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The Purity of Sin

Seventeen

Keith didn't waste time with comforting words, knowing they would literally fall on deaf ears. Instead he tightened his arms around Lance, trying to hold him still as he thrashed in his grip, strength restored to previously lifeless limbs in the face of such agony.

Lance's hands were trying desperately to free themselves from Keith's hold, stretching upwards towards his ears. Given how Lance had acted towards his eyes Keith was certain that whatever Lance was feeling as his hearing vanished was a similar pain.

He gritted his teeth for the both of them, riding out the crest of the torment. He didn't dare let go to find where this newest injury was yet, not until Lance calmed down. He could tell though, his arms wrapped about Lance's chest, that nothing there felt any bloodier than before, so it didn't look like they'd gone for his heart. That was good, because Keith had zero ideas on how to bandage something of that nature. Then again, he really had no idea what he was doing at all for most of this.

Gradually Lance's struggles slowed although his breathing remained harsh against Keith's neck. The former Red Paladin gingerly lifted one of his hands to cup the back of Lance's head, pressing fingers into the dark hair and massaging it gently.

Lance stilled even more, but rather than leaning back into the touch he hunched forward.

And as Keith felt something warm and stick drip onto his hand that was still pressed against Lance's chest he had a good idea why.

He pulled back on Lance's head, tipping his chin up and stomach recoiling as he was proven right.

They'd made to cut Lance's throat.

Blood was pooling and dripping from a gash just above the one made by the Mackan's knife the previous night, although this one was much deeper. At least Lance wasn't coughing up blood, Keith thought with relief. It hadn't gone penetrated enough to cause that kind of damage.

Keeping Lance's head propped up with one hand, Keith dug his now bloodied right hand into the bag of bandage scraps and grabbed the pre-folded one he'd made into a compress. He pressed it against the morbid cut, other hand tightening in Lance's hair as he tried to jerk away.

"Sorry," Keith mumbled, the words rolling off his tongue even though he knew they did nothing. He held it there for near a minute, waiting until he felt the stream stop its torrent. He knew it was still going to bleed, but if it could congeal a little bit it would help. Leaving the blood-soaked pad there, he grabbed a few more strips of rope and wound them as best he could all about Lance's neck.

Only once that was secure did he allow himself to breathe, pulling Lance closer to him and feeling the heart beat rapidly under his hand. It was too fast still, but it was there. Lance was still alive and breathing and really that was a miracle in itself. It was likely supposed to have been a fatal cut; some twisted way of letting their sacrifice bleed out on the table. But it hadn't been a lethal as just like his left hand apparently the ritual from afar wasn't as deadly.

Keith bowed his head, tucking Lance up against him as if that alone could keep him safe. He knew it wouldn't, but right now, for a moment, he would pretend it could. He could feel tears, hot and threatening, gathering behind his eyes and he squinted them shut. Not now.

He focused instead on taking deep breaths, trying to slow his own racing heart and listening. Nothing. He chose to be grateful for the silence rather than suspicious.

Lance meanwhile was focused too on his own breathing, the blood pounding in his ears the only sound he could hear. Everything else was a kaleidoscope of black and silence, dizzying in its intensity.

And the pain. His ears had stopped feeling like they were trying to burst and were now just dully throbbing with an ache similar to after they'd popped from a huge change in height. But his neck. Dios. It felt like someone had taken a blunt nail file and tried to dig it as far into the flesh as they could.

He'd felt Keith trying to patch it, but the pressure had scared him and he'd envisioned that rusty file being pressed even more in, severing his trachea and letting blood bubble up. Only the knowledge that it was most definitely Keith holding him and squeezing at the wound had allowed him to even try and fight back the instinct to pull away.

He'd whimpered silently as Keith had wrapped something then about his neck, tightening it and he'd choked reflexively. But the worst of the pain had dulled by then (and how was it that dull just meant no longer stark agony?) and he felt Keith pull him close again against his delightfully warm chest and the one hand that had been in his hair resume gentle, soothing circles.

