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Blearily, he opens his eyes.
Everything around him is either blurred or shaking, which, come to think of it, was probably not a good thing. He tries to get up, only to have a sharp stab of pain to remind him that, no, he's not allowed to get up, not without injuring himself beyond repair. He would try to take it out, but he's pretty sure that's the only thing keeping him from bleeding out and dying. Well- there's already a fair amount of blood pooling beneath him, but not enough to be lethal.
Yet.
He isn't sure how long he's been in this ship for, but it hasn't been an hour, yet, because that's when the bombs are supposed to go off. He's got- no, he had a timer on his wrist, courtesy of the Blade's suits, but right now, his wrist (and hand, by default) is in another part of the ship, probably already starting to decay. The pain coming from his forearm has long since faded (well- it's still there, but numbed down to a point where he pretends he still has a hand), leaving him confused on whether or not it's still there; He's not risking shock by looking at his hand. Or his thigh.
He feels something warm slide down his cheek, spilling onto the ground beneath him, mixing into the dark pool of red. He thinks it's more blood.
Then there are footsteps, and a thought manages to slip through a crack-
Are they coming to save me?
He pushes it down just as quickly, because no, they aren't. He's just a minor casualty in a huge war; They can't risk more members on a dead man. His life isn't worth more than billions of people.
He can't let himself hope. If he hopes, then he'll be even more hurt in the end.
He lets his eyes drift shut, thoughts wandering to Lance as unconsciousness takes him once more.
He doesn't open his eyes this time.
This time, there's a blaring alarm, and he knows it will be flashing colours, so he keeps them closed to save himself from a migraine.
There are distant booms, which means the bombs have gone off, and he accepts it.
This is where he dies.
He doesn't want to die, of course, but his life isn't worth it. He chose to go onto this mission, despite it being a suicide mission. The Blade knew he could die- would die going on this mission, they even warmed him, but he went anyways. His life for the greater good.
This mission could cripple the Galra Empire- it's where most of the druids stay, nearly half. If he blows it up, Zarkon will be without half of his army.
But then he got caught.
He'd managed to place almost all of the bombs- he missed two spots- when a Galra soldier caught him from behind. They'd managed to cut off his wrist before he could grab his knife. He's ambidextrous, so it's not much of a problem for fighting, but the blood loss and pain made him dizzy during the fight. He'd got shoved down with a foot to his chest, some massive bruises, but no broken ribs, and then their sword was shoved into his thigh to keep him down. They'd laughed as Keith choked on his own blood, trying to take out the sword. They left, assuming he would die and do no more harm, which wasn't the best choice.
He'd thrown his last bomb onto the guard's foot- it had attached, thankfully- and the other on the floor, a few feet to his left.
He'd completed his mission.
So here he waits, laying in his own slowly growing pool of blood. The bomb beside him is bound to go off any second, and he accepts it.
He's going to die, and he's not going to see Lance again.
He's not going to be able to hold him after nightmares anymore, tease him until he makes him stop with a kiss, try to tickle him, only to fail and be tickled senseless. He's not going to be able to go to him after missions anymore, cry in his shirt when the war- all of it- gets too much, and he won't be able to do the same for Lance.
The warmth on his cheeks is back, and he realises that, no, it's not blood.
He's crying.
He wants to live.
He wants to see Lance again.
"Keith! "
His fingers are starting to go numb, probably turning blue. It's probably for the best.
There's another boom; One that jostles the floor beneath him and shakes the sword, sending a wave of agony up his whole body. He doesn't have the breath to scream, so he lets out a small whimper, squeezing his eyes tighter together and grits his teeth.
He wants to see Lance.
He wants to see Lance.
He wants-
"Keith!"
Lance?
"Yeah, yeah," There's a warm hand cupping his cold cheek, wiping away the tears that slid down. "It's Lance. I'm here, baby, I'm here," Keith struggles to open his eyes. It's painful- but he- he needs to- he wants Lance- "I'm right here, it's okay, you're gonna be fine, okay?"
Keith lets out a choked sob, blood coating the back of his throat as he cracks his eyes open. "L-La-"
"Shh, shh," Lance smiles sadly at him, his own tan cheeks tear-stained and bloody. "It's okay. I'm here now, novio, I'm here," Lance grips his numb hand, stroking his thumb along the knuckles. "This is gonna hurt, okay? It's gonna hurt really badly, but I need you to be strong and stay awake, okay? Be strong for me, novio."
He can do that. He can be strong for Lance.
"Okay, Kolivan," Lance turns his head, continuing to brush away his tears with the hand on his face. "I think he's good."
There's a reply, he knows there is, but he can't hear it. He turns his head, trying to look for the bomb- but he catches sight of his han- not his hand, his stump of arm that's bleeding freely and it finally settles in.
He's missing his hand.
His breathing stops, stomach churning as he stares at it.
"No- no, baby, don't look at it," Lance is turning his head towards him. "Look at me, okay? Don't look at it."
Keith nods, biting his lower lip to keep it from trembling.
"Kolivan? Any time now, please," Lance snaps, eyes focused on Keith's.
"I can hear them coming," Kolivan, probably, says, voice dangerously low.
"Then hurry up!"
There's a wave of agony in his leg as something is removed- probably the sword- letting fresh air enter the gaping hole. His stomach churns once more.
"Hey- hey, open your eyes," Keith obeys the disembodied voice, peering up at Lance. Lance smiles watery down at him. "Kolivan-"
"I'll keep them busy," There's a scrape- one that sounds suspiciously like a sword coming out of a sheath- as Kolivan talks. "Get the kit out of here."
"What? Are you crazy?"
Then the door bangs open, and Kolivan is charging forwards with silent footsteps.
He must've blacked out for a few minutes, because the next thing he knows, he's in Lance's arms, being carried down the hall, each step jostling his injuries. His left arm-the one without a hand- is cradled on his chest, bleeding freely. His other arm is hanging loosely off Lance's shoulders, threatening to fall off.
Lance's blue eyes are filled with tears, mouth in a thin line, face determined.
He loves this man.
He loves him.
"L-Lance," His voice is hardly above a whisper, but somehow, Lance manages to hear him. Lance looks down for a split second before looking back up, anger sparking in his eyes. Why is he angry? "I- Iov-"
"I know," Lance says, stumbling as an explosion rocks the ship. "I love you too, novio. Save your energy."
Keith nods weakly.
Another explosion rocks the ship, much closer than the last- close enough that he can feel the heat. Lance trips, falling to one knee, somehow managing to keep Keith from hitting the floor.
They're not going to make it.
"Lance," he gasps, trying to push his way out. "L-leave me, I'm not gonna live-" he wants to live. He does- but he wants Lance to live more. "I'm w-weighing you d-down-"
"No," Lance snaps, eyes hard. "I'm not leaving you, I'll never fucking leave you. We're both getting out of this-"
Keith shakes his head, more tears gathering. "Leave-"
"No!"
Another explosion, much, much closer, goes through the ship, parts of the wall falling behind them. Lance's eyes widen, but quickly harden once more, set with determination. He curls over Keith protectively, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
"I love you," Lance whispers, his own tears dropping onto Keith's cheeks and mixing with his. "I love you so much."
"'love you t-too."
Another explosion, and everything goes black.