#partially because i wrote over 60k words last month and need a bit of a breather

[theolddarkmachine]

I’ll Take The Blame, You Take My Conscience- Ch. 6

“You love him.”

It wasn’t a question. Panic burned the back of Shiro’s throat as his eyes widened at the statement. He had known his feelings for Keith for some time now, but he knew better than to act on it, aware that he was nothing more than a friend in his best friend’s eyes. It was better for everyone if he just kept it to himself. At least, that’s what he had thought. Then he’d started noticing small things, like how sometimes Keith would let his hands linger on his skin for a fraction longer than he needed to, or how he could feel his gaze tracing the long line of his body when he thought Shiro wouldn’t notice. He’d been planning on telling Keith how he felt at the party. It was amazing how quickly things could change.

“Let him go, Shiro. He’ll need a tool, not a lover. And your love will only make him weak.”

AKA the one where Keith is the leader of a Yakuza clan, Shiro is his ever loyal tool, and they’re caught in a gang war.

Amazing commission by prllnce!

MASTER LIST

AO3

When I started this updated, I thought I would need to combine two chapters to make it long enough. Then it ended up being the longest chapter so far without the help. Typical. Also, I’m doing a 12 Days of Christmas prompt fill! I’m gifting fics to my readers, and all you need to do is send in a prompt! Check out the rules HERE! (Basically, I’ll do pretty much anything minus non-con, underage and the extreme fetishes. Does NOT need to be holiday themed!) Due date is 10/31. There are only five slots left, so get yours today! 

Please also note that I am going to be taking a wee writing break next week. Next update will most likely come 10/19-10/20 time.

**********************************************

Blood was rushing in Keith’s ears and the acrid taste of adrenaline and bile mingled at the top of his throat and coated the back of his tongue as a constant reminder of the worry that had coursed through him. The van he and his waka gashira had piled into hit a pot hole, throwing his shoulder into Pidge’s and cutting her words off as the impact rattled her teeth. Metallic rust filled her mouth as her teeth sunk into her tongue. A small squeak of pain escaped her as she rubbed a hand over her mouth.

“Sorry guys!” Hunk called over his shoulder, eyes never leaving the road as they sped over the Shuto Expressway towards the Yokohama port.

Everything had passed in a blur after Pidge had made her way into his room with news that she’d found Shiro. Almost as soon as the words fell from her mouth, he was out of the room, hand curled around her small bicep as he dragged her through the halls towards Hunk and Lance’s room, shooting rapid fire questions at her the entire way. After informing them of the new development, Keith’s words clipped at the edges and only giving as much as was necessary, they’d grabbed their weapons and piled into one of the clan’s vans that was used specifically for transporting smuggled weapons and the occasional body. Silence had filled the van for the first few minutes of the drive as the only sound any of them made was the mottled, heavy rasps of their breathing.

Or maybe they’d spoken, but Keith had already retreated so far in on himself, clutching to the buoy of hope from those three words that he missed any conversation completely.

I found him.

He’d guarded the words, holding them closely against his chest as he looked over the images Pidge had printed of Zarkon and Sendak pulling Shiro between them as they slipped into the large industrial doors of an empty warehouse. As she’d finally started to speak, Keith barely registered the coordinates she was listing off that she’d managed to pull from the camera that had supplied the grainy greyscale image. He felt his eyes dragging down the sharp line of Shiro’s cheekbone as if he could pull some sort of evidence that he was still alive from the black and white photo. Without color, he couldn’t be sure of the exact hue of the bruise that was pixelated over the high bone, but it was dark enough to register as inky black in the photo. His wine stained gaze traveled further still over the photo, locking onto the fabric that was tied around Shiro’s right arm, covering the stump that ended prematurely about mid-bicep. An even darker blemish dirtied the light cloth with what he knew to be his blood. Keith’s fingers trembled as he caressed the photo, breathing poison laced curses to himself.

“Keith?” Lance’s voice was a near shout that broke him of his reverie. Pulling his hand away from the image as if it had burned him, the oyabun turned his attention to the sharp shooter, a gruff growl rolling around his mouth in acknowledgement.

“We’re 15 minutes out,” the brunette said, crystalline eyes boring into Keith from where he sat in the passenger seat. “Is there a plan?”

A plan. He knew he should have one, but all his mind could focus on was the black ink bruise on Shiro’s cheek and the bloodied stump that had once been his arm. Shiro was within their grasp, and his skin was itching with the need to have him back safely in their hands. Keith hadn’t thought much further than that. He didn’t need a thought out plan, he just needed to get to where Shiro was. Once there, he would do whatever it took to save him. Wasn’t that plan enough?

