Chapter Text
Lance presses the wet cloth to Keith’s face, wiping away the sweat and dirt. His cheeks are flushed and mottled, the red garish against the ashen pallor of his skin. The wound on his chest bleeds sluggishly where he’s slumped against a rock. Lance didn’t know fear could be so exhausting but it’s been gripping him for hours now, claws sunk deep and refusing to let go. He feels like he’s walking the edge of a razor, waiting to slip, to be cut in half. The longer he goes without it happening the more strained his nerves grow until he feels like he’s been stripped raw with sandpaper. Every thought in his oversensitive mind leaves him shuddering and sick to his stomach. None of this feels real.
“Hang on,” he whispers and Keith looks at him through bleary, feverish eyes, breathing heavy but shallow. Lance cups Keith’s cheek, lifting his head when it grows too heavy for him to hold on his own.
Lance is exhausted. He’s been half carrying Keith for the better half of a day, trying to get him help. He thinks back to how they got here, to the battle and how Keith had been stabbed, right under the ribs, the two of them the last ones standing. The shuttle they’d taken down had been destroyed. Electrical interference interrupted their comms through the storm, leaving them stranded. When lightning had hissed and crackled through the air over their heads Lance had been forced to drag Keith from the battlefield. He’d found a shallow ledge to roll them into, protecting Keith from the storm as best he could. He’d pressed Keith deep into the stone, lying between him and the pounding rain, shivering as it soaked the back of his head and neck. At least it washed away the dirt and blood streaking his armor.
Lance had done what he could to press the material of his own suit into the wound. He’d carved off his sleeves with Keith’s knife using the flashes of lightning to guide him. He’d murmured to Keith through the storm, half for his own comfort as it was for Keith, trying to keep him awake. He’d kept one goosebump covered arm around Keith’s waist, pressing one sleeve into the exit wound. The other covered the wound to Keith’s chest. His teeth chatter, tiny beads of water catching on the hair on his arms. He grinds them together to keep quiet until his jaw aches.
Thunder boomed directly overhead making his ears ring. The vibrant green of it against a navy grey sky left him blind. He’d shivered in the cold as the temperature dropped, finally dragging them both out once the storm had passed.
Under Keith’s guidance Lance had made them a temporary shelter, tending to Keith as best he could. The blade had been narrow but had pierced through Keith just under his ribs. He hadn’t died immediately so Lance assumes the sword hadn’t hit anything vital but Keith is in a lot of pain.
“I don’t know how to help you,” Lance rasps, throat tight. He’s cut apart the bloody fabric of his sleeves, binding the wound but there’s little else for him to do.
Shadows lick across Keith’s face cast from the fire, illuminating the sweat beaded on his skin.
“Did you see those plants when we came in?” Keith manages. His breathing is shallow to avoid inflicting any more pain than necessary but he still winces. “The tall ones with the white flowers?” he elaborates. “Were they growing out here too?” His voice is tight with pain, skin streaked with blood and sweat.
“I- I don’t know. Why-”
Keith winces, one hand over the wound. “Looked like yucca,” he says slowly, pain creasing his features. “Might help stop the bleeding.”
“Or it could poison you,” Lance says thickly. He’s trying not to cry, fingers curled into fists over his knees where he’s kneeling next to Keith. The fire is hot against his bare arms but it does little to chase the cold fear from his blood.
Keith opens watery eyes and looks at him. “Think I’m willing to risk it,” he chokes and Lance can’t stand the pain in his eyes.
He nods, the movement stiff and awkward, like turning a rusted handle, grinding and screeching as it does.
“Okay. I’ll go look.” He carefully pulls a tangle of Keith’s hair from his sweaty forehead. “Are you gonna be okay?”
Keith tries to smile. “‘m not goin’ anywhere,” he says thinly, trying to tease. Lance struggles to see through the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.
He nods, averting his eyes and goes to stand.
“Wait.” Keith twists, face screwing up with pain as he pulls his knife free before Lance can stop him.
“Take this.” He holds it out in a shaky hand, paleing further. “Cut off some of the leaves from the base of the plant and bring them back.” His eyes squeeze tightly shut as he holds out the knife. “Think it’s like yucca.”
Lance wraps his hand around both the knife and Keith’s hand, holding on for a moment before taking the blade.
“Yucca?”
Keith’s arm falls back to the ground like it’s made of lead and Lance’s stomach bottoms out.
“Yeah. Grew out in the desert back home. Used it before.”
Lance doesn’t want to think about Keith hurt and alone out in the desert on Earth, how he’d learned to rely on some random plant for help. He hurries out of their temporary shelter before Keith can see him cry.
