I desperately need something—a fic, art, something—about Lance getting gravely injured, but not just for anything, no, for /Keith/ bc it’s always for a Keith isn’t it? but they’d fought before. something petty, Keith’s sure; it’s had to be petty and unimportant bc now all he can-

-think of, all he can see, is Lace—the blood, the broken armor, the fading light. dammit it should’ve been /him/. he was being impulsive again, reckless. he didn’t look where he was going, only started attacking bc the other options were narrowing down more and more as the ticks-

-ticked by. he should’ve waited /just a few more seconds/....but he didn’t. and now Lance was crumbled before him, torso gaped open from the sonic fucking canon that had been aimed for Keith’s head.

“shit, shit, no, fuck, stay with me,” he breathes out, falling to his knees.

or maybe he screams it. he can’t hear anything besides the blood rushing in his ears and the blood coughed up from Lance’s lips.

he shouldn’t have turned his back on the battle, but he doesn’t have to see it to know that Hunk’s there, roaring like the lion he is and taking-

-the enemy out.

“fuck, Lance, /Lance/”

he tries to say ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘I love you’ or any of the other things one should say at a finality like this...

but he can’t. he can’t say it. he /won’t/ let this be the end.

“Keith,” Lance croaks out, though he has no more energy for-

-any other words; he can’t even move his head.

Keith buries his face in the crook of Lance’s shoulder and breathes in the scent. that’s Lance. that’s /Lance/. when he pulls back, Lance’s eyes are closed.

“no.” the word drops from his lips before he can think. “/no/. /NO/!”

his hands fly over Lance’s body, clutching, searching, but his fingers are numb and he isn’t sure what he’s searching for anyway.

“wake up,” he begs, voice raw and broken as Lance looks. “wake up wake up /wake up/!”

then someone starts pulling Lance away from him. he sees red.

and then he sees nothing at all, and when he wakes up, he’s told it’s bc his friends had to knock him out to take Lance out of his arms.

Lance, who’s in the healing pod, who has a chance, who’s /right there/.

Keith stumbles past Allura, his ears already tuning her out as his-

-vision tunneled at the sight of Lance. there‘s tape wrapped around his stomach—white with red splotches. his face is completely relaxed despite the scar across his eyebrow and the blood still caked by his lips.

Keith can see himself in the reflection, and he wants to laugh.

he looks so much worse right now. he wants to laugh at the blood soaking his suit, making him look even more like a paladin of the /red/ lion. his hair is tangled and matted; he’s got a small, gash on his upper right arm and his knees are bruised from the times he fell onto them.

he wants to laugh at his reflection bc otherwise he’ll cry.

and yet, he does neither as he sinks to his bruised knees, stares up at Lance, and waits.

he’s left alone.

and then suddenly he’s not and gentle yet firm hands are pulling his armor off; a kind face blocks Lance’s.

“you’re no good for him like this,” the face says, and it’s so kind and soft and warm, but Keith has no idea who it is. they’re like the sun though. “you need to eat. sleep. at least take a shower. do it for him.”

/do it for *Lance*./

Keith lets himself be manhandled.

he’s washed, fed, and put in soft PJs, but he didn’t feel the water running down his skin or the food in his mouth. he does feel the clothes though. these aren’t his clothes; he doesn’t have anything this soft—these are /Lance’s/ clothes.

he cries then, but only bc he sees the-

-tears splattering onto his thighs does he even know he cries. he tries to stop bc these are /Lance’s/ clothes, but he can’t. he thinks someone might hold him and cry too, but he isn’t sure.

he isn’t sure how many days go by either—or maybe it’s months. he sits in front of-

-Lance’s pod, only leaving when gentle yet firm hands guide him to the table for food or the showers for a wash. they don’t take him to his room; there’s a bed beside Lance’s pod, and Keith has a vauge memory of throwing a hellish tantrum when someone first sent him to his room.

he goes on a few missions, but not many. he can’t even recall which ones he went on, and that’s bad, that’s so bad, bc what if he gets someone else hurt? what if Lance isn’t the only one?

but the fog in Keith’s brain is too thick. there’s only one who could get him out of-

-it, but he’s still not here.

until suddenly he is.

suddenly the pod beeps and whizzes and Keith can sense other people rushing in, but his eyes are glued to Lance—Lance, who’s breathing and blinking and /alive/; who’s legs wobble like jelly as consciousness floods back to him.

Keith doesn’t remember moving, but when Lance faceplants, it’s into his chest. as Keith’s own legs gives out on him, he has the presence of mind to gently fall to the floor. Lance is still in his arms, softly grumbling like he always does when he wakes up from a deep sleep.

“mhmm...Keith?” he asks groggily. his voice barley carries past Keith’s ears.

and now he finally breaks.

Keith can’t even hear the guttural sob that escapes him, but he can feel how his throat tightens and how everything about him /hurts/, so he can just imagine how horrible-

-he truly sounded. his face is drenched in his hot tears, but he can’t help himself and he clutches onto Lance, breathing him in and feeling how warm he is.

bc he was cold before. Keith hadn’t realized it until now, but the last time Lance had been in his arms he’s been /cold/.

that thought doesn’t help him let Lance go.

he can feel Lance’s own arms around him, feel the way he shakes in Keith’s arms as the memory of what happened finally touches him.

Lance doesn’t say anything though, no words of comfort or even of anger pass his lips.

instead, he takes hold Keith’s chin and bends down.

it’s messy, at first. the kiss. it tastes of salty tears and there’s far too much teeth and then too much lip, but finally, they get a hold of themselves, and then all Keith can taste is /Lance/. taste his relief, his joy, his-

-fear and sadness. there’s even a little anger there, but everything pales in comparison to the /love/ that Lance pours into him.

Keith’s must still be in a fog bc when he pulls back, he’s no longer in the big open room, but now he and Lance are snuggled together under-

-Lance’s sheets. they’re alone too.

“I love you,” Keith hears himself whisper, his voice just as raw and broken as Lance’s was.

(when had been the last time he spoke? he couldn’t remember speaking after crying over Lance’s bleeding body on the battlefield. maybe he hadn’t.)

but when Lance looks at him, head resting on Keith’s chest, and /smiles/, Keith knows nothing else matters in this moment. only Lance. always Lance.

“I love you too, Keith. always.”

/fin