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The Purity of Sin

Twelve

Nothing went wrong in ten minutes, Lance was happy to report.

Nothing except that Keith was not back yet. That… that jerk. Name calling prevented him from giving into panic for the moment. This was just Keith being an idiot and clearly not being able to count out ten minutes. Granted, he was suffering from sleep exhaustion and counting was probably slightly harder than normal, which was the only reason why Lance was giving him the benefit of the doubt.

Lance counted out one more dobash and when there wasn't even the hint of Keith's footsteps he nodded to himself. He had no idea what the heck he was going to do, but sitting around waiting was not an option.

He braced his left hand on the ground, biting his lip at the utter stab of pain that caused, and pushed up anyway.

White spots danced in his darkened vision and Lance collapsed back down, breathing heavily, as his chest screamed at him and his heart felt it was going to combust. He gritted his teeth, frustration and pain warring in equal measure.

He had to get up. Keith might be hurt. Or… or caught. A new tremor raced through him that had nothing to do with his injuries. Keith promised he'd be back. And if he wasn't back that meant he was in trouble.

Okay, new plan. He clearly couldn't sit up as he was right now, but maybe if he tried it from a different angle he'd have better results. He spent a few wasted moments trying to rock his body to the left, but each attempt left him only more winded and he swore he felt a faint trickle of something dribbling down his side.

That was the only thing that stopped him, fear seizing him that he'd just torn open Keith's attempt to heal him. And in those few seconds of rest he heard something. An uneven gait was coming and it was approaching fast. It didn't sound like claws, but it certainly didn't sound like Keith either.

Lance flung his left hand out looking for anything he could use, pulse quickening as he found nothing. He couldn't even scream to alert Keith that he'd been found. This was it. He was going to get caught and it was over. He clenched his hand into a fist, ignoring the pain as his nails bit into the wound. He was at least going to get one last good swing in for all the good it would do.

Closer. Almost there.

"Lance!"

And that wasn't a Mackan. His fist fell away as his brain registered Keith's voice.

Something thumped next to him and he felt hands on his shoulders, stiffening and relaxing in one movement as they were most definitely human hands. Keith was here. Gracias a Dios. He was okay.

"What were you doing?" and Keith sounded angry but mostly worried. Cloth brushed up on his side and Lance winced at the pressure where he thought he'd felt blood. "You idiot. You're bleeding again."

There was a quiet fury in Keith's movements as Lance heard the bottle being opened and then a damp piece of robe was trailed along his side. He remained quiet, biting his lip and not really understanding why Keith was so upset. He'd been concerned, damn it. He thought Keith had gotten hurt.

Keith sighed then, heavy with regret and Lance felt his own stirrings of anger fade. "I'm sorry. "

Lance waited, knowing more was coming.

"I know I'm late," Keith mumbled as he applied a new bandage to the wound. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be. I… I tripped," and the word was said with such hatred that despite himself Lance felt a small chuckle in his throat. Keith, normally graceful as anything, tripping? Over what? His own feet?

"I twisted my ankle," Keith continued, and Lance's humor faded. "I'm fine. Just… it slowed me down. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you worry. Or yell."

Lance's hand still wasn't cooperating, but he tried to convey his understanding still and whatever facial expression he'd scrunched up seemed to have done the trick as Keith laughed softly. "I have some good news, at least. I scouted down the pass and no sign of any Mackans. I scaled up one of the walls too and don't see anyone at all."

Keith neglected to mention said wall was at least fifty feet high and coming back down it had resulted in the turned ankle when he'd landed and promptly tripped over a boulder on the trail. He was still cursing himself for that error.

It wasn't bad, all things considering. But it had hindered him coming back and clearly he'd been late enough that Lance had been worried enough to try and get up. Keith was touched. But more than that he was worried. Lance had torn open the incision he had not cauterized with his movement and although it wasn't life-threatening it had scared him.

It still scared him that Lance was so willing to hurt himself to help others. He may have gotten Lance to agree he wouldn't give up his life to the Mackans to protect him, but Keith had seen the fire even in those dulled eyes. Lance would never stop trying to protect others. It was just who he was.

And such a thing had never terrified him more.

Keith was reckless. Dangerously so. But he never went out there expecting not to come back. He was a survivalist. He would do what he had to to come back to his family

But Lance… Lance would act as a human shield if it meant keeping someone safe. It was a different type of dangerous, this disregard for his own personal safety. Did he not realize how much he meant to the team? If Lance were to die... Keith could picture it already. They would crumble in a mixture of grief and guilt and blame.

