"Where were you?" Shiro's irritation was clear for anyone to see. From how his muscular arm was cocked, hand resting upon his hip, to his raised brow, to the clipped tone that fell like a blow across the room.

And yet Allura didn't seem to take notice at all as she hummed, leaning over Lance's outstretched leg. The boy sat stiffly, watching her with an accusing gaze.

"Well Allura?"

Man Shiro had that dad voice down.

"Oh you poor thing!" Allura exclaimed, "you hurt yourself chasing us." With a tut and a click of her tongue the elven woman turned towards Shiro, almost leisurely. "I do hope you plan on taking care of the unfortunate soul. And as for the rest of the others, you've got them veritably shaking in their leaves."

"Incorrect." Another voice joined in then, one the boy did not recognize. His head snapped around, trying to spot this speaker, wary of how he might appear.

It didn't matter that Lance was attempting to expect the unexpected. When the red haired male, with an impressive flaming mustache, ears just as long and pointed as Allura's and Romelle's, markings a soft blue upon his cheeks and glowing ever so slightly, materialized out of the very wood of the nearest wall, he still jumped back, heart skipping up into his throat with a quickened pulse. The other two didn't even flinch.

A moan of pain that pressed past his lips sent Shiro into motion once more though before he could say anything, which would have probably been a lecture, if Lance's instincts were anything to go off of.

Romelle shockingly walked right through the still open front door.

"Yeah that's not true!"

"What were the two of you thinking, leading him here?" It didn't seem as if Shiro would be so easily waylaid.

"We just wanted to help him out is all!" The blonde threw her arms wide, punctuating her point.

"Yes! Precisely that! Isn't his story so heart wrenching." Allura laced her fingers together as if in prayer, and turned imploring eyes on the white haired male. The third faery (it felt so weird calling the three of them something so…so…. ridiculously childish) simply watched on, his hands folded behind his back, body unmoving as his eyes flicked back and forth as each one spoke.

"And we would have helped him, but you know how our powers work!" With this all three uncannily bright eyes landed on Shiro, their looks full of a hidden meaning that Lance couldn't quite grasp at.

"Uh hey, I'm still here—" the boy interjected crossing his arms in a pout.

Perhaps Shiro was just made of sighs, he thought meanly, glaring at a spot on the floor, for the older man released yet another.

"Coran, Allura, Romelle- please join me in the kitchen- I need some help."

The boy resisted the urge to roll his eyes as they all ducked into the kitchen, it wasn't like his parents didn't do this exact same thing!

And just like with his parents Lance scooted over on the couch as far as he could go and strained his ears. The conversation undulated, raising into a clarity that the boy could make out before dropping off into obscurity.

"-And you know that… pass me the ginger and valerian root…" that was Shiro's deep tones.

"Oh- and don't forget the turmeric-" That new guy, Coran was his name.

"Don't blame me! It was…hmmm perhaps some capsaicin ointment as well?"

"- hand over that white willow tincture—"

"Don't be such a stick in the mud Shiro!"

It all became too jumbled for Lance to make any sense of it, and as Shiro returned, carrying a small container carefully in his hand, no faeries upon his heels, he jostled to look at ease.

"I've got the kettle on and I'm going to fix up your ankle." He stated softly. He knelt and began to apply an ointment that almost burned as it sank into Lance's skin. Humming in a low tone as he worked. Soon enough there was no pain at all.

"What—" The boy muttered to himself as he leaned over, looking at his ankle.

A high-pitched whistling sounded from the kitchen and Shiro stood up, "would you like any honey or sugar?" He called over his shoulder. But Lance didn't quite hear him. The boy tentatively began to prod at the flesh, no longer was it swollen and angry red. There was no twinge of an injury at all, even an old one.

By the time Shiro had returned, one steaming cup in his hand, Lance had braved placing weight on the limb, testing it with more and more surety, until he was properly convinced.

"Here you go bud—"

"You're the witch!" Lance's finger snapped up so fast that he almost knocked the mug from Shiro's hand. "Wait…. but you're a dude!"

Lance didn't hear the sigh per se, as excitement grasped at him, and a burst of energy flashed in his system, unable to abate, and his mouth was moving a mile a minute. All of his hope returning in a flood of words, but he still saw it, how the man's broad shoulders slumped, just ever so slightly. He placed the tea on an end table as the boy continued to gesture wildly, a melee of his longing was driven from his mouth in a feverish faith.

"You really can help me! I can't believe those crazy magic ladies were right! You can save my sister! I don't know how, but you can cure her or something! Or like… just take the sickness away from her right? Like with a spell—"

Shiro's brows pulled together, tilting downwards back to his stark white hair line.

"Slow dow—Lance—please Lance slow down!" He waited for the boy to do so, or at least to quiet somewhat. His knuckles were white as they clenched against his lap, legs bouncing. A lump formed in his throat, bubbling up and consisting of all the things left unsaid.

"First off I'm not a witch—"

"But—"

Shiro held up his hand and Lance clamped his mouth shut. The man was shaking his head. "No I'm just a…. a healer now. A cunningman." Pain flashed across his face, but the boy ignored it, jumping on that one word without mercy.