“The plan is to get Shiro out alive, and kill everyone we need to to do it,” he finally said, his voice burning with malice as he looked out the window. Sunlight was glinting off the water of the Tokyo Bay and he let it momentarily blind him. A thick quiet fell over the four Raion as they ruminated on his words. A tentative hand settled on his bicep.

“I think we need more of a plan than that,” Pidge’s voice was soft as she looked up at him from the seat to his left. “We need you to be a leader right now.” She paused as she chose her next words.

“Shiro is going to need you to be a leader.”

A small bubble of hysteria welled up in his chest at the words that had once been Shiro’s. Pushing it down deep within himself, Keith brought a hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Breathing deeply, he settled the angry pitching in his stomach.

“You’ll stay with the van, Pidge.” His voice was brusque with authority as he laid out his orders, dropping his hand back to his side and fixing his mauve eyes on her. “Since you won’t be in our ears this time around, it will be up to you to send out a signal if things start to go to shit outside the warehouse. Three honks, got it?”

It wasn’t ideal, but they would need to make due with what they had. There hadn’t been time to set up their usual communications when they’d left, or rather, he didn’t let there be time. We can regret that later, he thought to himself as he eyed Pidge, waiting for her confirmation. Her head bobbed in acknowledgement before she turned away from him to look out the window. He tried to ignore the way her shoulders were tensed under the green fabric of her shirt.

We can regret that later.

“Hunk, Lance,” he nearly barked. Lance turned back to face him as Hunk hummed an affirmation.

“You’ll both come with me. Usual rules stand, use blades until you can’t, or until someone else fires first.” Lance’s face faltered slightly as he nodded. “We don’t know how many will be there, and we don’t want to give our position away too early. If they have too much time they could--”

They could kill Shiro.

The words hung like gallows between them as Keith struggled to get them out of his throat. It was just a fact, one that would have been true for any Raion that was captured by their rivals. How many times had he spoken of the chance of death for one of his clansmen in the past? For all they knew, he was already dead, the photos capturing the transport of a corpse. The air grew thick with the implication as the words didn’t come, instead creating a burning lump in his throat.

“They could get him out of there and we’d lose him again,” Hunk’s voice hid the lie well beneath its confident tone. Lance’s electric gaze flashed towards the weapon specialist before he nodded.

“Got it?” Keith asked, voice weak as he swallowed the stone that had been sitting on his vocal chords.

“Got it,” they said in unison, their voices wrapping around each other the way only Hunk and Lance’s did. A small pang of jealousy shuddered through his chest.

“Good. There’s your plan.” His words were flat and lifeless as he ignored the look his two waka gashira shared before Lance turned back to look out at the road ahead of them. Keith shifted his attention to the window beside him, eyes fixed on the fire that danced over the Tokyo Bay as it drew ever closer.

***

Pidge sat in the deserted silence of the van that now seemed far too large without the other three Raion with her. Her job was simple: Wait in the van and be prepared to get them the hell out of there when they came back with Shiro.

“I will bring him back,” Keith had said sharply, his voice barely disguising the feeling of desperation that she shared. They needed to find Shiro here, she knew it and he knew it, but they left the words unsaid. If Shiro wasn’t there, they most likely wouldn’t find him. If they did, he wouldn’t be alive. This was their only chance of getting the saiko-komon back from the Akuma. Pidge sent a silent prayer to the heavens that they would find him., and find him alive. 

Not just for Shiro’s sake, but for Keith’s.

A handgun sat in her lap, the weight of it keeping her grounded as she let her gaze wander over the warehouse and the pier that it sat on.

“Stay safe,” Hunk had said as he’d handed it to her. Lance stood over his shoulder, a small sad smile on his face as he nodded in agreement.

“I’m not the one you have to worry about,” had been her response as her honey gaze flickered toward Keith, who had already pulled his daggers from his thigh sheath as he glared at the large sheet metal doors that stood between them and the bowels of the building.

“We’ll make sure he’s okay,” Lance had said before they left her alone in the van and disappeared into the storehouse.

It had probably been no more than 10 minutes since they left, but those minutes seemed to stretch into an eternity as she waited in the quiet. The hair on her arms stood against a constant chill that was running marathons over her spine. Something had felt wrong, but she hadn’t been able to put her finger on it. But she could feel it. It was the kind of feeling that preceded a storm or any other natural disaster.

As her eyes scanned the area, a pair of shadows appeared in the distance. Though they only stood far off, she could feel their twin gazes burning through the windshield as they appraised the van that was sitting outside of the seemingly empty warehouse. Her heart stuttered as she fixed them with her own questioning gaze, the pair too distant for her to make anything out aside from the direction of their stares.