Hunk would try to keep the team going, he knew. But it wouldn't work. Lance was their heart, the one who kept them going even in the darkest of times. While Allura kept them focused Lance kept them together. And without that Keith knew they wouldn't last. He'd probably join up with the Blades or try to find Shiro and Pidge would depart to seek her brother. Hunk might stay out of obligation, but without Lance he'd lose his own drive.

They were already broken without Shiro. If Lance was lost too they would shatter.

It was decided. After they got back to the castle and everything was okay again Keith was having an intervention. He'd even get Hunk in on it and make Lance realize that this sort of self-sacrificial behavior was not okay.

They couldn't lose him too.

And that just meant until they were safely back on the castle Keith had to make sure Lance didn't do anything of that nature. Like trying to get up and come after him and tearing open healing wounds.

He'd been quiet for too long, Keith realized as Lance's brow furrowed and his right hand tried to shift on the ground, likely seeking Keith out.

"I'm right here," he murmured, placing his hand atop Lance's wandering fingers. "Sorry. Thinking."

And he was not imagining that eye roll as Lance's lips curved into a smirk.

"I can think," he protested as the smirk widened. Keith just shook his head, unable to hide his own smile. How did Lance always do that? Make him feel better? Lance was the one in clear pain and losing his senses one by one, but he was still attempting to cheer Keith up.

He smiled wider. Heart indeed.

He was brought back to reality though as under his hand he saw a thin red trail beginning to snake away from Lance.

It was time to cauterize his hands. Again.

The area may be safe for now, but it wouldn't always be. And the longer they left the blood unattended the more dangerous it would become, both for Lance's health and their survival.

Keith was pleased to note that although Lance was still pale his skin no longer felt so clammy and his breathing had evened. Sealing up the wounds and getting food and water into him had really helped.

Speaking of water. Keith eyed the flasks. They were down to about one and a half and he hadn't had time to scout all the way to the possible water source. They were in the shade and not moving so that should help them conserve it, but it was doubtful that would be enough until rescue.

Still, keeping Lance somewhat hydrated and nourished was the best he could do to offset the blood loss and the heat. He recognized he had to include himself in that equation as he was their only line of defense. As such, he uncapped the canteen and took a small sip. He saw Lance's ears practically rotate at the sound.

"Drink?" he asked and Lance nodded.

"Okay, but let me lift you," Keith said, putting the canteen down and sliding one arm under Lance's lower back and using the other to guide his shoulders so he was leaning slightly on Keith's knee again.

He allowed Lance two careful sips and then set it aside, but pulled out two more of the food bars. Food wasn't as big of a concern as water, but he'd rather get Lance to eat as much as he could now so he had the nutrients in him.

He remembered how Lance had shirked away from food following the cauterization and he knew it was likely a combination of pain and the blood loss giving him nausea. And although he'd been more receptive since the bugs were off the menu, but Keith wasn't holding his breath that this would last.

"Up for eating something?" and his stomach dropped as his worries proved correct and Lance shook his head. "Lance, you need to eat." Another tiny shake. "Is it your stomach?" A nod.

Keith sighed. "Okay." He'd gotten two bars into Lance in the last eight varga. That wasn't too bad. And he was at least drinking water. "We'll try later."

Besides, and his insides clenched, he had to still cauterize Lance's hands and at least he wouldn't have anything new to throw up after that pain. He'd try again after Lance recovered some from that. He forced himself to eat one though, mechanically chewing and putting off the inevitable for just a few more minutes.

And he'd stalled long enough. The blood wasn't ceasing and it was only going to get worse.

"Lance," he called out, and he saw by the look of resignation that settled over Lance's features he knew what was coming. "Are… are you ready?"

And somehow Lance nodded. Keith returned it, steeling himself. "We'll do the right hand first, okay?" Keith was personally hoping the pain would indeed knock Lance out. He couldn't believe he hadn't passed out during the last one and seeing him in that much agony had unleashed a flood of tears the swordsman had not been able to hold back.

He'd acted on instinct, cradling Lance's head and trying to soothe away Lance's own tears and pain with the caress when Lance clung stubbornly to consciousness. He didn't want to do that again. He didn't want to put Lance through it.

He honestly debated if knocking Lance would be such a bad thing, but they really couldn't afford a concussion on top of all the other injuries. He knew Shiro was well versed in pressure points and Keith wished he'd asked for his mentor to teach him. Hindsight. He hated it so much.

As the luxite blade continued to heat in the sun outside their patch of shade, Keith gingerly unwrapped the now blood-soaked bandages. He was going to have to use some of the water and wash these ones though because of their compression properties. They were too valuable to lose.