"Then heal her! I don't care what you call yourself just rescue her!"

"Lance… I can't just—" Though they had only just met half an hour previous Shiro looked heartbroken and aged as he struggled to find adequate articulations.

Lance didn't want any of them.

"But…but my ankle! The faeries… how-why-?" His frustrations kept his tongue tied, he swallowed hard past the lump in his throat, making an obvious attempt to gather himself before he started once more. "Your friends said you could help. They want you to. Maybe together you could—"

Shiro was still shaking his head, his own growing grievance apparent. "I'm so sorry. That's just- not how any of this works—" The boy could tell that the older man needed him to understand. Needed Lance to forgive him. It was a sense of something being held back from him, as if Shiro wanted too, but couldn't fully explain. He wouldn't have been willing to listen either way though. A 'no', regardless of the reasons, would still spell Rachel's death. Lance continued despite this, using his one wish as a weapon. Turning it into claws and teeth that beat back and dug into Shiro.

"There just has to be a way."

"It's true that these fae are… bound to me—"

"Then they hafta listen to what you say right? You could order them, make them…. You wouldn't even hafta do anything!"

"I don't… we don't use each other. I saved them—"

"But you won't save my sister!" Lance jumped up, his fists clenched till they grew cold with his rage.

"Lance please, I need you to calm down—"

The boy couldn't believe this. How in the world was he supposed to calm down? But even as he opened his mouth, instead of what he believed to be a scathing tirade (but was probably simply a petulant fit) a rough hacking cough burst forth.

Lance brought his arm up to his mouth, covering it as he doubled over. Shiro's shadow fell over him and he waved him off.

"I have some medicinals that could help you Lance let me—"

"I'm—fine—" The boy struggled to push out the words coherently between each harsh bark. "It's not—me—" He very rarely actually coughed, and he normally had some sort of warning when Rachel had a fit like this…. It must have been a bad one. Dread clenched at his heart.

"What do you mean?" Shiro asked, obviously not used to having nothing to do.

It passed as quickly as it had come and Lance fell back against the cushions, drained.

"It… it's my sister's… I … I, uh, feel her pain? Or something. It's hard to explain—" Lance didn't mention that he'd never really tried too, outside of his sister. It felt surreal talking about it out loud. But out of everything else that had happened thus far it was rather mundane in comparison.

When Shiro didn't reply right away Lance looked up at him. The man looked thoughtful, and torn. "You feel… what exactly?"

Was this Lance's chance? He chose his next words carefully. "I feel her pain and… her emotions. She's… so scared right now Shiro."

"I cannot go against the natural order of things Lance… but I can do some things. I can ease her pain. To soothe her throat. Like, eucalyptus oil as a chest rub, or willow bark tincture for the pain. Thyme and clove tea could—"

"So you're telling me that 'what you can do' is basically jack all! All you're saying is the exact same mierda that every doctor has done and just…just… throwing medications at her!"

"These herbal remedies don't have the same dangerous side effects and with working alongside—"

"You've gotta be able to do more! You just have too!" His body tensed, ready to jump up again, as if that could help get his point across.

"This is what I'm able to offer you Lance, this is the only way I can help. Given enough time I may be able to—"

"SHE DOESN'T HAVE TIME!"

Lance was standing once more, and heading straight for the door. His ankle didn't even give a small twinge of the memory of pain. A fact that only caused his heart to ache more, for he knew the healing power that Shiro had now.

Before he could get too far the man caught his arm.

"Please, I know you're in pain, that you both are, and that you had hoped for more from me. But I promise these things will help. Here—" He gently pushed Lance to sit once more. "I'll be right back, I'll send you home with a few things…" he was off again to the kitchen, and this time Lance heard nothing more than the busied clatter of things being pulled from the shelves.

Leaning forward, head falling down into his hands, Lance allowed the darkness his shattered hope had left behind to fill him for a moment, succumbing to it… wallowing in it.

What was he supposed to do now. The boy lifted his gaze, dragging his fingers down his face, eyes itching from their dryness. He really must be well and truly cried out.

Before the boy could fall fully into his pit of despair his eyes caught upon the bookshelves across from him… he bet one of those old looking grimoires could give him a better answer… Wait…

That was it!

Lance's gaze flicked to the archway into the kitchen, and back to the shelf, shifting between the two as his nerves jumped and jolted at the decision he'd just made. Now to simply work himself up to the action… but he had to do so quickly, before Shiro returned, or his guilt over rode his choice. He couldn't stand to be thrust into hopelessness again. Lance could not, would not face his sister empty handed, not after everything else he'd already done, running away from her like he had.

Lance hesitated for only a moment more. With a decisive lunge up from the couch he launched himself at the bookcase, ripping the first tome his fingers grazed from the shelf, knocking a few of them to the ground in the process. The sound deafening to the boy who jumped like a rabbit and took off out the door, his name ringing in his ears as Shiro called after him.

All Lance had been doing for the last two days was running.

When would he be able to stop?