The cold steel of the gun weighed heavily against her thigh as Pidge watched them, slowly counting her breathes in a vain attempt at slowing her heart rate. Her fingers thrummed nervously against the cracked leather of the steering wheel that lay against her palms, slightly slick with her sweat.

“Calm down, Pidge.” She ignored the way her voice trembled as she continued to keep her amber gaze fixed on the pair as they eyed her in return. “For all you know, they’re just some dock workers.”

The lie was bitter on her tongue as she said it. If there was anything she knew, it was that the only people that would be in the vicinity of the warehouse would be Akuma. They weren’t sloppy enough to leave bystanders around them, especially when they were in Raion territory and had their saiko-komon hidden somewhere inside. While they sometimes grew complacent sitting atop the throne of death that they’d built in order to become the number one clan in the Yamaguchi-gumi, they hardly ever let themselves be sloppy.

Unless it was intentional.

Air was dragged from her lungs in a loud gasp as the realization hit her. Tearing her eyes away from the figures that had started to walk towards the van, she stretched herself around the driver’s seat and reached for the pile of papers that lay alone in the seat behind her. Ignoring the sharp sting of the paper’s edge slicing across the skin of her fingers, she flipped through the pages until she found the photo again. Shiro’s head had fallen forward, limp with his chin tucked into his chest with the weight that his neck couldn’t support. Holding onto his left arm, with the back of his head towards the camera was the Akuma oyabun. If the sword that obediently sat on his side didn’t give it away, his hulking frame would have. That wasn’t what had made her blood run cold though.

Her golden eyes moved towards the last man in the photo. With his large hands clutching what was left of the arm they’d sent to the temple, Sendak stood with his body angled inwards towards Shiro, and thus towards the camera. His head was turned just enough that upon first, and even second, look it appeared that he was looking down at the man that hung limply between the two of them. As Pidge leaned closer, she felt her lungs start to burn with the breath she’d begun to hold as her gaze locked onto that of Sendak’s captured one. It was barely perceptible given the angle and the graininess from the cheap technology, but his glare burnt upwards as it locked onto the gaze of the lense.

Drawing them out had been their intention all along.

Glass sprayed across her face, shards of the driver side window cutting across her cheek as one of the Akuma she’d been keeping an eye on broke the window in with a crowbar. Strong fingers closed around her throat, choking her of oxygen as it pulled her towards the now gaping hole.  The gun in her lap slid from her thigh and caught between the door and the seat.

“What’s a cute little thing like you doing here?” A deep voice hissed against her ear, the heat of the yakuza’s breath raising goosebumps over her skin. Warm liquid began to stain her shirt where the jagged teeth of the window were cutting into her arm and chest as he pulled her further out the opening. Pidge’s breath rasped as she tried to retort, the heavy hand effectively catching the words in her throat.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was here for a friend.” The second voice sounded bored and she could just barely see him leaning against the van with his arms crossed as he eyed the scene. Black spots of unconsciousness and a sinister smile filled her vision as she reached a hand toward the gun that sat precariously perched just beneath her fingertips. She felt the smooth metal brush against her skin.

It was so close.

“We were told to kill all the Raion, but I think we could find some use for you,” her captor smarmed before he cut his dark glance towards his companion. The slight nod of his head was nearly blocked by the large black stain eating away at her sight. Blood was roaring in her ears and a gasp rattled in her lungs. She extended her arm ever so slightly further, the cool metal touching just past the tips of her fingers now.

“I’m sure we could get a great price for her. She does look very young, and you know the young ones always sell well.” It felt as if a knife was twisted in her chest, just above her heart as the words sunk in. Though they were dripping with disinterest, they unlocked a primal fear that gripped her limbs. Images started to melt into the darkness that had nearly taken over her eyesight. Her brother’s smiling face as he laughed at something she’d said. Her father’s hazel eyes that twinkled as he ruffled her hair.

Their blood smeared across the wall of their living room.

Dread was what pushed her hand that final inch between the crevice where the gun had fallen, her fingers blindly finding the grip. The Akuma’s words were a distant thrum as she pulled the pistol up, pointed it towards the direction of the window and pulled the trigger.

All sound slipped away as the shot rang out, replaced instead by a high pitched scream that filled her ears from the proximity of the gunshot. Air rushed into Pidge’s lungs as the hand was wrenched from her throat, finally allowing her to breathe. Pushing herself further into the van and onto the passenger seat, away from the broken window, she gasped greedily at the air as her lungs screamed at her with each shaking breath she took. The black spots started to shrink and the sunlight filled her vision as she saw the man that had choked her holding his hands over his ears as he bent at the waist in pain. His partner had pushed away from the van and was fiddling at his side for his own pistol, eyes wide with surprise.