It was okay, he tried to convince himself, listening to Keith's heart beat gradually slow and trying to mimic it although such an action tugged at his chest. Keith was there. He hadn't signaled that the Mackans were sighted. Maybe they wouldn't come at all.

He snorted, regretting the action immediately as his throat seized, and curled his head over more, pressing his cheek flat against Keith. He tentatively brought his hands up, which Keith was no longer pinning down, to brush against Keith's shirt, settling them over Keith's heart and feeling the pulse.

He focused on what he could make out, trying hard to ignore the blackness pressing in from all the other sides. Keith's heartbeat. The hand carding through his hair. The rough texture of the under armor pressing against his cheek. He curled his legs up, wincing at the ache as he forced his knees to bend and they bumped painfully against Keith's leg, but then rested cold feet against Keith's opposite inner leg, soaking up the heat. He felt Keith start behind him but he regained himself quickly, the hand in his hair never ceasing its movement.

This wasn't so bad. It was like sneaking into his siblings' beds in the wee hours of the night and silently tumbling and giggling so as not to wake their parents while they fought for pillows and blankets in the darkened room. The ache to his throat was where Rosie had kicked him in a mad scramble; the cold because Geoffery had stolen the good quilt for himself. The burning in his hands was from little Sara clutching at them and the hitch in his chest was because Carlos and Maria had scared him witless jumping up from behind the headboard.

Any second now Papá was going to walk in and he'd join them in their nighttime romping until Mamá awoke and turned on the lights, turning pillow monsters and blanket forts into just strewn about bedding. She'd tuck them all back into their own beds then, smoothe hair back from foreheads and sing if the pillow monsters were a little too real in that moment.

But no lights turned back on and no childish shrieks of glee at being caught sounded. Just deafening silence and darkness. He tried to blink back the newest round of tears as the happy memory faded to be replaced with cold reality.

Keith had felt the hitch of breath and he paused, thinking he'd caused Lance some type of pain. But a second later he felt a familiar nudge under his chin and he couldn't help the smile as he went back to carding his hand through the back of Lance's hair.

"You're demanding, you know that?" he murmured, absolutely no heat behind the words. Lance could ask for pretty much anything at this point and if it was in his power Keith would do it.

Except for him to leave. His hand tightened about Lance's shoulders. No matter how much Lance insisted – and how he'd do so the way he currently was limited Keith had no idea, but he was sure Lance could come up with something – he wasn't going anywhere. They were in this together until the end, whatever that might be.

Keith was no optimist, but he would cautiously say that they had a decent chance now that they were atop the cliff. He hoped it took the Mackans at least a few hours, preferably eight or more, to sniff them out. So far so good as there wasn't even a whisper of sound and he knew that even from this high he'd be able to hear some sort of claws on rock scratching given how many Mackans were surely coming.

He was still tired, that he could easily feel. Two hours of sleep, however helpful, could not make up for being awake for over thirty hours. But the constant hum of fear mixed with adrenaline was keeping him alert, not to mention Lance shivering against him.

Keith rubbed his one hand up and down Lance's arm, hating how cold the flesh felt. He wished there was something else he could do, but they only had strips of robe left and Keith knew that those were going to be put to use as bandages. Already he could feel where Lance's hands were pressed against his chest a hot dampness. He cursed under his breath.

Blood loss was becoming the real danger here. Cold they could deal with and so far the Mackans had yet to pose an immediate threat. But Lance had lost so much blood now, and Keith winced thinking about the smeared cliff. He dearly hoped the last rays of the suns had managed to bake it somewhat, but if they had not then the Mackans would find them quicker than he'd liked.

He needed Lance to eat again. Anything had to help replenish it, right? But could he even swallow with his throat sliced like that? It would have to hurt.

Water first, Keith decided. Lance hadn't once yet refused that and it would be a good indicator if he was capable of ingesting anything heavier with the wound.

He shifted Lance, propping his head up against his chest rather than his shoulder, so he could grab one of the canteens and unscrew the top. He took a deep gulp first, hating how cold it had become as the temperatures dropped.

