Chapter Text
Lance feels naked - his clothes are so thin, so light, he has to keep looking down just to check he’s still wearing them. He never realised just how heavy the clothes from home were: thick enough to battle the elements of the South Pole. He misses their weight.
It feels strange walking amongst civilization after so long away from it. Keith sticks close to his side, something Lance initially marvels at before realising its entirely due to just how busy this little square is.
Keith speaks in a hushed whisper, making sure that Lance is the only one to hear, “Just keep your head down. We’re here to get supplies and that’s all.”
Lance nods, his neck feeling stiff as tension holds his body tight. He can’t help the shifting looks he casts to those around them, certain the goosebumps on his arms are from eyes watching their every move. Every time he blinks he can see the wall of firebenders storming the beach against him, laughing as he fails, falling to the sand before wrestling him into handcuffs. Losing his friends, losing his freedom…
It’s terrifying all over again.
He realises this is how he should have felt this entire time, ever since he left home. He should have been feeling like there were eyes boring into his back. He should have felt like people were suspicious of him, a foreigner in their land. But he didn’t.
The logical part of his brain knew – knew this was the world that was waiting beyond the ice of home. He didn’t know this land of strangers – at home, isolated in barren cold, everyone he had ever met cared about him, worked with him and they had trusted each other implicitly. He hadn’t realised how naïve he had been, thinking the people here could be anything like back home. This wasn’t a place where he could trust, where he could open himself to those around him.
Now he understood this world, and he had to hide his entire identity. His clothes had to be cast aside, his mannerisms locked away. He had to willingly lose himself, and don another skin. The fire nation needed to become his shield, following strange customs as though he had always known them. He had to meld into the crowd and ensure wandering eyes didn’t snag on him.
Every step makes a shiver crawl down his spine, Lance glancing behind him to check for watching eyes.
“Stop acting suspicious,” Keith hisses at his side, subtly nudging his side. “You’re just another face in the crowd: relax, and no one will notice us.”
Lance huffs a sigh, biting his bottom lip. Relax – yeah, right, he could do that. Easy. No worries.
He wished he still had pockets to shove his fidgeting hands into, his fingers twitching from his mounting anxiety. His old pockets would have given him the perfect opportunity to hide them and his thought process from sight – but these trousers were so ‘comfortable yet fashionable’ they lacked pockets of any kind, making sure the whole world could watch him projecting his anxieties unhindered.
And what was with the Fire Nation colour scheme? The fabric was so bright in colour he just felt like he was lit up like a beacon, his very essence screaming ‘I don’t belong here!’. Blue would make his eyes pop, settle against his darker skin tone – red just felt like it clashed and consumed him, burning him to ashes.
He had never felt like this before – even when he and Allura were wandering through towns in their full waterbender outfits he had never felt so scrutinised. He had never worried what eyes were watching or who was listening to their conversation – be it naivety, ignorance or plain stupidity, it simply had never crossed his mind. But now, he had learned that what he was wasn’t okay: he had learned the hard way that there was something real to fear. The monster was real: not a nightmare, or a story told to a child to scare them into behaving, told in the dead of night in the barren wasteland of home, a thousand miles away from this foreign danger.
Now he was in the open and there was nowhere to hide out here. He felt stripped, both figuratively and literally, before being cast adrift with this person that he barely even knew. Why the hell was he even travelling with Keith – Keith clearly didn’t like him, and Lance wasn’t too sure on the Airbender either.
The issue being the keyword of Airbender. Keith may be grouchy, and he may be snippy, and he may be medically incapable of holding a conversation. But he was likely the only airbender that Lance would come across in his entire lifetime – he couldn’t just let him go. The fact that they had found each other at all had to be fate. Anyone could have been hired by that prison, or Keith could have pitied any other prisoner besides Lance, handed out glasses of water to everyone bar Lance. But he didn’t, and that had to mean something.
This insecurity was new for Lance: he had given up his home, his sister and friends, and now everything else that made him him. He felt weak, pathetic, and frankly wanted to go home and curl up in his bed-
“I mean it,” Keith snaps. “You’re making people look at us.”
Lance doubted that – they were already staring, weren’t they? He stumbled to a stop, feeling his heart pound in his chest, looking over his shoulder and meeting the concerned eyes of a mother shielding her child behind her legs.
He hadn’t seen someone act like that since…since the snow had turned black-
His stomach dropped, somersaulting as it went – he was scaring someone, making them feel unsafe, making them think he was a threat. His breath started coming faster, shallower, his mind racing and turning to static. The damn clothes left him light and weightless, naked. There was nothing holding him down, nothing tying him to himself. No sister to grab his twitching fingers. No Earthbender to draw him into a spine-crushing hug. Hell, he’d even take Pidge’s no-nonsense quips if it would help tether him.
He blinks in surprise as suddenly there are firm hands on him, unlike Allura’s warm grip as they pinch sharply around his elbow and jerk him away from the street and down a side alley.
Keith releases him once they both stand in the shadows at the end of the alley, watching as Lance collapses heavily against the wall at his back, taking deep breaths and trying to slow that pounding heart.
“What the hell are you playing at?” Keith hisses. “We’ve been here for two goddamn minutes and so far half the village is staring at us because you’re acting like an idiot.”
Lance has nothing to say, that static in his head buzzing loud enough to make listening to Keith’s words difficult. He can’t think, he can’t speak, he can’t even apologise for the danger he is putting them both in.
