Chapter Text
Keith hears Lance scream, the sound shrill and painful. It cuts through the dark of the forest like a knife. It takes everything Keith has not to shout for him. It won’t do Lance any good if he’s captured too. All he can do is stand there and listen, trying to pinpoint where it’s coming from.
They were just supposed to come explore. It was supposed to be an easy mission, quick in and out. The last known inhabitants of the planet were isolated and far less technologically advanced than Earth or Altea. They weren’t supposed to be a threat.
Still, Allura and Coran had hoped to find resources of some kind, maybe some new food materials for Hunk.
They’d meant to fly under the radar so Keith and Lance had taken a shuttle down instead of their lions. If they’d come across the inhabitants they were to remain unseen, observe them if they could, and not engage. Lance had made some joke about Star Trek and Prime Directives Keith hadn’t understood.
They’d found no sign of the locals, assuming they’d managed to avoid them. Instead they’d been quietly stalked, ambushed, and separated. Keith had bolted. He hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone and had chosen to run, not to engage. He’d thought Lance was right behind him.
Instead they natives had captured him and now Keith is left to fumble in the dark.
He and Lance must have come in close to the end of the light cycle for the planet. Now with night fallen Keith is next to blind. He’s been unable to track but does the best he can, worried the light on his armor would draw too much attention. It leaves him to pick his way forward through the dark. Lance’s sudden cries are his only clue Keith is close.
He follows the sound of Lance’s screams, picking his way between the trees. There’s nothing he wants more than to go running headlong towards him but one wrong step could mean a snapped ankle. That’s a risk he isn’t willing to take.
His stomach twists but Keith has to be able to carry Lance out if he needs to. And it sounds like he might need to.
“Hang on,” Keith whispers, praying Lance knows he’s on his way. “I’m coming. I’m coming Lance, just hold on.” He’d tried to contact him through the comm in their helmets but there’s been no response. He’d almost gone back to the shuttle to ask the others for help but he isn’t sure where it is either. He’d gotten turned around in the dark. And then he’d heard Lance scream.
Fear rakes through Keith’s mind like nails on a chalkboard, making up horrific scenarios of what the inhabitants could be doing to him. He’s never heard anyone shriek like that.
Keith thought he’d imagined the worst in the time it takes him to see the firelight through the trees. Nothing prepares Keith for what he sees when he enters the clearing.
Lance is nailed to a tree, a thick spike through each of his hands, suspending him above the forest floor. He’s been stripped to the waist, slashes cut across his arms, crisscrossing down his chest and torso. They're black with blood in the harsh firelight.
Torches ring the clearing. Towering warped figures of tree limbs and animal bones are everywhere, their twisted shadows cutting and jagged in the flames. A large bonfire in the middle fills the night with searing heat and Keith can feel the sweat rising on his skin. Or maybe it’s the fear. The whole area reeks of death and a cold knife cuts through Keith.
Lance is sobbing, shivering with pain, blood streaked down his arms and face. Keith feels like he’s stuck in his worst nightmare and it takes him several seconds to move, to make this his reality. His legs drag through the needles and bones scattered across the clearing. He can’t take his eyes off Lance.
He’s probably putting them in more danger by not paying attention to the environment but he can’t help it. He can’t wrap his mind around someone doing this. It’s unreal.
Keith’s heart gives a devastated kick seeing someone he cares about like this. He’s had nightmares but nothing like this. He’s unbearably frightened.
When he’s within a few feet of him Lance starts screaming again, writhing and kicking, fresh blood streaming from the wounds. It's a miracle the spikes haven't torn clean through his hands.
“It’s me,” Keith croaks, hand extended but not touching. He’s choking, afraid to hurt Lance further, trying to get through to him.
“Sweetheart, it’s me.”
Lance sobs, eyes finally opening and his head sags. Keith’s shaking fingers rest against Lance’s thigh and he looks up at Lance though tears. Blood and tears drip from Lance’s face.
“H-help.”
“I’m gonna get you down okay?” Keith promises. His chin quivers as he struggles to keep it together for Lance.