Bringing the canteen around, he held it up to Lance, who had his right cheek pressed back against Keith's chest. The boy started at the new contact but after a few seconds gave the smallest of nods and Keith tilted the water back.

He didn't miss the wince as the cold liquid touched sensitive teeth and then an even more tender throat. Lance visibly looked pained trying to swallow it.

"Come on," Keith encouraged softly, rubbing Lance's left shoulder. He couldn't afford to choke on it; Keith couldn't even begin to imagine how terrible that would feel.

Lance was thinking the exact same thing, willing the water to glide down without any mishap. It burned both fire and ice but he managed, although the simple task left him breathless. He tried to lift a hand up to feel his neck, not sure if he was imagining something dripping or not, but Keith held them down, one pressed between their bodies and the other pinned by Keith's arm.

Moving hurt too much anyways, he decided after a second. His entire chest throbbed no matter what, but even trying to move his arms that little bit had set it alight with new pain. He let out a tiny sigh and pressed his somewhat warmed cheek back against Keith.

He felt so tired but he wasn't sleepy. It was just a bone-deep exhaustion that seemed to permeate every inch of him. The dizziness in his head wasn't helping either and he closed his eyes, not sure when they'd opened.

He could feel Keith shifting again and he whined low in the back of his throat at the light jostling. But all of that paled as fire reignited along his throat as he felt one rough hand brace against the back of his neck and the other press against the wound.

A silent cry was torn from his lips and despite himself he tried to recoil away from the source of the pain. Keith's hands were firm though and he was forcibly held still. After a minute the pressure lessened slightly, but taking its place was the texture of cloth sliding about his throat. More bandages. Well, at least he hadn't been imagining the blood.

He was moved again then, his head angled so it was resting just beneath Keith's chin and this time he was faced forward. He lost the comforting warmth on his cheek this way but the strain around his neck had lessened without the tilt down.

Keith made up for it though by wrapping his arms about Lance's front and crossing them so his hands rubbed lightly on his Lance's arms. He leaned back into the warmth, letting it ground him. Keith's chin pressed on top of his, a welcome pressure because it helped him orient up from down.

A small smile tugged Keith's expression up as he felt Lance give a soft sigh and settle more against him. It faded though as even with his vision mostly blocked from looking down, he could still make out dark patches staining Lance's bandaged hands that were resting on his stomach. He'd just rebandaged the neck wound after he had seen a trickle of red escaping, but it was like trying to hold water in a colander.

And after the drink of water he knew that forcing Lance to eat was not going to end well. If he could barely swallow a liquid there was no way he was going to process anything heavier.

Purple eyes glanced up at the moons. It had maybe been about half an hour since they'd enacted their ritual. Still seven and a half to go. Keith sighed himself, trying to get the knot of nerves in his stomach to settle.

He hated waiting. He wanted to do something. Anything to make this anxious feeling disappear. But he knew that such a thing wouldn't happen until both he and Lance were safely aboard the castle and far, far away from Macka.

Not too far though. He hated the thought, but it was likely they were going to need the Mackans to reverse the spell. How that was going to happen he had no idea, but it had to be done. Lance's physical wounds might be healed by the cryo-pod, but Keith had no idea if they would stay healed given his own lack of success with that.

And on top of that, this was magic. He nose wrinkled at the thought still. It was magic they did not understand and he had no way of knowing how it would interfere with the technology and crystals of the Alteans. If it did heal the wounds but left Lance in this blinded state with no reversal…

Lance couldn't live like that. And Keith could never live with himself if he allowed such a thing to happen.

Despite knowing they had none available, Keith found himself looking for some type of writing utensil and paper. In the chance that something happened to him and he didn't make it back – he bit back the shudder – the others had to know what had been done to Lance. Lance obviously couldn't tell them and while his teammates were incredibly smart Keith knew that those genius minds would not help them here. There just wasn't a logical explanation for what was happening for them to solve.