Keith looks at him and his hard gaze suddenly softens at the edges as he seems to grasp there’s more going on here than Lance being an oblivious fool. He blinks, uncomfortable and unsure of how to approach the situation. “Are…are you okay?”
“Fine,” Lance manages to mumble, mouth too dry to form any further words: at this moment he’s just pleased to get that one word out.
Keith sighs, eyes darting back to where they came to ensure no prying eyes are watching, moving to try and shield Lance from view. “I need you to try and listen to me Lance,” Keith says in a tone softer than Lance has ever heard from the boy.
“I-I’m trying,” Lance gasps, squeezing his eyes shut. He’s trying to do what Keith has told him: to stop being an idiot, to stop drawing attention to themselves, to-
“It’s okay,” Keith promises. “Now, I need you to tell me about home, okay?”
“Why-?”
“Just do it,” Keith says, not quite containing the edge of irritation in his voice. “Focus on it, tell me what you see, what you feel?”
“I…I…” The buzzing in Lance’s head is so loud, so all encompassing, he feels like he’s drowning, like he’s-
“What colour is it?”
The question is an easy enough one that Lance automatically says, “White.” The word triggers the view and brings it to mind. It is white, solid ice under freshly fallen snow, stretching miles and miles ahead. There is nothing, no one, just Lance and the entire world all to himself. He knows eventually if he kept walking he would reach the churning darkness of the winter seas, but for now the white expanse opens up to him on an endless plain.
“How does it feel?”
“Cold,” He says, and believes it. On his next inhale the air is almost icy, chilling his throat as it presses itself down into his lungs. That chilling breath fills his chest, forces itself deep to ensure he can feel its icy touch deep down to his core.
“How does it sound?”
“There’s…there’s nothing,” Lance says, almost wistfully. “Just the wind, nothing but the wind.” Even as he speaks he swears the swirling gales of a snow storm fills his ears, the static of his mind fading away beneath the howling wind. He swears he even feels his hair whip around his head, reaches to pull his hood up over his cold ears before coming up empty and remembering where he is, what he’s wearing. His eyes open with a start and the brief glimpse of home is gone, his eyes instead resting on Keith’s concentrated gaze that’s staring right through Lance.
He licks his lips and swears they’re cold against the tip of his tongue.
“You okay?” Keith prompts, the silence too deafening between them both.
“Fine,” Lance says hastily, only this time it’s a bit more convincing. “Fine, I’m fine, let’s just go.”
Keith purses his lips as he watches Lance with those dark eyes that shield his true thoughts, keeping silent as Lance stands from his position against the wall and brushes off his outfit. He takes a minute to feel the fabric of his disguise, his camouflage that he wears to keep safe. If anything, people must have been watching because he looks just that good – what can he say, he’s always considered himself to have an eye for fashion…
He doesn’t need to worry. Doesn’t even need to think – he just needs to quietly follow Keith and trust that the airbender knows this world better than Lance does. No point having anxiety over something you can’t control.
So he’ll listen to what Keith tells him, and follow his every command. If he does that, he’ll blend into the crowd and no one will see him for the lie he is. He’ll hide in plain sight, and no guard will turn up and drag him back to the heat and the thirst and the blood-
He’ll do what he’s told – and that’s the end of it.
*****
The strange silence stretches on between the two of them. It should be familiar to Keith, a comforting emptiness that he and Shiro could easily share.
But he and Lance don’t have that kind of bond, the two foreign with each other as Keith once again yearns for the familiarity he shares with his brother - Keith swore that a single look between the two of them could say more than one hundred words could.
Frankly, after travelling this far with Lance he had assumed he would welcome any form of silence with open arms. However this long silence was heavy, dragging at the pair of them and extending the gap between them. The busy-ness of the market didn’t help, the hustle and bustle eating at Keith’s nerves as he feels the added pressure of having to look out for both himself and the clueless Lance. He’s overly tense, trying to watch every direction at once because he knows he can’t count on the waterbender.
It’s not for a long hour, once they come to the edge of the village and start on the road that is shared with many travelling traders, that Keith hands Lance what’s been hidden in his pocket for the better part of twenty minutes and the silence finally breaks.
“What the hell is this?” Lance asks, looking down at the fresh roll of bread between his hands. Keith looks at him, giving him a level stare that says plenty before pulling out a second identical roll and biting into it without hesitation.
“What does it look like?” Keith says with a full mouth, watching Lance’s eyebrows raise in horror as the cogs finish turning in his brain. Keith scowls at the waterbender’s judging stare, feeling his defences prickle.
“It looks like you’re a criminal,” Lance says bluntly, not thinking to regulate his tone and causing several nearby merchants to cast the pair of them distrusting looks. For the second time that day Keith takes Lance by the arm and drags him away from prying eyes, huffing under his breath as he does so. He was tired: they had travelled for several days with limited rations and frankly Keith wanted something that he could class as ‘lunch’ that had more association with the word than just being eaten at the midpoint of the day – Lance’s naivety was not welcome at this time.
“Where do you think I got it – you were with me when we walked right through the marketplace.”
“That doesn’t explain how you paid for it,” Lance matches Keith’s scowl, pulling his arm from his grip. “Or when, for that matter. I was with you the entire time.”
One silent glare from Keith is all that’s needed – Lance may as well have been Shiro with how deftly he understood the look in those dark eyes.
