“Keith! There you are!” Hunk raced toward the spot of bright side he’d spotted among the rubble, heart in his throat. When that Galra artillery craft had blown, they had been near enough to be caught right at the edge of the blast zone. Hunk had managed to get his shield up just in time, but Keith had been farther out than him, and Hunk wasn’t whether Keith had been able to withstand it as effectively.

Relief flood Hunk as he drew closer and saw that the red shape seemed to be moving, so at the very least, Keith was alive and conscious. “Keith!” he shouted again as he skidded toward where Keith was sprawled on the ground. “Keith, oh, man, thank god you’re okay. Are – are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Keith grunted, and his voice was strained, but not deathly feeble. Another relief. “Yeah, I’ll be all right. Mostly just winded.”

“Okay, phew. Good. Good, so, we can get back to the Lions now?” Hunk glanced nervously over his shoulder. The craft exploding had been a good distraction, but the soldiers who had spotted them in the base and chased them out this far were probably still in hot pursuit. “You need any help walking?”

“Nah, legs are fine. Let me just – ” Keith began to adjust himself and scrabble upright, but cut himself off with a strangled yell that made the hairs on the back of Hunk’s neck stand up.

“Keith?”

“It’s, um – my arm’s kinda – “

Hunk blinked down at the arm in question, and the source of Keith’s distress quickly became obvious. A shard of shrapnel was jutting out from between the rerebrace and couter, right into the crook of Keith’s right elbow, pinning it to the hard dirt ground beneath. “Oh god,” Hunk said softly, a bout of dizziness hitting him at the sight. “You just said you were okay!”

“It didn’t hurt that bad until I tried to move it!” Keith snapped. He turned his head to look more closely at the wound, then, gritting his teeth, he grabbed the end of the chunk of shrapnel with his left hand.

“What are you doing?!” Hunk cried. “You’re not supposed to take things out of stab wounds! You’ll bleed all over!”

“I don’t really have a choice, Hunk! Either I get this thing out, or I’m stuck here.” Keith adjusted his grip and tugged at the shrapnel. Immediately his chin began to wobble, and nausea raged in Hunk as the shrapnel moved, bringing a flood of deep red out with it. The sound of Keith’s strained, agonizing yell rang in his ears, until suddenly he stopped, the scream replaced with panting, and his hand dropped.

“Keith?” Hunk said, noticing how pale Keith had gone, and not sure if the sheen of sweat on his forehead had been there earlier.

“S’nothing,” he mumbled. “Just tough to get a grip.” He brought his hand up again, and it slipped along the shrapnel before he managed to get a proper hold.

“Wait, Keith,” Hunk said. He gulped and put his own hand over Keith’s on the shrapnel. “You’re not, like, steady, right now. You’re gonna wind up tearing your whole forearm off or something.”

“Well, it’s not like we have much of a choice!”

“Yeah, but – ” Hunk took a deep breath and looked back one more time. He could see the silhouettes of those soldiers getting closer. “How about – how about I pull it out for you?”

Keith’s brow furrowed as he turned his gaze to Hunk. “You sure?” he asked.

Hunk nodded even as his stomach screamed at him to turn away. “Course I’m sure,” he said. “You need help.”

“It’s gonna be bloody. Like, really bloody.”

“I know. But not like I’m the one who’s gonna be hurting.”

“… Okay.” Keith seemed to slump as he gave in, and Hunk lifted his own hands toward the shrapnel.

He tried not to think about the blood, or about the pain he was soon to cause Keith, but it was hard. Too hard. His hands shook as he reached the shrapnel, and he took a few seconds to grip it. When he did, Keith let out a whimper of pain; Hunk had apparently been shaking the shrapnel in its place.

“I’m sorry!” he cried, dropping it immediately. “Sorry, didn’t mean to, I just can’t – ”

“It’s okay,” Keith grunted. “It’s okay, just – just try again.”

“R-right.” Hunk positioned his hands over the shrapnel again, but still they shook. He couldn’t grab it, not when he was like this. “Keith, I can’t – ”

Before he could finish the thought, he felt a sudden weight over his right hand. Keith fingers wrapped over his own, holding it steady and tight. “Hunk,” Keith said. “It’s okay. You can do this, all right? You got this. Just breathe.”

“Just – just breathe,” Hunk repeated softly, and he did. Slowly, through his nose, eyes shut. He could do this. And they didn’t have long.

He let Keith’s grip anchor him as, finally, he wrapped his hands around the shrapnel, willing himself with every fiber of his being to keep steady. And he pulled. He tried to mentally block the sound of Keith’s scream as he did so, although he couldn’t avoid seeing the blood that welled up and spilled over when the shrapnel was out of the arm.

For a moment the edges of his vision went white, but he was brought back to reality by the sound of Keith repeating his voice, and he opened his eyes to see Keith sitting up and staring at him. His face was practically gray, he was drenched in sweat, he was cradling his bad arm that was still gushing blood, but he was sitting up.

“I did it,” Hunk panted.

“Yeah, Hunk, you did it.” Keith offered him a shaky smile. “And now…”

“We run?”

There’s a light.

Growing brighter.

This is war.

I’m a fighter.

Pushing harder.

Muscles burning.

Tighter grip.

Heart is yearning.

Should have told him.

Does he know?

Doesn’t matter.

Not a show.

He’s what matters.

They all do.

Give your life.

It’s only you.

It’s only you.

Give your life.

Save them all.

End the strife.

She won’t win.

I can’t let her.

I can fix it.

Make it better.

Give your life.

End this stall.

Give your life.