When no such writing tools show themselves, Keith knew then and there there was only one course left. They both had to live. It was that simple. They would both need to be rescued and Keith, no matter his own exhaustion or wounds, would need to remain awake long enough to explain the precariousness of their situation.

Because if he woke up and Lance was in a pod and his moment of weakness had condemned Lance to a lifetime of silence and darkness… No. It could not happen.

It was these thoughts that kept him company as the night progressed. Lance shifted between a light doze, evidenced by closed eyes and slightly deeper breaths, and then the always heart wrenching moments where he would first wake and re-discover what had been done to him.

Each time Keith was there, smoothing back bangs, pressing his hands against Lance to assure him that he was there and sometimes even murmuring that it was okay even though it wasn't and Lance couldn't hear it anyway. Keith needed to though. The silence was growing too oppressive.

Lance would settle then once he was reassured. Sometimes Keith could get him to take a sip of water, rubbing his back to help him swallow, and other times those bandaged, broken hands would prod at Keith's face as though seeking out his features. A week ago Keith would have swatted Lance's hands away, but now he found himself helping to guide them and then hold them within his own.

But no matter how many bandages Keith applied – and they were nearly out now – or how much water he could get Lance to take or even how much restless sleep Lance got, he could see the boy fading in his arms as the night wore on.

His skin was becoming paler in a way that the moonlight had nothing to do with. And no matter how vigorously Keith tried to rub warmth into chilled arms the skin remained cool although warm blood continued its sluggish trek down Lance's neck and off his fingers.

Lance felt it too. It was like a dull panic that made him want to thrash and scream but his limbs felt weighed down and stiff, forcing the terror to fester without release. The darkness was growing, making him dizzy and nauseous and only Keith – firm and safe and there – was keeping him somewhat grounded.

But it was getting harder to do even that. He felt… off. Floating, sort of, but at the same time chained down. He didn't like it. At least when he'd been stripped of his sight and voice he could still hear. He'd taken comfort in listening to Keith. Hearing little snippets of his life had calmed him like nothing else could in that moment; a dash of what Lance hoped was going to be their new normal.

But now he didn't have that. All he had was touch and it wasn't enough.

A hand brushed through his bangs and he wasn't sure if he leaned into the contact or not, but he wanted to. Something pressed against his lips then and he kept them sealed in a thin line, knowing that with drinking came pain and he couldn't right now.

He gave another silent sigh as the hand returned to his bangs, palm brushing against his frozen nose and he did for certain lean into that. Or tipped, maybe.

It was like playing on the swingset with his eyes closed, the wind rushing through his hair and the ground an unknown distance away as he soared. But it was too much. Too fast. He reached out weakly and his hand bumped against some part of Keith. He held it there, chest heaving as he tried to will the swing to a stop.

He felt his stomach heave again as the momentum slowed and he swallowed thickly. Agony erupted at the action and he gasped, which only made the pain flare more.

Hands were there then, on his shoulders, on his back, pressing into his hair. They made it worse. Better. He couldn't quite decide. Dios, if everything would just stop moving. He whimpered as he felt his head change direction again, biting his lip to try and keep the cry inside.

Everything finally stilled then, save for a thump thump thump that was beating almost erratically under his head. Keith's heart, he realized. He'd been shifted down so his head was lower on Keith's chest; crown pressing against Keith's upper shoulder to steady it.

Arms were wrapped about his waist, pressing just above the line of pain that Lance still hadn't yet entirely figured out. He closed his eyes and felt out that beating heart. It was much too fast, making him feel dizzy again, but he pushed past that, getting to the heart – haha, and wow, he was laughing at his own puns now – of the matter.

And that was that Keith was scared. And Lance was the one scaring him.

He hadn't gotten the signal yet that Mackans had been spotted for him to even worry about the second tap and then the fear of the unknown while Keith engaged. So if there were no Mackans yet then it was only logical that something else was making Keith's heart beat so rapidly.

And that was because Lance couldn't keep it together. The guilt overtook the nausea and Lance welcomed it as his head cleared ever so slightly.