“You’re joking,” Lance says slowly, waiting for Keith to take it back and admit to the innocent magic he had pulled to procure the rolls. When Keith remains quiet Lance’s voice drops to a hissed whisper, looking over his shoulder with paranoia, “What the hell are you thinking?”
“What do you mean – we need supplies and food Lance,” Keith says shortly. “I mean, how else did you expect us to get a hold of what we need?”
“You stole them,” Lance grimaces as he says the words: his gut twists with guilt, unable to keep from imagining how it would feel to steal from one of his cousins, his extended aunts and uncles, vital food stolen from people who would be struggling as much as him. “You’ve seriously had the gall to give me a lecture on not drawing attention to ourselves and you’re out there just raiding some poor person’s cart – stealing from someone’s very livelihood!”
“I didn’t take anything for the sake of it,” Keith points out, waving the roll in the air between them as though to remind his travelling companion of the discomfort of his hunger. “These rolls were at the front of the cart – everyone knows that you don’t choose the produce at the front but those at the back, you don’t want to risk having a roll that’s been on the floor of a busy plaza. Or, worse yet, one a kid sneezed on!” Keith says with a shudder down his spine at the memory of seeing just that. “These would get thrown away at the end of the day – if anything we’re making sure they don’t go to waste.”
“Don’t try and twist your logic around on me,” Lance says. “You don’t know that for definite – and even if that were the case, they still weren’t yours to take! You’ve just stolen from that poor vendor – what if they needed to sell each and every roll today in order to take care of their family?”
“Then they clearly weren’t doing a very good job,” Keith says through gritted teeth, the memory of the near-full bakery cart so late in the day not sparking the feeling of guilt Lance was expecting.
“We should take them back-”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Keith says with an eyeroll, grabbing onto Lance's forearm before the waterbender could march back into town to return it. “Sometimes your own needs outweigh the needs of others, that’s just how it works.”
“Seriously?” Lance says incredulously, snatching his arm back. “I thought airbenders were supposed to be so holistic and preserve the sanctity of the life around them?”
“And how many times do I have to tell you that just because I can ‘bend air’ it doesn’t make me a nomadic monk from one of your fucking scrolls!” Keith can feel his short temper shrivelling under the heat of his irritation at this ridiculous conversation – his fiery temper had falsely had him labelled as a Firebender on several occasions.
“Well,” Lance stumbles, “Airbender or not, where’s you’re common decency, your personal morals? Surely you don’t believe that your wellbeing is more important than anyone else’s?”
“I thought your sister was the all-powerful Avatar who’s going to save the world? She needs us in order to do that – ergo, our wellbeing really is more important than pretty much any other.”
“That’s an awful, selfish mindset,” Lance grumbles.
“And how would you suggest we get the supplies we need? Ask nicely?” He says snidely.
Lance’s scowl only grows, an expression unfamiliar on his usually jovial features. “Well,” He says proudly, defensively, “Allura and I would put on a show for the townsfolk. Sing some songs from my village, dance – people loved it, we always got asked for an encore, and earned enough to keep us going.”
Keith blinks in disbelief, “So…the most wanted person in the entire world, and a Southern waterbender who is aware that all other benders from his tribe have been imprisoned - has been to that prison himself - put themselves in the centre of attention for people to throw pennies at?”
“What else were we supposed to do?” Lance snaps at him, clearly not appreciating his tone. “We would never have made it this far without the help of those kind people.”
“You would have made it plenty far if either of you understood what it takes to survive,” Keith snorts. They should really get off the side of the road soon: their ‘discussion’ was steadily growing louder and attracting more eyes as travellers walked past, wondering what the raised voices and vigorous shaking of a roll could mean.
“I know plenty about survival,” Lance hisses at him, jabbing a dangerously accusing finger into Keith’s chest. “You try surviving on a barren plain of ice your entire life, maybe then you can learn a thing or two about teamwork.”
“And maybe we go our separate ways and you learn what it means to be a fugitive in the Fire Nation,” Keith scoffs. “You’re not in the Earth Nation any more Lance – you can’t sing your silly songs and expect the crowd to cheer for more.” Keith is tired of this, stowing away his stolen goods and turning his back on both Lance and the conversation, “I’m not here to hold your hand, so either get your act together or you can head back to your sister and get captured with her."
Lance feels his anger only continue to bristle as he watches Keith walk away from him. Without thinking he stomps after him, thrusting the stolen roll into the hands of an unsuspecting man with flushed cheeks and sweat on his brow. “Enjoy,” Lance says stonily before carrying on after his bristling companion, his stomach settling somewhat now that it knew it wouldn’t have to try tackle digesting the stolen goods.
*****
The afternoon was going to kill him – well, that or his own morality.
His head was already swimming, the too bright light of the sun dancing in front of his eyes. His stomach growls, its volume spiking Lance’s irritation at himself in case Keith heard. He doesn’t want to the airbender to know he’s waning, stomach churning unhappily around nothing.
Turns out, personal ethics aren’t a replacement for a meal. How frustrating.
Keith had maintained his march since the village, clearly energised with his stolen lunch and ready to tackle the afternoon. Lance felt the scowl lines etching into the edge of his lips as watches Keith’s back – if the stealing wasn’t bad enough, Lance knew that Keith would never allow him to earn an honest keep like he and Allura had been doing. Which meant he either needed to come up with a new way to honestly pay for what he needed, or get used to his gurgling gut very soon.
