over her mouth and shoved herself deeper in.
She hauled herself into the cockpit, stumbling over a piece of debris that had landed on the floor.
She realized a tick later that it wasn't debris at all.
"Lance!" she gasped, dropping to her knees, wincing at the heat that hit her flesh. "Lance!"
He was lying on his side, back to her.
He wasn't moving.
Pidge pulled off her hand wraps and reached out, grasping at his raised shoulder and side to turn him towards her, grunting. Her lower hand came away wet.
Honey eyes widened.
What?
They tracked to Lance's stomach.
His shirt was plastered there, gray material turned red.
Blood.
It was leaking sluggishly now that his weight was no longer putting pressure on it, adding more scarlet to the already puddled floor.
Oh God.
Oh God oh God oh God.
What had happened? How bad was it?
Bad, she answered herself. It had to be bad.
Lance let out a soft moan, barely audible over the snapping of flames coming from the console, as Pidge tentatively dug fingers into the hem of the shirt and lifted it.
Acid tickled her throat.
Bad was an understatement.
Lance's stomach had been cut open nearly all the way across, a thick, oozing line of red and as Lance shuddered she caught sight of something pink glistening further in.
She was going to be sick.
She couldn't afford to be.
"Lance," Pidge whispered, bloodied fingers — Lance's blood, oh God — lighting upon his cheek. "L-Lance."
He let out another moan and his eyes fluttered.
Pidge tapped it more insistently.
She needed to stop the bleeding. She needed to get him out of the burning ship. She needed to, she needed to—
The console let out a dangerous snap.
Prioritize. Get out of ship first before they both blew up.
She couldn't carry him. She wouldn't be able to drag him far either and definitely not through the warped doorway.
He needed to wake up. He needed to get up.
Oh God they were both going to die.
"Lance, Lance please. Lance, wake up!"
Hazy ocean eyes opened.
"Pidge?" he rasped, wincing. "Wh-what…?"
His eyes moved past her face and deeper into the ship, no doubt catching sight of the mangled interior and the flames starting to lick for the ceiling.
His eyes widened. "Wh-what—?"
"We need to go," Pidge told him, hoping her voice wasn't wavering as badly as it sounded to her.
Lance's hands twitched at his sides and braced themselves on the heated floor below. He went to push himself to sitting—
And fell back with a breathless gasp.
His stomach gushed a new line of crimson.
A matching color appeared on his lips as he tilted his head, coughing weakly.
Internal bleeding.
"Get up!" Pidge demanded as Lance's eyes closed. "I can't carry you! Get up!"
Her hands trembled, useless.
"Pidge… I…" He coughed again, more blood painting his teeth.
"Get the fuck up Lance," her hands dug into his shoulder, clenching the fabric there. "Get up now!" A sob worked its way up her throat and the ship gave another dangerous moan. "I'm not leaving without you. Now get up!"
Lance responded by bracing his hands once more on the floor and he shoved up, a short scream torn from him as his stomach contracted and blood gushed and he hunched over, panting.
"Up, up up," Pidge tugged on his shirt, rising to a crouch herself and trying to tug him towards her. One hand scrambled out and recollected her shirt.
She was going to need that for bandages.
Lance followed.
He leaned forward onto his knees, lifting his right leg and bracing it beneath him. Pidge bent down and slipped his right arm over her shoulders before rising to her full height, pulling up on the captured limb.
Lance rose with her.
His legs nearly buckled beneath him as she got him into a hunched stand, too short, too small, to be an effective crutch.
The front of the cockpit screeched as metal collapsed in on itself.
It was the motivation Lance needed.
He took a shaky step forward, breaths heavy and shallow at the same time, and Pidge did what she could to support him as she steered them towards the crumpled doorway.
Heat brushed her shoulders, sparks landing on the exposed flesh and she gritted her teeth as her she reached her free hand out, having to push aside a small beam that had come loose in that time. The destroyed shirt soaked up most of it but she let out a small groan of her own as it struck against her unprotected wrist.
They were pushing through the doorway a moment later.
Lance practically fell out, hitting the debris-strewn ground with a dull thump.
Pidge looked over her shoulder as the front of the shuttle became engulfed.
"Move!" she screamed, yanking on Lance's arm. "Move!"
He got his feet beneath him again and they stumbled away from the ship.
Just one more step, just one more step, Pidge chanted to herself. They just had to get far enough way before—
The ship exploded.
Heat washed over their backs and hot air buoyed them forward, sending them tumbling into the dirt.
It was a good thing they didn't make it farther, Pidge thought, eyes wide, as she watched flying metal crash further up the landscape, propelled high into the air by the blast.
They'd made it.
She scrambled to her knees, turning to Lance who had collapsed onto his side, eyes closed although his face was tight with pain.