With a shaking hand and unsteady wheezes, Pidge aimed the nozzle of the pistol at the fumbling man, only taking a moment to say a silent prayer for the family these men had taken from her before she pulled the trigger again. Glass rained down in a shimmering cascade of sunlit crystal as the bullet tore through the window and into the man’s chest.

The shrill keen in her ears persisted as she watched his mouth open and close, forming soundless words as he gaped at her, crimson blossoming like a deadly rose over his shirt before he crumpled to the ground. A twisted grimace obscured her attacker’s face when he noticed his partner on the ground, blood staining the pavement beneath him. One hand went to the gun on his hip as the other clutched the door, ignoring the glass that cut into his palm, red trails spilling over the edge as he glared at her. With one final breath, her lungs finally wrapping around the air she took in comfortably, Pidge held his dark gaze as she pointed the gun at him and fired. The impact at such a short range sent him flying back through a red mist punctuated by jagged pieces of skull.

A beat passed as she breathed evenly in an attempt to quiet the deafening shriek that was muddling the rest of her senses. Then she dropped the gun, only slightly aware of the way it bounced against the carpeted floor of the van. Turning her hands towards her, the palms slick with sweat and their small shape quaking, she inspected them.

It was the first time she’d ever killed anyone.

Pidge’s head began to spin as she stared at her own skin, half expecting her hands to warp and twist with the blood that was now on her hands. The high pitched squeal subsided slightly, the sound of the outside world returning, though it sounded as if it were being strained through cotton balls. A boat in the next pier blared its horn, and a bird landed on the van’s roof, all sounding distant but all producing sound nonetheless.

“Now isn’t the time to panic,” she admonished herself, letting her hands fall into her lap and ignoring the way they still shook against her thighs. Taking another breath so large, her small chest strained against the fabric of her button up, she turned her attention to the warehouse. They’d undoubtedly heard her gunfire. If the Akuma were unaware that they’d yet arrived, they would know now thanks to her panic.

Eyeing the building, she began to count the seconds. No one had run out yet after hearing the sound, which could very well mean they’d already entered into battles of their own. She refused to think about any other reason they may not have returned to check on things outside.

I should sound the signal, she thought to herself as her amber gaze flickered from the industrial doors to the steering wheel that lay between her and them. But we’re so close.

Turning her attention to the clock on the dash, she counted the tick marks. She would give them 10 minutes before she honked the horn that would call Keith and his other waka gashira back out to the van.

“Please find him, Keith.” Her voice was a whisper as she looked back at the building.

Letting her gaze fall from the metal sheeted walls of the warehouse, Pidge leant over to grab the gun from the floor. Carefully setting it back on her lap, she waited, her eyes flickering every couple of seconds back towards the clock.

Nine minutes.

***

Hunk’s tentative footsteps bounced off the metal walls of the hall as he drove further into the warehouse. When they’d pushed into the building, they’d expected to be greeted with a large open space, but were instead met with a long corridor that branched out into two separate paths. Tension had rolled off of Keith in nauseating waves when he’d seen it as he had tried to calculate the amount of time it would take for the three of them to investigate both routes. Hunk saw the way his eyes deadened as he realized that staying together would only increase Shiro’s chances of being killed.

“I’ll take the left,” he’d heard himself say before he’d even known he was going to say anything at all. It had been the obvious choice for him to be the one to go alone. They couldn’t afford to let Keith be overcome by the enemy, and Lance was the next in line after Shiro. So it had only made sense when he offered to go on alone further into the eerie calm of the warehouse. That hadn’t stopped Lance from shooting him an ultramarine glare filled with betrayal and concern.

Shaking his head clear of the way the look had cut into his chest, Hunk pushed forward, eyes sweeping over the hallway that seemed to never end. Something about the walls that didn’t seem to have any doors called up an image of a rat in a maze in his mind, and it made his skin crawl. There was a wrongness about this whole thing, but he couldn’t quite figure out what it was. Why had the Akuma chosen a port right within their territory, not even a full hour away from their temple? He’d been on enough jobs to know that their rivals only stepped so far into their territory to take people for their trafficking schemes. They’d never keep a captive there. At least not unless it was a part of a bigger plan.

Foreboding froze his veins as he made his way deeper into the bowels of the endless hall as his muddled thoughts spilled over each other, clashing against each other like wild animals fighting for a piece of meat.

Tapping his thumb gently against the leather bound handle of his bowie knife that was clutched in his right fist, Hunk began to count the number of steps he took, measuring time and distance with the muffled scuffs of his soft boot soles over the warehouse ground.

Then he heard it.

Carried over the walls, the metallic enclosure amplifying the the distant murmur, was the distinct sound of hissing voices. One was filled gravel while its companion flowed like an undisrupted stream, both pouring over each other with the same musical cadence of a river over rocks.

