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It's cold outside. Lance regrets bringing only one jacket, because he could definitely use a few extra layers and maybe a hat of some sort, but he's already made it this far and it'd be a waste of time to go back. He tugs his coat tighter around his abdomen before taking a look around. The air around him is unnaturally still, as it always is during rituals like this, and maybe if he was less experienced it would seem a little daunting.
Lance hisses as his frozen fingers pile dirt on top of the thin wooden box, and his knees pop loudly in the silence as he moves to stand back up. After that, it's just a waiting game.
Must be a slow night in Hell, though, because he doesn't have to wait long.
“Fancy meeting you here,” a feminine voice drawls from behind him. He spins to look at her, and whoever he's summoned is pretending to be is a petite redhead with delicate features. In another life, Lance might've tossed a flirty remark or two her way.
Her eyes flick red, though, and he remembers why he's here.
“I want to make a deal.”
The redhead tips her head to the side curiously. “Not that I'm unhappy to make a deal with one of Voltron's hunters, but what is it you're asking for, here?”
Lance doesn't have the patience – or time – for idle conversation. Every moment counts, and he narrows his eyes at the demon before placing a comforting hand on the blade strapped to his hip. “I want your friend out of mine. And all of the damage undone.”
“Oh!” the redhead says after a pause, tapping a finger against her chin. “I think I know what you're talking about. Your friend's possessed by Raul, right? He does tend to get a little nasty with his containers as... insurance against being exorcised.”
And Lance knows that all too well. He's not sure the nightmares will ever really go away. “Give me ten years for this,” he says steadily, knowing she's just trying to knock him off-kilter. Confidence is part of any negotiation, especially one with such high stakes.
She hums. “It's Keith's soul that Zarkon really wants, but I guess you'll make a fine bargaining chip.”
Lance clenches his fists tightly at the mention of the King of Hell, but it's another problem for another day. “Do we have a deal or not?”
Instead of offering a verbal reply, the redhead steps forward until she's effectively crowding his personal space. She'd be executed in seconds if not for the fact that, regrettably, he actually does need her alive.
The scarlet of her eyes sends a shiver of disgust through him, and Lance has to fight the instinctual desire to stab her clean-through with an enchanted blade. He grimaces throughout the duration of the kiss, but the moment their lips part he can feel the invisible etching of the contract binding over his skin.
“Pleasure doing business with you, Blue. See you in a decade,” she says airily, and when she grins, it's all teeth.
His phone rings shrilly the moment the crossroad demon vanishes, and Lance swipes a frozen finger across the screen to accept the call.
“Hey,” he answers, feeling giddy.
“What the fuck did you do?” Keith growls over the line, and not even the snarl of his livid voice is enough to drop Lance's brilliant smile.
“You're back,” he breathes, relief plain in his tone. It's one thing to make a deal, and another to have solid, undeniable proof of it working.
“Yeah, I'm fucking back, and I'm not bleeding out from a gut wound, which means you've done something irrevocably stupid.”
Fuck, Lance is going to kiss him for all he's worth as soon as he can.
“I didn't do anything,” Lance lies, dusting his jeans off and moving toward his parked car. “Where'd the demon keep your body hidden? I'll come pick you up right now.”
Ten years is plenty of time.