Over and above the concerns of where his next meal was to come from, Lance had to deal with the background anxiety of the idea that stealing was a standard for Keith and he was going to do it again. So after Keith’s speech on keeping a low profile and hidden, Lance then had to factor in Keith’s actions possibly drawing attention and putting them both in danger.
What if he got captured again, all because Keith fancied some baked goods for lunch? His skin prickled, the heat of the afternoon sun an uncomfortable familiar heat that stuffed his lungs so he felt like he couldn’t catch his breath, couldn't get enough water, couldn't do anything as he was treated little better than a dog on the street. He hugged his arms, trying to catch a semblance of comfort he could get from getting a hug from one of his friends. He was all alone out here with a grumpy airbender, no friends and no support.
Lance didn't think it was fair that he wasn’t allowed to put on a show to draw in money, but had to stand by silently while Keith openly broke the law.
His thought process is disrupted as he hears a familiar babbling, his feet branching from the road as his instincts leads him to the gracious sight of a steam – his stomach may be void of food, but it would more than happily accept water as replacement for now.
The stream isn’t large by any means – most people walking past would likely miss it, but Lance’s instinctual appeal to water had highlighted its presence. Anyone else should be wary to drink from it: while running smoothly, it isn’t as clear as Lance would like to hope and he would advise others to skip the risk. But for Lance the risk is non-existent as, with a quick glance to check they’re alone and noting how the airbender had stopped to watch him from a distance., he flicks his fingers and cleanly separates the crisp water from the swirling dirt it had swept up along its journey. The water rises up in a crystalline spire, all murkiness remaining in the stream below. He cups his hands, bringing forward droplets that he can put directly into his parched mouth. He sighs at the coolness that touches his tongue, soothing at the itch in his throat.
The airbender continues to watch on in silence, and while Lance can be petty when he wants to be he can’t help but make an offer of water. “You need to come closer if you want a drink,” Lance tells him, his stomach contented with the slosh of water it has been given: it won’t satiate him for long, but it felt wonderful at the minute.
Keith watches him with a steely look, his features unreadable and only giving away the train of thought with a suspicious glance down the road behind them.
“Come on, Keith,” Lance gives him an exasperated look. “There’s no one around, I checked. Drink while you can.”
“You shouldn’t be bending out in the open like this,” Keith tells him shortly.
Lance looks around, taking his time to make sure his point lands. He raises an eyebrow, “I think we’re safe. Come on – we haven’t seen anyone for at least two miles now. No houses, no livestock – there’s no one hiding in the bushes waiting and watching for rogue benders.”
“We should wait till we get to the next town, we can get water there. Safely.”
“Safely,” Lance snorts. “By taking what you want with no repercussions? Sounds like an unnecessary risk to me, especially considering you have ample opportunity here. Take advantage.”
Keith scowls, body tense as he continues to look out for any wandering eyes. “Just take what you need so we can go.”
“You’re sure-?”
“You’ll get yourself killed wasting your time offering help,” Keith says shortly, the afternoon’s heat clearly having an affect on him as well.
“That what happened to the friend you’re looking for," Lance says haughtily before he can convince himself otherwise, "they get in trouble trying to help you?” Lance knows he’s crossed a line as he sees the red flush rise to Keith’s cheeks. But he doesn’t care: he’s tired of the looks Keith keeps giving him whenever he does anything, like he’s an idiot and can’t do anything right. “Rather live my life that way than the alternative,” Lance says with a shrug. He lets the water cascade back down into the stream, Keith clearly having made his decision: he made his offer, rose above the tension between them and acted as a decent human being. If Keith didn’t want to accept, well, that wasn’t any business of his. If Keith wanted to be stubborn then all power to him.
*****
Over the next couple of days the tension between them only grows, and Lance finds himself second guessing his plan to stick with Keith: he may be an airbender, but Lance was beginning to doubt that he would ever help Allura. The only future Lance could see was Keith finding this lost friend of his and disappearing off into the wilderness anyway. In that case, wasn’t all of this just a colossal waste of time?
Signs of civilisation come more frequently now: dread fills Lance’s gut every time he catches sight of a village ahead of them, anxiety swirling as he imagines them being discovered, of going back to the dark and the heat… Not to mention the worry that Keith was going to fill his pockets with whatever he required. Lance felt like he was holding his breath, waiting for the karma of the universe to turn against them both and strike them down for their selfish actions.
Lance felt too small for the anxiety that filled his chest – it filled him completely, overflowing into the sweat that beaded on his forehead. He was too small, being drowned under the pounding of his heart, his worries dragging him down and consuming him.
Meanwhile Keith carried on unchanged, clearly well-versed in this life. He would subtly collect supplies for himself as they travelled through the villages, keeping himself well fed and watered. At some point he acquired a new leather satchel that hung off his shoulder like it belonged there, the bag steadily being filled with dried meats and fruit to ensure he was prepared against the threat of a grumbling stomach.
A grumbling stomach was something that Lance was growing more and more familiar with, though he knew that he would still refuse if Keith offered again – though, unsurprisingly, Keith did not offer. He was true to his word when he said Lance could take care of himself. And Lance was more than capable of that – his main difficulty was Keith’s continuous march onwards in the hope of magically coming across his friend. It meant Lance didn’t have much time for foraging and hunting – hell, he didn’t even have the knowledge of the local plant life to know what was poisonous or not. So Lance relied on his fishing abilities.