He couldn't control the fact he was bleeding. A lot. But he could get control of himself and calm down and try not to show the pain he was feeling as he'd been trying to do over the course of this entire nightmare. Keith didn't need that burden on top of everything else when there was nothing either of them could do about it.

He let out a small, shaky breath, throat spasming at the action but the exhale cleared his mind just a bit more. It still felt heavy and foggy, but it was better. He repeated it, trying to match the pounding of his own heart to Keith's.

Keith could hear Lance's heartbeat steadily slow and felt the soft exhale leave the body. Good. He languidly ran one of his hands over Lance's arms, no longer trying to generate friction as one, it wasn't helping really working on Lance's decidedly frigid skin and two, right now slowing Lance's pulse was the best bet over warming him up because the faster it beat the quicker blood pumped and the more Lance lost. No, he needed to calm Lance down and the rapid movements were not helping.

And it seemed to be working. Keith felt himself relaxing too, although he didn't allow himself to fully slouch as he really wanted to. He had to remain vigilant. Just because nothing had happened in four hours – and he felt the stirring of hope grow stronger that they were halfway there – didn't mean it wouldn't.

Not even five minutes later Keith cursed himself for even thinking such thoughts as a muffled sound reached his ears, so loud though in the quiet that it may as well have been a gunshot.

He straightened up, tilting his head as though it could help him hear better, all the while praying it was just a loose piece of rock freeing itself from the cliff.

It sounded again. And again. His stomach sank.

Claws on stone. Even muffled and distorted due to the sheer height difference it was unmistakable.

But… all of the sound was coming from down below. There wasn't a hint of movement on top the cliffs with them and that alone forced Keith back down from the rising panic. He clutched Lance a little tighter and continued to listen.

They were trying to be quiet, he could tell. No other sound was audible save for the slight scratching noises, magnified by sheer numbers and the way they echoed up and over the cliff walls.

Please just let them stay away, he prayed. They'd clearly already passed the blood Lance had decorated the cliffside with about a mile down and if that hadn't made them scale up nothing hopefully would.

He warred with what to do. Half of him wanted to stay just where he was, sitting in the middle of the platform holding Lance, who was still shivering as leaving him even for just a few minutes was a few minutes too long. The other part, the one he would have gone with without hesitation had it not been for Lance, was telling him to get up and scout, observe. He couldn't protect them without knowing what he was up against.

That part won out. Remaining ignorant was not how one survived.

He hesitated to tell Lance though. Technically he hadn't actually seen the Mackans and there was no need to alarm him. But if he just up and left without any sort of explanation that would be just as bad, right? Besides, Lance deserved to know, even if there was nothing he could actually do about it. That's what they'd decided, back when Lance was still able to communicate on some level.

So Keith took a deep breath and deliberately tapped two fingers firmly on Lance's forearm. The result was immediate; Lance whipped his head up so fast that Keith felt a breeze.

"It's okay," he murmured, voice hardly audible even to him. "It's going to be all right."

He placed one hand on the back of Lance's head and moved to shift him sideways, to lie down so Keith could get up. But Lance's hands somehow managed to curl into his shirt, sticking like little barnacles.

The shivering had increased and ocean eyes were blown wide, sightless but still full of fear. Keith hated pulling those clinging hands free, but he had no choice. And Lance realized it too, expression closing in on itself and he offered no further resistance.

He managed to get Lance to lie down on his back, propping his head up with the pack that contained just a few strips of bandages, and maneuvering Lance's arms to cover his stomach. It was just like the last time when he'd been gathering rocks, but this time there was no tilt to Lance's head or smile gracing his lips. He only looked frightened.

"I'll be right back," he promised, more as a warning to himself than a reassurance for Lance.

And before he could stall any longer, Keith dropped to an army crawl and pulled himself the few feet over towards the inner edge and cautiously peered down.