The wound had opened more than it had been just a couple varga ago. It still fortunately was not at the state it had been to start, but combined with the burn already in place – Keith felt his stomach churn and the bar threaten to come back up – it was not a pretty sight. He was sure it felt even worse though and his admiration for Lance somehow rose even more that he was putting up with this level of hurt without a complaint.

He tried to best figure out how to position himself this time around. He ended up rolling over one of the many loose rocks from the cliff face and lifting Lance's hand onto it, providing a slightly elevated surface. He offered Lance the plant again and after a few prods Lance accepted it with downcast eyes. He then braced his left hand on Lance's forearm and picked up the knife with his right.

"Twenty ticks," he advised, hovering the heated blade. "Here… Here I go."

It was just as bad as Keith remembered it. The putrid scent of burning flesh stained the air for a second time in a varga and Keith barely resisted closing his own eyes as flesh bubbled and blistered on the edges of the knife.

Lance wasn't fighting him as much this time, but it wasn't for lack of pain. He was just too exhausted. Tears were still welling in sightless eyes though and his right arm was trembling with repressed movement as Keith pinned it with his own weight.

"You're doing great," Keith told him, voice breaking although he held back his own tears this time. "Almost done."

But as he lifted the knife a few moments later Keith's heart plummeted as the very center of the wound still bled. It hadn't been enough.

He had to do it again.

Keith pushed the blade into the sunlight, setting the bloodied object on the ground to collect more heat. He didn't relinquish his grip on Lance's hand, knowing if he let go now he was not going to be able to recollect it from Lance.

Lance had curled forward towards his right side and was futilely tugging at his trapped limb, face buried in his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," Keith whispered. "It's almost over. I just… have to…one more time." Lance's shoulders shook but whether it was because he understood or just from pain Keith was not sure.

He picked up the blade after a painfully long two minutes, shrinking it back to a knife and the hot glow he needed. In the interim Lance had clutched his fingers into a fist, as if trying to protect the open wound from anything else.

Having to pry those fingers up as Lance whimpered silently behind him was harder than placing the blade the second time. It felt like a betrayal. He hated it. He hated all of this.

He forced himself to hold it for another twenty seconds, stomach and chest heaving as one. But with a few seconds to go Lance's wrist went limp and Keith choked out a sob of relief that at least the worst of it was over for Lance now. When he removed the blade that time it was to burned and raw flesh but no blood. Keith took a bit of water and poured it over the whole hand and then poured more over the wrappings, rubbing the blood out with his fingers as best he could.

He slipped them all back on, knowing that in about six varga they were going to have to do this all over again.

His stomach gave another heave at the thought and Keith swallowed back the acid taste of bile. He couldn't afford to lose it now.

Pillowing Lance's right hand gently on the Cuban's stomach, Keith picked up the rock and moved it to Lance's other side. Time for round three.

He slipped the cloth bandages off of Lance's left hand, not at all surprised when they came away saturated. It had been about eight varga now since Lance had lost his sight and gained that injury, but it was definitely bleeding less than the first wound.

As the knife heated up, and this time Keith was letting it get extra time to avoid having to do it again, he wiped down the wound as best he could, grateful that although Lance unconsciously flinched at the action he did not stir.

"Please don't wake up," Keith pleaded quietly. He didn't want to see him in that kind of pain again.

After taking another deep breath he applied the knife, hating how Lance jerked, but so, so thankful that he remained out of it. It was a small mercy for all he'd already suffered.

This time the cut sealed up in one go and Keith pulled the spare shirt sleeves that he'd been wearing as bracelets off and affixed them over Lance's hand.

All done. It was over. Keith slumped back against the cliff wall, hands trembling. He pulled them to himself, tucking them under his arms to try and stop the shaking and despite the high heat he suddenly felt very cold.

He should scout again; scale the cliff and make sure they were still undisturbed. But the fuzziness was coming back and such an action wouldn't be wise. Falling and breaking something would be the end.

That, and he was still so cold.

He rubbed his hands up and down his bare arms, willing the prickling skin to settle. All that did was aggravate the sunburn and now he was cold and in pain. Grimacing, Keith shifted out of the shade patch and into the sun, the temperature change still surprising him. He'd lived all on his own in the desert for the past year and he'd still never experienced extremes like this. He was blaming it on the three suns present instead of just one.

Once he felt more than uncomfortably warm he ducked back into the shade, noting that it was beginning to recede and he'd have to shift Lance in a bit so he remained fully covered.

Feeling antsy, Keith recounted their supplies. Six food bars. Just over one canteen of water. A lot of robe in a mixture of strips and pieces. And about sixteen varga to go till rescue, which included eight more hours of darkness.