Well, ‘fishing’ might not be completely accurate. He had no equipment for traditional fishing, but that wasn’t a requirement for a seasoned waterbender: with some concentration he could lift fish right out of the stream in their own private pocket of water. So while he may not be consuming a full profile of nutrients with his unbalanced diet, the fish was enough to keep him going and provide dinner, usually with enough leftovers for a meagre breakfast the following morning.
However Lance could only fish if they were far enough away from any other signs of life, the skin at the back of his neck prickling with fear of being caught blatantly waterbending. Not to mention if there was no running water nearby there would be no fish to catch. Lance had to be opportunistic and, when he couldn’t be, he had to grind his teeth and carry on regardless.
Truth be told, he was getting tired of fish. Mainly, he was getting tired of plain fish roasting over a small flame to ensure they didn’t attract unwanted attention. Beggers couldn’t be choosers, Lance accepted that, he was just saying it would be nice to be able to make a hearty stew like his grandmother used to – even some seasoning, or a garnish to make it look more appealing. Instead, just plain fish.
He wasn’t pleased to realise that salt water fish differed in taste to these fresh water ones – two guesses on which one hosts more natural seasoning in the flesh. You may think fish was fish, and Lance now had the knowledge to tell you that you were wrong.
After managing to catch some semblance of dinner, Lance would return to the improvised campsite and collapse next to the fire Keith would have build in his absence. He would roast the fish, ignoring Keith’s quiet watching over his shoulder, held in a levelled stare before the airbender would roll over and get himself comfortable for the night.
however, with the next day comes a bittersweet mistake.
Because, if Lance were a petty person, he would relish in the knowledge that he had been right all along. Only right now, his stomach twisted and turned, bile crawling up his throat with its acidic bite, burning and searing.
The village was much the same as the others they had passed through, perhaps large enough to be called a town but the jury was still out on that discussion. They were settled in their routine, seemingly wandering aimlessly as Keith kept a trained ear to the conversations around them, searching out any kind of clue as to the whereabouts of his mysterious friend. If he felt brave, he would carefully probe Fire Nation soldiers if he found them alone, acting casual as he would ask them about their recent assignments. Lance wasn’t sure what he was hoping to hear, and at this point he was too irritated to care. He tended to wander a distance from Keith when he did it, the airbender’s warnings ringing too clear in his mind so that Lance was convinced that the soldier would be able to sniff out his waterbending capabilities just from being in close proximity. Eventually Keith would ascertain that the soldier knew nothing and the pair of them would move on, Keith procuring lunch somewhere along the way and stowing it away safely in his satchel.
A distant part of Lance wonders if he was their good luck charm because, today, he allows himself to be distracted. The market here is busier than any they have previously seen, a huge range of vendors spreading out their wares with shouting voices trying to attract interested eyes earlier. Lance’s eyes drift across twisted metal and obsidian pendants dark as the churning winter seas of the South Pole. He’s drawn closer, the metalwork gut wrenchingly similar to that of home. His fingers reach out and delicately brush the pendant of a necklace, the black stone encased in twisting wire that reminded him of snow caught in the swirling wind on the tundra.
Lance doesn’t consider the fact that he has separated himself from Keith, too caught up in this feeling of almost being close to home, until he hears the sound of a scuffle and gasping voices in the crowd. He turns in unison with others who had been perusing the stall, Lance tall enough to have a clear view of the commotion.
Dread drops deep in his gut, nailing him to the ground as he watches a bear of a man gripping Keith’s forearm tight enough to bruise, at least tight enough to force the airbender to drop the load of bread he had tried to slip into his satchel unnoticed.
“Someone get the soldiers!” The vendor shouts over the din of the crowd, “I’ve caught a thief!”
“Let me go,” Keith growls dangerously, trying to snatch his arm out of the brute’s grip to no avail.
The vendor acts as though he doesn’t hear Keith speak, shaking him vigorously when Keith struggles to release himself. Lance watches on in silent horror as he hears the march of three red-clad soldiers make their way through the crowd towards the commotion, Keith’s face growing pale as he realises the world of trouble that’s marching towards him.
He pulls with renewed vigour but it doesn’t matter, he’s stuck fast as the soldiers reach him.
The pit in Lance’s belly opens ever wider, his stomach twisting as it drags at his insides: his mouth is dry as cotton, apprehension building as he waits for the moment where Keith unleashes his bending to free himself. Adrenaline spreads through Lance’s blood, preparing him for the fight that will come once Keith does exactly that.
“What seems to be the problem here?” One of the Fire Nation soldiers asks.
“This urchin thought he could steal from my cart!” The furious vendor announces, shaking Keith to make sure they can see the ‘urchin’ in question.
“No I didn’t!” Keith snaps loudly, still pulling at his arm. If he could just get free, he’s certain he could outrun the soldiers, get away scot free.
“That’s a serious crime,” The soldier nods contemplatively. “You’re certain it was him?”
“I caught him myself,” The vendor insists, “One of my fresh loaves of bread was halfway in his bag before I stopped him.”
“He’s lying,” Keith insists, but even Lance can see the guilty look in his eye, unable to hide beneath the mounting panic in his chest.
The soldier looks impassive with their white mask, thinking for a moment before speaking aloud. “The punishment for stealing is ten lashes – do you wish to press charges?”