“-- damn scum can’t keep their noses out of our business,” the hard edged voice growled as Hunk pressed himself against the cool wall. Soft rasps of fabric against metal tickled his back as he slowly dragged himself towards the curve of the hall and the voices.

“Didn’t work out in their favor though, did it. You see the number Sendak did on that one we got?” His heart stilled with the frost that chilled the words of the answering voice as they grew louder, their footsteps mingling with their conversation. Hunk’s nails bit into the flesh of his palm as he tightened his grip on the knife as he picked apart their words in his mind. A short snort from the gravel voice made him growl.

“Won’t be doing much now, will he,” he said with a sadistic chuckle. Waiting just at the turn of the hall, Hunk bit back the sour taste of anger as he listened, calculating their distance from where he stood by the sound of their voices. Their steps grew louder as they drew closer. The sharp tang of rust filled his mouth as Hunk bit his lip as he waited.

“You think they’ll fuck up the Mafia deal?” The lighter voice asked after a moment’s pause. Slowly, Hunk brought his left hand to the holster on his hip, smoothly unbuttoning the strap that kept the gun in place and pulled it from its carrier as he listened intently. Another hard peal of laughter from the man’s companion.

“How could they? Even if we don’t kill them when they come for their friend, they’d have to figure out that we’re shipping them out of the Port of Nagoya,” the sound of a hand clapping against a shoulder punctuated the air. “Showing up that far in our territory would be a suicide mission.”

Long shadows stretched past the corner Hunk hid behind, pausing at the juncture as if to suspend the moment in a solitary point of anticipation. A bead of sweat rolled lazily down Hunk’s temple, pulling a line of moisture over his tanned skin. Time stood still for a hair longer as he steadied himself before he tipped the temporal scales and threw himself around the corner. The grip of his gun struck against the back of one of the Akuma’s head as he smacked his palm against it to bring it down to meet his knee.

“Hey!” The lilting voice of the other Yakuza was cut off as Hunk thrust his elbow upward, catching him below the jaw. A sick crack of teeth smacking together erupted from his mouth as his companion crumpled to the ground in a heap as he pressed his hands to his face. Twisting around in a deadly dance, Hunk spun around the man that was still standing, catching his blue gaze long enough to tighten his jaw. They were the color of the open sky on a spring day. He was behind the man by the time he drew the comparison to another set of cerulean eyes that he knew all too well. Before he could dwell on the similarity, he brought the bowie knife up to his throat and dragged a clean line across his throat. A soft, liquid gurgle bubbled out of his throat before he landed on his knees, pausing for just a second before falling face first to the ground.

Snotty moans pulled Hunk’s attention down to the gravel voiced man on the ground who was reaching a hand to a weapon tucked into the back of his jeans. The distant crack of a gun firing gave them both pause. Air caught in Hunk’s throat as his head whipped towards the sound as if he could see straight through to its cause. Two more shots followed before quiet settled over the hall. The man started to shuffle again in a vain attempt to use the disruption to his advantage.

Hunk’s brown gaze fell back onto the Akuma, a distance dulling the shine that had been there only a moment before. He wasn’t sure how far into the warehouse he was, and how far he was from the rest of the Raion, but if they were the ones to fire those first shots, things had gone wrong. Fear gripped him and drove his arm as he aimed his pistol at the man on the ground.

“Hey man, don’t--” the man started to speak only to be cut off by two shots that caught him in the middle of his chest. Blood welled from the two holes as his head fell back, the life fading from his eyes before it’d even hit the ground. The garnet pool accumulating from both bodies spilled across the concrete and rolled idly towards Hunk, staining the soles of his boots as he stared down at the Akuma. Their gazes stared dully upwards at him, frozen forever in unending shock.

“The Port of Nagoya,” he said under his breath as he knelt down, gently running a hand over the dead men’s eyes to pull their eyelids shut. His mind raced between the gunshots that still echoed in his ears and the information he’d learned. The Akuma were planning another deal there, and from the sounds of it, it involved the American Mafia. If they made it out of the warehouse, he would need to make sure Keith and the rest of the waka gashira knew.

The Port of Nagoya.

Hunk repeated the location like a mantra, letting the cadence of the port’s name calm the worry that was rolling through his limbs. Standing slowly from his position, he tightened his grips on the blood stained bowie knife and pistol as he pressed forward.

***

Tiny sparks of electricity were tickling Lance’s palms as he followed behind Keith, his sense of duty sparring with his affection deep within his chest, leaving him bloodied and raw. He hadn’t even gotten a say in letting Hunk head off on his own, Keith stepping in with a curt nod and pulling him the opposite direction before he could try and make him change his mind. Now he stood in an empty hall, with his brooding oyabun, surrounded by painfully loud silence and unable to watch Hunk-- or any of the rest of his team’s-- backs. Lance hated being in confined spaces like the twisting metal hallway that never seemed to end.