He choked on his next breath as his weaker eyes tried to account for what he was seeing down in the more shadowed ravine. Mackans. Hundreds of them were milling around down below. Several had the glowing seaweed plant reeds and were holding them aloft, illuminating more of the area, while others had their heads back, sniffing the air.

They were all coming from the west, but as Keith continued to watch he noticed that there was a shifting in the opposite direction and several minutes later another contingent of Mackans came from the east. They'd gone in both sides of the trail, Keith realized. They'd likely staked out the ends so that he and Lance couldn't get out without encountering some resistance and that made traveling further east now even more dangerous.

Amidst all of the dark robes Keith spotted two lighter ones; not white but perhaps a light gray, and they were moving from each side to conjoin in the middle.

He shifted about thirty yards down, following the one from the west, until they met. He had no idea who they were, but based on the different colors and the reverence the other Mackans gave them, bowing their heads and shifting to the side, he knew they were important.

"Elder Simone," greeted the Mackan Keith had followed.

"Elder Loni," came the response, and both bowed to one another. Their voices were soft, but they echoed in the otherwise near quiet night.

"We did pick up a scent," Loni stated, voice deep. "And located several used bandages that contained the sacrifice's blood."

"So they were here," Simone replied. "My team did not locate any such signs, which means they did not make it through the pass."

"Then where are they?" Loni asked. "We have searched, fellow Elder. There are no hidden caves or crevices to hide and the water pool feed is much too narrow for them to have traversed."

"They cannot have vanished into thin air," and there was definite irritation now to the cream-colored Mackan's voice. "We are running out of time, fellow Elder. The sacrifice cannot continue to lose blood or he will not survive to make it to the stone table for the conclusion of the Purity of Sin. We must find them."

"We will find him," Loni said, and Keith watched as a paw lightly touched on the other Mackan's shoulder. "We will not lose Lady Leora's protection and condemn our kin."

"But where do we look? You have said it yourself; there is nowhere for them to hide here and it is impossible for them to have slipped past."

Keith allowed himself a small smile. His plan to go up had worked better than he'd thought.

"Elder Loni! Elder Loni!" the voice was high and loud and Keith winced at the cutting volume even as his stomach dropped. He recognized that voice. It was the young Mackan from earlier that had originally sniffed them out.

Quiznak.

"Initiate Celia," came a growl. "You were told to remain in Brother Malcom's care if you insisted on accompanying us."

"But Elder Loni!"

"No, buts. This is dangerous, Initiate, and—"

"I know where they are!"

Silence reigned for a few seconds and Keith found himself holding his breath as he waited for the axe to fall.

And it fell with stunning accuracy.

"They climbed the cliffs," the young Mackan blurted out. "There's blood on the rock face a pylan back."

"Is this true, Elder Loni?" Simone asked.

"Several of our kin did smell the sacrifice's blood, but it was incredibly faint, fellow Elder. Besides, their species does not look capable of attaining such a feat, especially with the sacrifice's condition. I thought nothing of it."

Keith's pulse was being so fast he almost couldn't hear what the female Mackan said to the younger girl, her voice pitched low. "Initiate Celia, you are certain?"

"Y-yes, Elder. The scent goes a long way up. I… I don't know if it's at the top, but…"

"You would be wise to listen to our young, Elder Loni," came the rebuke. "They see things that we of the older generation cannot. These Paladins of Voltron are desperate and desperation can lend immeasurable strength. If Initiate Celia's nose detects the sacrifice's scent then we shall go where she follows. Lead on please, Initiate."

Keith backed away from the edge, heart doing double time.

They knew. They knew they'd gone up. The only positive he could think of was they were going to backtrack about a mile to go where the scene was strongest, presuming that was where he and Lance were still located.

They'd reach the top and although they wouldn't find them, they would encounter all of the blood from Lance before Keith had been able to apply new bandages. And then, not blocked by the cliff walls and height, they would be able to locate the new scent of blood as they spread out searching, as despite his efforts Lance continued to lose it and the copper scent was notable even to Keith.

Staying where they were would be suicide. Assuming most of the Mackans from below made their way up Keith would have just about fifteen feet to maneuver on before the ground plummeted away, and he had no cover to protect even one side. They were completely exposed.