"Hang on, hang on," she muttered, shoving him back onto his back and he let out the barest moan. She unraveled her shirt from her grip and before she could think on how much this was going to hurt she pressed it down onto the gaping wound across Lance's stomach.
He screamed.
It was a sound Pidge never wanted to hear again. His eyes had flown open wide as she put more of her weight onto the wound, trying to stopper it, and his hands scrabbled weakly on the ground.
It wasn't enough.
Pidge's shirt had turned an ugly red, her hands staining just as much, but it wasn't enough. The wound was too deep, too wide, too much.
And she had nothing left to stop it.
Lance had stilled although his chest was heaving, gurgled gasps of air clouding his throat.
He was pale.
The light on this planet was dim, in their night cycle with a sliver of moon casting down its rays and the burning ship a flickering orange behind them. Lance's normal mocha tones though were growing washed out.
He was losing too much blood.
"Lance," Pidge whispered, abandoning her useless bandaging and placing blood-drenched fingers on his cheek.
He blinked open dull eyes.
"Pidge," he murmured. A ghost of a smile tried to pull up red flecked lips. "I…Th-thank you."
"Thank you?" she repeated, voice pitching high. "For what?"
His smile grew even as his eyes closed. "For… for s-saving me."
Saving him? Saving him? He was dying right in front of her. She'd pulled him from the ship only to lose him now.
No.
No.
The others would come, she was sure. Maybe a blip of their signal got through, maybe Keith and his weird instincts would sense something was wrong. Maybe the Blue Lion would too. And if not that, then when they didn't return from their trip the team would go out and find them.
But they'd be too late.
Lance didn't have time.
She needed to do something. Something now.
Her eyes cast about the clearing looking for inspiration, an answer.
Burning ship, burning metal, rocks, sand… and the shuttle's emergency kit, torn open just a few paces away and its contents strewn across the ground.
They focused on one of the flares.
Her stomach heaved.
Oh God.
She looked back to Lance, to the saturated scraps of clothing.
Oh God.
She…
She had to.
She pulled herself to her feet, limbs aching and heavy. "No," she told Lance, staring down at his prone form. "I… I haven't saved you yet. But," she swallowed, licking dry lips. "I will. Just… just hold on."
Pidge was to the flare and back to Lance's side within a few ticks.
Oh God.
She needed to stop the bleeding though. It was the only way.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered.
Lance didn't seem to hear her, head lolled to the side now.
Pidge pulled back her useless bandages, dropping them with a wet plop to the side.
The wound stared up at her, gaping and bloody and oh God what the fuck was she doing?
The flare came to life in her hands, bright blue and white fire highlighting the scene.
Oh God.
Pidge stalled in doing it, moving instead to sit backwards on Lance's chest, straddling him with her knees pressed into the dirt with as much force as she could manage to pin him down.
The flare hovered above his stomach in front of her.
Pidge took a steadying breath.
And she lowered the flare.
Lance wailed.
Not unconscious then.
He writhed and bucked beneath her as she dragged the flame and metal tip against his skin, tracing the line.
The scent of burnt flesh assaulted her nose.
Lance rolled beneath her, his hands scratching at her calves.
Pidge choked down bile and kept going.
It was like welding. Searing two pieces of metal together.
Just… just with flesh.
The skin was bubbling and blistering as she moved the flare across, red and darkened and blood drying instantly into flakes at the heat.
She forced herself to make two passes.
Lance went limp while she was on the second one.
She sobbed and prayed.
Pidge flicked the flare off a few ticks later, dropping it like it had burned her instead.
She rolled off of Lance, crawling towards his face.
Tears glistened on his cheeks.
"L-Lance?" She reached a trembling hand out to his cheek, to his lips.
A shallow puff of hot air warmed her fingers.
He was still alive.
Pidge maneuvered around him, pulling his head and shoulders into her lap, trying to prop him up against her as he let out a weak cough.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."
He did not respond. One of his tears finished its trek down his cheek, plopping onto her knee.
Pidge held him as the ship in front of them burned brighter and brighter.
She held him as its fires went out.
As the moon trekked across the sky.
As his breaths grew quieter and quieter.
She held him and pet his hair and told him she had saved him now so he had to wake up, he had to hold on, he had to be okay.
And in the thick silence broken not even now by Pidge's whispers and sobs, there was a roar, a burst of blue light against the dark sky.
The Blue Lion.
Lance was saved.
Author's Notes:
Starting off the 1,000 follower tumblr kiriban with something near and dear to my heart; Lance and cauterization. And platonic Plance because yes? It got a little longer than I'd hoped but y'all know me, I'm a whore for scene setting xD Hope you enjoyed! Please do drop a comment below!
(Like my works? Keep up with me on tumblr, icypantherwrites)