And to make matters worse, he had to fight with a damn knife.

“He’ll be fine, you know.” Keith’s voice was so low, he wondered if he’d imagined it before the leader threw a look over his shoulder, amethyst eyes fixing on him in a fleeting glance.

“I get it,” he continued, voice thin with a vulnerable softness as he turned back to face forward, his steps carrying him further into the building. “But he’s always been able to take care of himself.”  Lance did his best to ignore the small voice in the back of his mind that bitterly pointed out that Shiro had also always been able to take care of himself, until he couldn’t. The eeriness of the seemingly empty building was working his nerves, he told himself as he continued to watch Keith’s back as they pressed onward.

His grip on his tantō felt wrong, and it felt too light as he tried to adjust the way he held it. Without a gun he felt completely useless. Growing up, Keith had always been the one that was better at hand-to-hand combat and knives. The jealousy had eaten away at him until he found out he could shoot ten targets in ten seconds from 100 feet away, and that was without a scope. Walking through the hall, the walls seemingly closing in around them as the silence playing tricks with his mind, Lance felt like that kid again that just couldn’t catch up to his future leader.

“Do you think we’re close?” He asked in an attempt to brush away the quiet that was trying to tempt him into dwelling on Hunk’s position. The answer he received came in the form of a hiss and a hand that stood up in the universal sign for “stop.” He bristled at the gesture. Ears straining to hear whatever discreet noice that had alerted Keith, he nearly ran into his back, stopping himself just short of his tensed shoulders.

“Did you hear something?” Lance’s voice was stiff after several seconds passed without any sounds. Keith lifted a single finger up to his lips as he turned his head just enough for him to see the gesture before he started to pad slowly forward. It wasn’t until he saw the black outlines of shadows against the wall ahead of them that he picked up the barely there whisper of rubber soles against the stone ground. His fingers curled tighter over the hilt of his blade as he tried to recall what little knife training he had, his heart thumping a hummingbird’s beat against his sternum. Keith continued to push forward, his steps quickening as he rushed to meet the Akuma ahead of them.

Then the all too familiar pop of gunfire rang over their heads. The sound rolled over his skin, dragging away his insecurities and leaving a completely different animal in its place. No matter the circumstance of that first shot, it meant his guns were now fair play. Though a bloom of fear burned in his chest as his mind raced to try and pinpoint where exactly they had come from, his blood raced as he dropped his tantō to the ground. Excitement and frustration blazed together, lighting his eyes as he pulled the uzis from the tan holsters that hung just under his arms. He barely registered Keith’s movement as he whipped his own handgun from its holster as he readied himself.

The steps were louder now, the sound multiplying as they sped up, and three Akuma rounded the corner just seconds later. Lance’s first shot caught the one closest in the knee, knocking him down for the second shot that caught him between the eyes. The next shot wasn’t his own as a bullet rushed past his face, the air splitting around it and blowing against his face as it landed somewhere behind him.

Another trio curled around the corner as Keith promptly shot the tallest of the group, the lead from his gun knocking him back as it hit his shoulder. Dodging the metal rain that was descending upon them, the two Raion moved around each other, one water and one smoke as they returned the gunfire. For each rival clansman that fell, another rounded the corner to take his place. It was the kind of set up that meant they were close. Lance felt the heavy determination emanating off Keith in waves as he came to the same realization.

“Keith!” He yelled over the metallic crashing around them.

Another shot and another spray of blood.

“What?” The oyabun yelled back, eyes not leaving the crowd ahead of them as he hit another in the stomach. Lance’s aim caught another in the hand, disrupting the shot he’d been lining up for the man beside him.

“Go on ahead, I’ll take care of these guys!” He felt the hesitation as Keith weighed his options. “I’ve got this, buddy. Shiro needs you.”

The words were steadier than he felt as he tried to reassure his leader. His purple gaze fell on him as he looked away from the Akuma ahead them for the first time. The steel in them had softened and turned pliant with an appreciation that Lance hoped would go unsaid. There would be a time to be thankful, and that time wouldn’t be until they completed their mission. With a small nod of his head as if to offer one final affirmation for Keith to go on without him, he aimed back for the crowd that had thinned out to just five. As he sprayed them with a slew of bullets, Keith ran towards them, hugging the wall until the exact moment Lance pulled his finger off the trigger.