Keith’s face grows white as the frozen tundra of home as the vendor firmly says, “Absolutely I do.”
With those words the scene is in motion, Keith being handed over to the guards and the crowd jeering as he’s pulled towards the centre. The vendor watches for a moment before turning back to his stall, reorganising his stock without a second glance at the scene which he demanded take place.
Lance walks with the crowd, feet picking up speed until he’s pushing past people to get closer. He keeps waiting for the moment Keith snaps, accepts that there’s only one way to get out of this and airbends, but he still makes no move to do so and apprehension prickles across Lance’s skin, demanding he be ready-
Keith’s face has grown impassive as he’s dragged along: there’s a post in the centre of the square and he’s seen them in use enough times to know it’s where he’s headed. The fear has dropped away somewhere deep below where no one else will see it, and his eyes take on a blank look.
Before his wrists are chained to the post in a way that almost looks as though he is embracing it, he asks the soldiers if he may remove his shirt, to which they oblige: if he’s poor enough to steal bread he’s not going to be able to get a new one through any means other than stealing. He seems cool and collected, almost unnatural as he bites his tongue against the begging and apologies his tongue wishes to utter to try and get out of this.
Lance has pushed forward as far as he can, the ring of the crowd naturally coming to a halt around the post: he can’t rush forward yet and cause a commotion, not if Keith isn’t ready. The airbender must have a plan, Lance needs to wait-
The dread in his gut turns to a steel weight as Keith resigns his wrists to being chained to the post, pale back exposed to the crowd as one of the soldiers returns with a long whip of black leather.
“Wait-” Lance mutters, stepping forwards only to be hauled back by the a rough hand on his shoulder.
“Can’t go any closer, sonny,” An older man says in his ear with a jovial tone. “But don’t worry, you’ve got the best view you can get.”
Lance feels sick that this man is delighting in what’s about to happen, his gut flipping as he looks like just another excited face in the crowd, ready to see some poor person whipped in the square. He turns to Keith with wide panicked eyes, unable to move, think, wondering what he’s supposed to do-
He’s not supposed to draw attention. He’s not supposed to do anything that could have them found out. He can’t get caught again, can’t go back to that place, can’t be taken from Allura, he can’t, he ca-
Keith closes his eyes and leans his head against the post, taking a deep breath-
Lance could do something – but Keith could have done something, and he didn’t…
The soldier tests out the whip once, twice, against the ground, making Lance flinch violently both times.
Keith curls his hands into fists, knuckles white and back held tense and waiting.
Lance’s breaths are shallow, but he doesn’t move. The airbender didn’t do anything for a reason – the lashes might be horrifying, but revealing his true abilities would likely be even worse. Lance is disgusted with himself to admit he agrees, standing silently on the sidelines and keeping himself from helping, following Keith's lead to bear through it.
Lance almost vomits when the first lash hits with a cracking slap, a large red welt rising to Keith’s skin instantly. The airbender’s brow furrows, biting his lip but other than that he makes no move to acknowledge the strike. The crowd whips into a frenzy, cheering on the soldier and calling for blood with the next lash.
They don’t get what they scream for until the third lash, this one biting into Keith’s skin and finally forcing him to cry out. He stumbles on his feet, pressing heavily into the post to keep himself standing as he feels the slide of blood down his back.
A fourth lash partners with the third, eating cleanly through skin to cause more blood to cascade over the plains of Keith’s back. Lance is physically shaking from his attempt to keep rooted to the spot, to wait out this obscene display before he can grab Keith and flee. They need to get out of here-
The fifth lash is where Keith’s legs give way, knees hitting the ground with a sickening thud, his arms now stretched out above his head.
The sixth lash is where he screams, emitting a bone-chilling wail unlike anything Lance has heard before.
The seventh lash is where his eyes flutter closed and his head falls forward, body limp in the hold of the chains and unable to stop trembling.
The soldier winds up for another hit, drawing his hand back, and suddenly Lance is doing exactly what he shouldn't: he's moving, shouting, “Stop!” and attracting the attention of the entire crowd.
The square is eerily silent as countless eyes turn to him as he runs, putting himself in front of Keith and looking to the soldier with baleful eyes. “Please,” He rasps, “That’s enough – he’s out cold.”
“The punishment is ten lashes,” The soldier informs him coldly, arm not lowering.
“You’ll kill him,” Lance tells him, concern building from just how pale and still Keith is.
“The punishment,” He repeats, “Is ten lashes.”
Lance bites at his lip, brow furrowing. He looks for what he can use, any sources of water he can call to his aid, but the square has nothing of note, nothing he can draw from to protect them both. He’s not sure he could take on the three soldiers, let alone any well meaning citizens who wish to come to his aid. But he knows in his gut that Keith isn’t making it through the full ten lashes, and Lance feels his fingernails dig into the flesh of his palm as an idea comes to mind.
“I’ll take the rest,” He says firmly, refusing to let his voice waver. “The remaining three lashes, I’ll take them for him.”
The soldier watches him through the impassive mask, otherworldly and alien, lacking compassion.
“You said the punishment is ten lashes,” Lance says, “So give me the last three, and we shall be on our way. You won’t see us again.”
The crowd is growing restless at the inaction: they shout and holler at Lance for stopping their show, the other two soldiers struggling to keep their thirst for blood at bay.