Their best bet would be to run. Even if Mackans had been left stationed all along the canyon there would be less on the eastern side and they would all be down below. If Keith remained up top he could evade them.

For how long though was the question. They still had around at least four varga till rescue and unless Keith could make it to a close enough distance to the Black and Red Lions they needed to remain atop the cliff so they could be spotted. Besides, he had absolutely no idea how they were supposed to get down. Even if it was only a ten-foot drop and not fifty it would be just as impossible.

They needed to run. His legs ached just thinking of it but he knew his own pain was absolutely nothing compared to the jostling Lance would have. All of the movement too would not be good for the blood loss problem either, but remaining where they were and getting surrounded by Mackans would be certain death.

He got into a low crouch and made his way back over to Lance, who had remained exactly where Keith had arranged him, although his eyes were wide open and roving without luck.

Before alerting Lance, Keith moved on auto pilot to grab the two canteens they had left and the food bag and stuck the one glowing reed back into his belt. Only once everything was secure did he reach out to Lance, placing a hand on his left shoulder. And even though Keith braced for it, he still flinched as Lance started at the touch. Hands coming out of nowhere though would have that effect on anyone, he imagined.

Lance weakly lifted his left hand and Keith took it in his own, giving it the lightest of squeezes. Some of the fear left Lance's face then but not all of it; for as disoriented as he was he knew it wasn't over. Something was happening and he hated not knowing what.

He felt Keith's other hand slide below his lower back and he flinched upwards and away from the limb, but it seemed to be in the right direction because a moment later he found himself sitting and chest newly lit with hurt.

He didn't even have a second to process that though as the hand Keith had been holding was suddenly pulled forward and he felt his elbow come to rest around the familiar spot on Keith's neck. His eyes widened. They couldn't be…

But Keith was grabbing his right arm now and pulling it into the same position and Lance realized the truth even as he felt Keith's back press against his chest and strong fingers dig into the back of his thighs.

They were running. Again.

What had happened? Had the Mackans found them? Had Keith attacked them?

Was Keith hurt?

He tried to ask, but his tongue felt thick and wasn't like Keith could see the question or answer it anyway. His stomach lurched as Keith surged to his feet and Lance buried his face against Keith's hair. The grip changed to wrap around his calves and Lance leaned forward, trying his best to hold on as the world moved and pain exploded in unseeing starbursts.

They were moving quickly, that much he could tell. But nothing else. Not what direction they were going, not if Mackans were chasing them. Nothing.

Nothing except Keith's rapid pulse pounding beneath his hands and the constant jarring pain that echoed through him with each footfall as they ran.

And all Lance could do was hold on and pray that they would both be okay.

xxx

Author's Notes:

Well, it was sort of peaceful while it lasted. As peaceful as trying to stop someone from bleeding to death can be, of course. But looks like we're headed for some type of confrontation next chapter. Let's hear it for Initiate Celia and her awesome nose for this opportunity. Hip, hip hooray!

I had a lot of fun bouncing perspectives this chapter. As much as I love writing Lance, unfortunately he has become a rather unreliable narrator for their situation but I didn't want to not get all of that juicy horror and panic of being reduced to merely touch. I know y'all are going to be like "rescue them please!" but let's all just enjoy this angst for the moment, mkay?

Love always to the reviewers: imaginationoverload97, chocolate monkey, Subtle Shenanigans, Jennyfish26, Adrianna Agray, Genni C, CaptainHuggyface3218, PaintedWings45, Justanangryfangirl, Wolf of the Demise, hobbes101, ASleepDeprivedPineapple, Guest, Livi land, dragoscilvio, Elikapeka, Guest, Pfeh, wingedflower, An Amber Pen, Aiyzu, imagine forevermore, Sealure, MandyRaccoon, I will never be satisfied, migraine and Alexa!

Please do leave a comment with your thoughts on the chapter. I'd love to know what you thought of Lance's new state!