The diversion had caused enough confusion that the oyabun was able to push past them, disappearing around the corner before they’d even had time to register what was happening. He wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline, but Lance could have sworn he saw everything in slow motion as the Akuma puzzled over the disappearance of one of their enemies. One turned to follow, only to be pushed to the ground with the force of the bullet that caught him in the spine.

“Oh no, friends,” Lance said as he widened his stance and brought both of his guns upwards to point toward the four that were left. “I’m not done with you yet.”

***

A sense of knowing was digging deep into Keith’s bones as he walked alone towards where Shiro had to be. He was so close, he could feel it deep within his gut in the form of a gnawing sensation that picked at his insides like a buzzard. Loud shouts and the sound of gunshots ricocheted around him from where Lance had hung back to allow Keith a chance to explore further. Keith suspected it was more so the sharpshooter could run to check on Hunk once he’d cleared the Akuma from the hall. He’d seen the worry that had sharpened the steel in his blue eyes, and no matter how he’d tried to hide it behind a dulled mask of loyalty, it was there staring back at him like a beast waiting to be unleashed.

If Keith looked long enough, the beast twisted into something all too familiar to him.

Another crack bounced around him as he adjusted his grip on his handgun before rounding a sharp corner. A spasm rolled through his chest as his eyes landed on a a pair of imposing doors that interrupted the unending wall of dull metal. Choking back a gasp, he stumbled over himself as he made his way to them, shoulder igniting with pain as he shoved it against the heavy metal and pushed the door open.

The room was dark, lit only by stray rays of sunlight that streamed through a single window that sat in the middle of the wall opposite of him. Golden beams cast an ethereal glow over the otherwise mundane and empty room, the reach of its warming light stopping short of the figure that lay in a heap of limbs and bloodied clothing in the shadows to the far right of the room. Chunks of ice broke off in his veins as he stepped further into the deserted space, drawn towards the unmoving body as if pulled by an invisible string.

His gaze flickered over Shiro, taking inventory of each wound that stood stark against his skin and tracing the line of his side in search of any sign of the rise and fall of breathing. A tremor reverberated through his legs as he finally stood in front of him, knocking them from beneath him as he fell before Shiro’s frame, dropping his gun to the floor with a sharp, metallic clatter. The saiko-komon’s eyelids fluttered and though his breath was shallow, it was there as it tickled over the skin of Keith’s wrist as he ghosted a hand down his cheek. Blood had long stained the white of his bangs to a deep rust, the thick crust of coagulation matting it together. The bruise from the image was a mottled black and purple with sickly green feathering its edges.

Keith’s heart squeezed as his eyes dragged down towards the stump that was trapped between Shiro’s side and the cold ground, the weight of the loss settling onto his shoulders and turning his stomach. Heat climbed up his chest as it gagged him, the sound of his dry heaves filling the room.

“Sendak does great work, doesn’t he?”

The voice twisted with a calm malice as it spoke, sending a thrill of vehemence through Keith as a feral snarl tore from his lips. Grabbing his handgun from the ground, he flipped his position around, still crouching protectively in front of Shiro as he pointed the muzzle at the intruder.

“You’ve got yourself a strong one.” Zarkon sauntered forward from the shadowed corner he had been waiting in, the tip of his sword scraping along the ground as he moved closer. His teeth gleamed with the sunlight as he smiled at Keith, looking down at him over his nose. Keith’s finger twitched over the trigger. “Even after Sendak sawed his arm off, he still wouldn’t tell us anything about you, little lion.”

The harsh rasp of metal against concrete subsided as Zarkon stopped his advance, stopping in the middle of the room, obsidian eyes boring through Keith.

“Maybe I’ll keep him for myself.”

Keith pulled the trigger, the loud explosion of the gun firing filling the air. Onyx held amethyst as Zarkon’s glare stayed trained on the Raion as the bullet flew past him and buried itself in the wall behind him with the deafening clang of iron against steel. In a flash of metal and sunlight, he lunged forward, sword raised above his head. Keith pushed off the ground, using the energy of his coiled muscled to throw himself forward. Meeting Zarkon in the space between them, he thrust his shoulder into the older man’s stomach and wrapped his arms around his middle as they crashed to the ground. As soon as he felt the impact of the Akuma’s back, Keith scrambled upward, grasping a handful of his black shirt within his left fist as he threw the right towards his face. The sound of bone crunched satisfyingly beneath the force of the gun that was still clutched in his hand.

Zarkon grunted with the impact, quickly retaliating by thrusting the butt of his sword’s hilt into Keith’s temple, knocking away his senses and throwing him off his chest and onto the ground. The room spun around him as Keith pushed himself up again, not allowing himself to linger. Sardonic laughter darted around him, the sound wet with the blood that was spilling over Zarkon’s lips from his shattered nose.