He packed it all back up and then got to his feet, unable to sit still even though his body was exhausted. If he stayed there he knew he'd fall asleep. They couldn't afford that.

Instead he paced the length of the shade. Eight steps. Around the entire widened path was fourteen. Listen for movement. Repeat. His ankle twinged, still tender from where he'd twisted it, but he forced it to move. It had barely swollen and for that he was grateful.

He looked at Lance every other repetition, hoping for… he wasn't sure. He wanted Lance to stay asleep. He wanted him to wake up.

He wanted this to be over.

Keith felt like a trapped animal, pacing back and forth in its cage. He couldn't leave though. Not again. Especially not when Lance was asleep. If he woke up and Keith wasn't there…

No. Not an option. He wouldn't give Lance any reason to look that scared. He wouldn't leave him defenseless and alone. Never again.

But still. He looked at their one remaining full water flask. It was not going to be enough. Not when they still had six hours of daylight on this end and despite the shade it was still broiling hot. The water and food were the only things keeping Keith somewhat upright and Lance needed them desperately to replace some of the blood he'd lost.

Keith halted his track and picked up the map. He had to trace it several times with his finger, the lines and colors blurring, but he identified what could be the water source. Based on how far they'd come to here he estimated it was about… maybe half an hour away at a walk, twenty at a light jog.

He shook his head, dispelling the idea as quick as it came. He couldn't go without Lance. He'd be gone for about an hour and that was much, much too long. Despite his sensitive hearing he would be well out of range even if Lance could yell for help.

They'd have to go together. But they could very well be walking into an ambush. It'd be better if Keith did go alone in that case as he could still fight. Sort of. His vision blurred again and he forced himself to sit, head spinning.

He was just so tired. And the heat was making him even drowsier.

A few ticks passed and Keith jerked his head up, chest freezing as he realized he'd fallen asleep. For a minute? An hour? His pulse slowed as the shadows of their niche showed that barely any time had gone by.

He shuddered out a breath, veins thrumming at the near miss.

But within a few minutes that spike of adrenaline was fading and he could feel sleep tugging down on his eyelids.

"Wake up," he ordered himself, voice hoarse. He resisted another drink to soothe it, instead struggling to his feet and beginning to pace again, although keeping to just the darkened section.

He hated this… this feeling of uselessness. He wanted to do something. Anything. But he was forced to wait. Forced to be on the defense instead of the offense.

Forced to watch Lance continue to suffer.

A small part of him wanted to say screw it and rush the Mackans' base. If they were all out searching for them then there couldn't be too many left behind, right? And although they seemed to be significantly lacking in tech for him to use, maybe, just maybe, he could find something to contact the others with.

It was a big maybe though. And the risk was too great. If they were caught – and the still rational part of his brain told him that yes, they would certainly be captured – then Lance was right there for them to use in their sick ritual. He'd be dead within the varga.

Keith cursed under his breath and slammed a closed fist against the wall, the resulting ache almost comforting.

Waiting was killing him. Figuratively. It was nearly literally killing Lance.

Sixteen varga left. Almost there. They were so close.

He sighed, exhaustion winning out again, and slumped down next to Lance.

So close.

And yet still so, so far.

xxx

Author's Notes:

I sort of stole the ending of this from a Color chapter. xD But I guess when you plagiarize yourself it's okay, right? Poor Keith. He's having a really hard time of this and I understand completely. I just switched to overnight shifts and dios mío, I feel like a zombie right now. But on my plus side no Mackans, extreme temperatures or dying friends to worry about so I'll survive. :p And to all of you who doubted me last chapter. Look! Nothing went wrong :p Ha! Hahahahaha! (I am functioning on three hours of sleep right now, everything seems strangely funny and foggy).

Thanks so much to the reviewers (you guys just made me feel like the luckiest girl in the world this past week; thank you!)! This week those lovely folks all get a smile from Keith (you know the one!): imaginationoverload97, KarleighH, Wolfwind97, LishaChan, Justanangryfangirl, Belletiger BT, Jennyfish26, Genni C, yazbk2988, BlueCookiesforRick, Guest, Alexa, hobbes101, MandyRaccoon, Pfeh, Oliviadbell, Guest, Adrianna Agray, wingedflower, imagine forevermore, TheTheoryofFangirling, someonethe3rd, PaintedWings45, migraine, momoluvr11, Elikapeka, Someonecallhere and Guest! Also, as a little bonus to our favorite mullet, comments this chapter gives him ten minutes of sleep. Daww, aren't you nice. Help him out (and feed the ravenous author too!)

Thanks everyone! Would love to hear from you down below!