“Fine,” The soldier with the whip says with a shrug, lowering his arm for the moment to reset himself. “I prefer the conscious ones anyway – the crowd loves to hear their screams.”
A chill travels down Lance’s back as Keith’s wrists are uncuffed, his body hitting the ground like a sack of sand as soon as he’s released. With a lump in his throat Lance approaches, taking note of Keith’s fluttering breaths before holding his wrists out to be chained themselves.
“Don’t,” The soldier with the whip says. “He’s volunteered for this – I want him to know he’s the only reason he’s standing there.”
The other soldier nods and steps back, Lance gritting his teeth and pressing his hands against the wood of the post. Its rough beneath his fingers, gnarled with age and exposure to rain, leaving him to wonder how many others have placed their hands here and thought the same.
The whip lands without ceremony or warning, Lance’s body jerking forwards into the post from the impact. He can’t help but shout out at the ferocious bloom of pain across his back, unprepared for the unadulterated burn. He distantly feels blood already dripping, his back spasming as it tries to alleviate the pain and his breath gasping out of him.
The second hit lands just as suddenly as the first and he tastes blood as his teeth bite into his tongue. He can’t contain his shout, feeling himself unravel under the pain. Its too much, too much to take, he wasn’t ready-
His body has started trembling and he can’t control it. Out the corner of his eye he sees red material flutter to the ground and realises he didn’t have the forethought to remove his top like Keith. Blood runs the length of his back, soaking into the waistband of his trousers where it cools.
He can hear the soldier jeering at him, for his stupid decision to step forwards, that he can step back quietly any time he likes. The crowd laughs as he ridicules his misplaced heroics, making sure to tell him that playing the hero isn’t worth it.
Lance knows the final hit is going to come when the taunting pauses. He braces himself, palms pressing into the rough wood, and turns his face to watch as the soldier casts the whip. He wants to look him dead in the eye when it lands, wants to be more than this man’s taunting. He steels his jaw and the whip lands, worse than the other two combined, but refuses to give this man another scream. He breathes heavily and keeps his cries to himself, waiting for the whip to lower before he collects himself and tries to stand tall.
Every movement is an ache, a burning flare across his back that causes more blood to drip. There’s a muffled din buzzing in his ears over the roar of the crowd, calling for more lashes for his insolence. He doesn’t listen as the soldiers yell for order, that the punishment has been carried out. The crowd scowls, displeased, but begin to disperse despite themselves.
The soldiers move on: they’ve done what they need to, kept peace and order, and so go back to their positions as Lance drops to his knees beside Keith, feeling for his fluttering pulse and watching the tension in his face even as he lies unconscious.
His top ruined, Lance presses the fabric into the worse of Keith’s wounds to stem what bleeding he can – maybe a crop top wasn’t the best choice, giving him little to absorb with before the material is sodden. Keith doesn’t stir as Lance does what he can, and Lance hopes he stays that way so he doesn’t need to come back to a reality with his back the way it is.
It is…a mess, to say the least. Five angry, deep gashes criss-crossing his back, marring as much skin as the bite of leather could reach. The other two welts are red and swollen, looking almost like burns, but at least the skin isn’t broken with them.
They need to move: they need to get out of here before anyone returns for a round two. Lance can heal them both, but he needs to sacrifice their comfort for their safety, needs to get out of here and get them away from prying eyes before tapping into his abilities.
He refuses to allow himself more than a grunt as he heaves Keith up, slinging an arm across his shoulders and Lance clinging tightly to Keith’s waist to keep him somewhat upright. Lance throws Keith’s discarded top over his shoulder before heaving Keith closer and taking a shaking step.
His back is screaming, aching and burning with each breath, each stumbling step. Keith’s toes trail along the ground after them, the airbender kept blissfully unaware as Lance struggles to get them out of the square, away from the houses, to leave the cursed town behind them.
He’s sweating and gasping, his legs shake and his back- his back encompasses all, demanding every ounce of the attention he has left. Lance keeps his eyes to the ground, refusing to see how far they’ve gone, how far they’ve made it, refusing to look and see if anyone follows them. He can’t watch the pain-staking process of him trying to get them both to safety: he can only watch his feet and count his blessings as they somehow manage to take step after pained step.
He doesn’t know how long it’s been before he collapses, groggily looking around to find themselves in a field of long grass that rises up past his knees. At some point on the journey it started raining, but it’s only now that Lance feels the impact of the droplets on his skin, their cooling sting as they hit the raw welts of his back. He rejoices in the feeling of the rain, despite the pain, drawing some strength from the water’s presence.
Keith hasn’t stirred, his face a pallid white, and Lance raises a hand to his forehead to find it sweaty and hot. He won’t last much longer, and truthfully Lance doesn’t know how much further he can make it.
It doesn’t matter if he’s not made it far enough, he’s out of time.
He rolls Keith onto his front, taking a good long look at the welts. They look both better and worse now, the bleeding having stopped but having swollen further so they stretch the skin of Keith’s back until it looks delicate as tissue paper, ready to tear at any moment.
Lance casts a watchful look to all sides, sighing in relief when he realises that they seem to be alone. Dusk has fallen, the sky turning murky with the evening, and luckily most farmers should be done for the day. They’re as alone as he could hope for.