Lance, the kindest, sweetest person he’s ever known. He’s obnoxious and loud, sure, but he’s also compassionate and patient, fiercely protective and loyal. He’s always been there when Keith needed someone. Always. And Lance needs him now.
He’s only a foot off the ground, arms stretched over his head, but it’s high enough Keith can’t reach.
He forces himself to think through the panic and the growing void in his chest, to find a log and roll it over to stand on. He bites his lip, quickly finding another a little shorter, pressing it beneath Lance’s feet. He’s too far gone to realize what Keith is trying to do.
“ Cariño, I need you to stand okay?” Keith isn’t sure what it means but he’s heard Lance say it often enough when comforting the other paladins. Or talking to Blue when he thinks no one can hear. It’s always soft and filled with affection. Keith hopes it will bring comfort now.
He takes Lance’s ankle, pressing his foot to the top of the log.
“Get the pressure off your hands.” He blinks through the tears and acid in his throat, burning him from the inside out. “I need you to stand.”
The log wobbles but Lance’s feet finally find purchase, balancing precariously. Lance sobs in relief, his wounds no longer stretched open, his own weight dragging on the spikes through his hands.
Keith can’t believe someone would do this to Lance.
“I’m sorry. Oh baby I’m so sorry.” Keith has never been one for pet names but the terms of endearment fall from his lips now, utterly sincere and full of comfort and love.
It’s all he has to give. Keith knows it’s not enough.
He scrambles onto his own log as Lance sobs.
“-out.” Lance chokes, shaking his head over and over again. “Please -out,” he begs, words disjointed and broken. He’s in too much pain for anything else.
Keith studies the spikes in the harsh light, feeling helpless and weak. He doesn’t know how long they are, how deeply they’re buried in the trunk of the tree.
When he touches them they don’t so much as wiggle. The spikes are in deep and Keith’s stomach twists as he realizes what he has to do. He isn’t strong enough to pull them out. He pulls off his helmet, tossing it aside. Fear grips Keith, deeper and colder than ice water.
“I- I can’t pull them out. They’re too-”
Lance screams, pain and rage and fear as Keith speaks. There’s no other way to express it. He’s never felt so trapped.
“Isn’t real, isn’t real, isn’t real,” Lance cries, utterly denying what’s happening, shaking his head back and forth.
Keith presses his forehead to Lance’s, steeling himself for what he’s about to do. He wants to hug him more than anything.
The lacerations to Lance’s body gape like dark mouths as he sobs, opening and closing, weeping blood.
“I’m sorry.” Keith puts one hand on the tree to stabilize himself as the log wobbles beneath him.
“Forgive me.” He screws his eyes shut, wraps his fingers around Lance’s wrist and yanks.
Keith feels the spike pull on cartilage, tendons grinding and broken bone snapping before Lance’s hand comes free. There’s a gout of blood and Lance’s scream cuts out.
Keith opens his eyes, terrified, only to find Lance’s mouth still open, neck strained. He realizes Lance is still screaming, he’s just lost his voice. Keith thinks he’s gonna be sick.
He brings Lance’s hand down as gently as he can and Lance cradles it to his chest. He chokes on wretched sobs and wails of pain as his voice comes back. Keith doesn’t know how he’s still standing. He can feel Lance shake with pain where they’re pressed close.
Keith cups the side of his face, pressing kisses to Lance’s bloody cheeks before reaching up and taking Lance’s other wrist.
“I’m sorry,” he whimpers, face pressed close to Lance’s. “I’m so sorry.” His fingers are sticky with blood but he can’t help noticing they wrap all the way around Lance’s wrist.
He’d never considered Lance to be delicate but he feels as delicate as a porcelain teacup now. Deep spiderwebs and fissures cutting through the strength and resilience Keith knows so well, threatening to shatter at any moment.
“Fuck,” Keith chokes, “I’m sorry.” He screws his eyes shut.