“I touched a nerve,” he spat, blood splashing over the grey ground as he sat up. A single strand of inky black hair fell from the slicked back plane atop his head and curved over his eyes. They were practically glowing as he stared at the younger leader, their intensity like that of a wolf setting its sight on its prey. Sunlight glinted against the tip of the sword as he pointed at Keith. “I’ll enjoy killing you, Kogane.”

A sharp smile pulled the corners of Keith’s mouth up, baring his teeth.

“Likewise.”

Leveling the gun, he fired another shot, growling as Zarkon swiftly dodged the bullet by rolling forward and quickly getting to his feet, advancing towards Keith. He fired again before the metal slipped from his fingers as Zarkon pushed against him, the flat of his sword pressing against the Raion’s chest as he was pushed into the wall. The impact stole the air from his lungs as the back of his head smacked the metal with an angry crack. His bruisde ribs screamed against the pressure as he pressed into him. Stars ate away his vision as he blindly grabbed for the sword that was crushing against his chest. Hot breath brushed the bridge of his nose as Zarkon pushed closer. The blade bit into Keith’s left palm, blood spilling between his fingers as he grasped it. His right found the hilt, the sudden change in momentum catching Zarkon by surprise as he wrenched it from his grasp.

It clattered noisily as it skittered over the ground. Taking advantage of the moment, Keith brought his hands up behind the Akuma’s neck and pulled him down as he thrust his knee upwards into his chest. Stumbling backwards with a small gasp, Zarkon’s eyes were wild with an inhuman fury. Fixing him with matching acrimony, Keith’s fist caught the older leader’s jaw before he spun, throwing the force of it into a kick square to the Akuma’s chest. The power behind it sent him stumbling backwards, only stopping once his back landed heavily against the wall behind him.

Three sharp honks tore through the symphony of gasping breaths as Zarkon and Keith glared at each other from opposite ends of the room. A liquid warmth was spilling down his temple, painting his light skin a haunting crimson as his mauve gaze burned holes into the elder oyabun’s flesh. Time stretched between them as Keith’s fingers twitched over his push daggers, his handgun lying abandoned on the ground about six feet from where he stood. It felt as if a spell had fallen over the room as silence settled over the space. He could kill Zarkon now and be done with it. The end of this bloody war between their clans was within his grasp, all he had to do was reach out and grab it. His fingers trembled at the sheath again as he dragged in a calming breath.

Now was his chance.

Then one word shattered the trance over the room into a million jagged pieces.

“Keith.”

It was a whispered exhalation, a barely there utterance that dealt more damage than any of the blows Zarkon had landed. With just one murmur, Shiro had pulled Keith back down from his bloodthirsty rage. Lightning quick, the oyabun’s fingers closed over the three daggers on his thigh, each handle slotting neatly between them. The first he threw buried itself deep within the flesh of Zarkon’s thigh, eliciting nothing more than a pained grunt from the man. Keith let loose the second dagger almost as soon as the first had made its mark, this one tearing through the top of his shoulder and pinning the fabric of his shirt to the wall behind him. With one final flick of his wrist, the third dagger twisted through the air and landed in the wall just to the right of the Akuma leader’s face, cutting a jagged line into his cheek and ear as it passed. A seamless veil of garnet rolled down Zarkon’s cheek.

Turning on his heel, Keith faced where Shiro lay against the ground, his eyes still shut and his eyebrows drawn together as he grimaced. Another breath carried his name over the full ridge of his saiko-komon’s lips.

“Do you not intend to kill me, lion?” Zarkon’s voice was filled with black humor as he watched Keith shove his hands under Shiro’s armpits so he could pull him up into a seated position. Ignoring the taunt and the fire it ignited in his chest, Keith knelt next to his best friend’s unconscious body and pulled his left arm over his shoulders so he could use the strength of his legs to push them both up. Grasping the arm with his left hand, ignoring the sting from the deep cut in his palm, and wrapping his right arm around his waist, he supported his weight as he slowly made his way to the door.

“You’re a coward,” the Akuma roared as Keith got to the doorway, reveling in the way the Raion oyabun paused. “Just like your father.”

Turning just enough to fix Zarkon with a glare brimming with disaster and ruin, Keith’s face twisted into a look of unadulterated fury. A beat passed filled with nothing but their labored breathing as wars waged in the silence between them. Keith was the first to speak.

“I’ll be back for those,” he spat before he turned back towards the exit, Shiro leaning heavily into his side, his head pressing into the crook of his neck and his labored breaths tickling his skin.

It wasn’t just a threat, but a promise. Acid twisted in his stomach as he dragged them both through the twisting hall towards the van that would finally take them home.

He would make good on his word. They weren’t finished yet.

**************************