Without running water Lance calls to the rain, drawing it down to his hands where he encourages his chi to charge it with healing properties, the water beginning to glow a soft blue that reminds him of home. He presses his hands to Keith’s back, wincing as Keith tenses under the touch and gasping, eyes fluttering open with a guttural moan. Lance pushes his chi further, channelling what he can into Keith’s wounds, drawing the source of pain away and into himself.
Keith shudders once, twice, before he feels the pain begin to ebb away and his body relaxes, eyes falling shut as the burning ache of his back feels blessedly cool, numbing out any remaining pain.
Lance sighs, pleased to see Keith relaxing and the slashed skin beginning to draw itself back together. His brow is sweating as he pushes himself further than he ever has before – he’s never felt a desperation like this before, never felt a chi as fragile as Keith’s is right now. He throws everything he has into his hands, and while the wounds close he feels like it just isn’t enough: Keith is weak, the pale yellow of his aura flickering. His body is in shock, unable to accept that Lance has drawn the pain away, certain that danger is still present. That it would be better not to wake, not to feel the pain-
Tears join the rain on Lance’s cheeks as he cries, feeling hopeless and worthless as he gives everything he has and yet knows its not enough. He’s not enough, he can’t do anything right, can’t help, can’t-
He’s shaking, feeling empty as he literally gives Keith his all: he’s already weak with his own wounds, with the trek he endured to get them here. He hasn’t got much to give, but they can’t lose Keith – he’s the only airbender in existence, Allura needs him.
Lance has heard stories of what is happening as he feels his pale blue aura drawing forth from his core, ebbing out of his finger tips into the water of Keith’s back, turning the soft healing glow a blinding cobalt. He knows the stories of sacrifice, of losing yourself, but he can’t will himself to stop. Allura can’t lose her chance to learn with a real life airbender – the fate of the entire world rests on Lance making sure that Keith remains on this mortal coil.
There were plenty of other waterbenders to choose from…
Lance steels his expression and pushes, refusing to fuck this up: he could do this, make this sacrifice, he could accept this price. He just hoped Keith would honour his sacrifice and, when the time came, help Allura as best he could.
But as Lance feels his aura leave his chest, the last faint blue wisps of light making their way into Keith, he feels a wrenching in his gut, as though he’s been violently kicked. He buckles over and gasps, his hands never once leaving Keith’s back. He struggles to breathe as there’s a sudden rush of energy, unknown to his body yet familiar, the opposite side of the coin that is 'him', as a flaring pink aura overshadows his own and lights up Keith’s back in an ultraviolet beacon. Lance can’t draw breath, his chest burning, as the blinding pink light consumes and encompasses him, holds him, supports him, protects and tethers him-
He feels a grin form, feels Keith’s heart begin to beat with renewed vigour, as the pink energy completes the healing process he couldn't manage alone. He isn’t drowning, he’s floating, the aura gathering him into an embrace. He breathes raggedly as soon as his lungs realise they are capable. He feels lighter than air, floating ethereal, with the power of the world at his fingertips.
As suddenly as the pink haze appears it fades, the wrenching of his gut settling and empty in its presence. Lance is gasping violently, shaking and cold with the loss of the warming presence. His shaking hands fall from Keith’s now unmarred back, his entire body trembling and painfully alone with just himself.
He hears a groan and looks down to see Keith stirring, rubbing at his eyes as though he had a bad dream. “Wha…” He grumbles, opening his eyes and wondering why he’s lying soaking wet, shirtless no less, in a field. “Lance?” He groans, the name frustratingly familiar on his tongue.
He hears a sound to his side and turns his head to find Lance kneeling over him: it would be almost creepy if Keith wasn’t so pleased to see him. It’s like he’s just woken from a horrifying nightmare, the sight of a friendly face the greatest gift he could have hoped for right now.
Keith’s eyes widen as he takes in Lance’s face: he looks drained, skin ashen and pale. But, in the dusk of the evening, Lance’s eyes are alight with the illumination of two vibrant blue triangles glowing across his cheekbones.
Keith sits up, feeling a stranger in his own body, raising a shaking hand towards Lance’s face. The waterbender is breathing raggedly, as though he’s just ran a marathon, but his tense features ease as Keith’s fingers trace over the glowing light of his cheek.
With the faintest of touches the blue light disappears as though it were never there at all, and with it Lance’s eyes flutter shut. He emits a breath like a whisper before unceremoniously collapsing forwards to land heavily against Keith, body slack and unmoving.
Keith blinks, looking around for a clue as to what was going on. He remembered…a crowd? Shouting? He…he couldn’t quite…
He looks down and cold horror slices through his gut as he sees three deep gashes in Lance’s back, slicing deeply into the skin. With that look the memories return, right up until the screaming, the darkness, the pain, the agony-
But…now? All he can feel is fatigue, his body heavy as brick, the only proof he can find of the nightmarish memories being the very wounds on Lance’s back.
Unsure what else he should do, Keith scoops Lance’s limp body into his arms, feeling revitalised in a way he never has before. He can ask for details when Lance wakes, but for now Keith needed to focus on getting the both of them out of this rain.
*****
A girl lays on the ground of the campsite, eyes shut and unresponsive to the rain. Her white hair is fanned out in the dirt around her, coiling and reaching as though it hosts a life of its own. Pale pink triangles of light fade from her cheeks as her travelling companions worriedly discuss what it is they should do.
They would have to delay their search for their missing friend, for now.
If only they knew just how close they were to finding him.