Lance’s other hand doesn’t come free as cleanly as the first and he has to pull it a second time. Keith grinds his teeth, forcing himself not to be sick. Lance never stops shrieking.
On the second pull Keith uses too much force and they both wobble dangerously. Lance’s knees finally give out and his deadweight hits Keith full force and they fall.
Keith protects Lance as best he can as they hit the ground. Something sharp digs painfully into his back and he feels blood beading on his skin.
Lance shrieks as he hits Keith’s breastplate, wounded hands knocking hard where they’re pressed between them. He’s sprawled across Keith’s chest, sobbing and screaming as he hyperventilates. Keith wraps an arm around his waist, dragging them both into a sitting position.
Lance cries and sobs and wails, Keith cradling him close as he can, trying to be gentle. He presses kisses to Lance’s face, not caring about the blood smearing across his mouth as he does. He doesn’t know what other comfort to give. With the wounds to Lance’s body he can’t hug him like he wants to.
He rips off his gloves wiping at Lance’s tears.
“I’m here. It’s over cariño. It’s over. I need you to breathe.” He pushes Lance’s hair back from his face, struggling not to cry himself. “You’re gonna pass out.” Keith thinks it would be a mercy if he did. He can’t imagine the kind of pain Lance is in.
“Lance,” he whispers, fingers in Lance’s hair, tender and kind. He says it over and over again until it’s just sound with no meaning but his voice seems to help. Lance shudders but his sobs quiet and he presses into Keith, tear soaked face against Keith’s throat as he cries.
“I’m so sorry baby.” Keith holds him and cries with him. He's still hoping this is a nightmare and he’ll wake up; they’ll be back on the castle and Lance will be next door, all smiles and teasing laughter. Not this shivering ball of pain in his lap.
He cups his hands over Lance’s mouth the way Shiro had taught him to do when he was starting to hyperventilate as a child. He continues to murmur to Lance as he does, letting him know what he’s going to do before he does it, not wanting to frighten him.
When Lance’s breathing stabilizes, Keith removes his hands, damp with Lance’s breath.
“I have to try and stop the bleeding,” he says gently and Lance hiccups, hands still cradled to his chest and shaking. Keith is sick at the sight. He can see through the holes.
Keith strips off his own chest plate as quickly as he can, unzipping his undersuit and hacking through the sleeves. He cuts it into strips and tries to press the fabric into one of Lance’s hands. The minute he makes contact Lance flinches and screams, the sound cutting in and out as he loses his voice.
“Okay. Okay I won’t touch.” Keith holds up his hands and backs off, Lance’s cries quieting as he does. The wounds to Lance’s arms, chest, and torso are still weeping openly and Keith is scared. In the dark he can’t tell how much blood Lance has lost but he’s been painted with it.
“Can you let me bind some of the ones on your arms? Or at least pull this back up?” He touches the material hanging around Lance’s hips. It’s wet under his fingers.
“The compression should help stop the bleeding.”
Lance doesn’t respond, head tucked low, arms curled into his chest. Keith is afraid he’s going into shock.
He cuts through Lance’s sleeves resting on the ground, cutting as high as he can so Lance doesn’t have to put his hands through them. Lance lets Keith pull the suit back up, the hand on his elbow helping guide him through the holes.
Keith zips him up, Lance whining at the pressure against his wounds as the collar closes about his throat. Keith hopes it will be enough.
“I know,” Keith soothes, touching Lance’s cheek. “We’ll be home soon.” He quickly wraps the slashes to Lance’s arms as gently as he can, forcing himself to tie them firmly even as Lance whimpers.
“We have to get out of here. Can you walk?”
Lance doesn’t seem to hear or process what Keith has said. He just cradles his ruined hands to his chest and cries quietly, rocking back and forth.
Keith tucks his hair back, needing to touch him.
“Okay, I’m gonna pick you up.” He whispers what he’s doing as he does it, cradling Lance against his chest as he stands. It’s not the smartest way to carry him but Keith won’t put him in a fireman’s carry, not with lacerations to his chest.
He just hopes he can get Lance back to the castle before he bleeds to death.