The storm is clearing, icy light painting the desert around them so Lance can make out shapes in the dark. He stumbles, looking for one of the plants Keith talked about. He has to force himself to think through the panic gripping him, numbing his mind. He can barely process what he’s looking at.
It feels like he walks around for hours in the dark, the firelight from their camp flicking out at him from between the branches and leaves he’d found. He keeps it in sight and finally stumbles into one of the plants.
It’s as tall as his chest and he drops to his knees, Keith’s knife falling from his hands. He folds in half, arms wrapped around himself and sobs. He lets the panic and fear grip him and hold him tight, lets it shake the earth he stands on and swallow him whole.
Lance cuts himself open, letting everything spill out of him. One last roll of thunder hides his scream before he sags over, his forehead pressing into the mud. Rainwater drips from his hair, tears falling from his face before he pulls himself back together, taking jagged breaths.
When he can, Lance sits up, wiping his face and sniffling. Mud streaks over his forehead, getting in his hair when he shoves it back out of his eyes.
“I can do this,” he gasps, staring up at the foreign stars. “I can do this,” he whispers again, voice steadier. He cuts four of the long leaves from the base of the plant, jagged little spikes like aloe catching on his gloves as he does. He brings them back to the shelter, a viscous liquid bleeding from the leaves and coating his armor.
He peeks into the shelter, the leaves bundled to his chest like they’re the most precious thing. He has to squint against the sudden light.
“Keith?”
He’s lying still, face turned towards the fire and Lance’s heart sinks.
He hurries to his side, dropping the leaves and setting the knife down. Lance touches Keith’s shoulder, fearing the worst.
Keith’s eyes flutter open, taking a moment to focus. He tries to smile seeing the thick leaves resting beside Lance.
“Didn’t have to bring that many,” he teases and Lance’s chin trembles.
“Just tell me what to do,” he says weakly.
Keith swallows and there’s that pain again. He’s pretending it doesn’t hurt as much as it does. “Have to crush it, pack it into the wound.”
“How?”
Keith hesitates before answering. “Use a rock...or the knife.”
“It’s gonna get dirt and who knows what else in it. We don’t know what’s in the earth. I am not putting that shit into an open wound, Keith. Is that how you did it at home?”
Keith bites his lip and shakes his head. “I chewed it. But yucca is edible. I don’t know that this stuff is.”
“Fuck it.”
Using the knife Lance cuts up one of the leaves into small chunks, keeping the pieces cradled in his lap, shoving one into his mouth. It grinds to a pulp between his teeth, thick and fibrous before Keith can stop him. It oozes like aloe in his mouth and his face wrinkles at both it and the taste.
He uses the pulp to pack the wound, holding Keith down when he squirms, chewing up several pieces before he’s satisfied. His mouth goes a little numb but doesn’t swell and he hopes it’s a good sign. He spits the excess fluid and saliva from his mouth.
“Can you sit up?”
“Gonna have to help me.”
Lance gets his arms under Keith and helps pull him into a sitting position to get to the wound on his back.
He puts another piece of the plant in his mouth, holding Keith against his chest. The leaf bits make his mouth water and his tongue tingle. Keith’s body is limp and he’s clammy with sweat, hot breath bouncing against Lance’s neck where he’s leaning into him.
Lance pulls the chewed pulp out of his mouth, pressing it into the exit wound and Keith whines. Lance spits again, trying not to gag.
“I know,” Lance whispers, trying to chase the taste from his mouth. “I know. Just hang on.” He packs the wound as best he can to ensure the pulp won’t fall out, then covers both spots with the bloody fabric, rewrapping them. Keith’s eyes are closed as Lance lays him back down, forehead dappled with sweat. Lance holds as much of his weight as he can so Keith doesn't have to. He doesn't have the strength.
When Keith is lying flat again, Lance wipes the sweat and tangled hair from his face.
“You okay?” Keith asks, startling Lance. He does his best to compose his face, focusing on Keith’s hair, smoothing it out as best he can.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “My mouth’s a little numb but I’m hoping it’ll help with the pain.”
Keith nods, his voice weak when he speaks. “It is.” His eyes flutter but his breathing has eased, if only a little. “Glad you’re okay.”
Lance continues petting his hair, not sure what else to do.
“Can you talk to me?” Keith turns into Lance’s hand and Lance peels off his gloves to better touch him. He pretends it’s to check Keith’s fever but knows it’s not.
“What about?”
“Anything,” Keith whispers, breath hot against the inside of Lance’s wrist. “Need something else to focus on.”
Lance’s brain runs in circles, refusing to settle long enough for him to think of something other than a stupid nursery rhyme from when he was a kid.
He takes Keith’s hand, still carding his fingers through his hair, reciting the rhyme in Spanish. Even though he doesn’t understand it, Keith doesn’t mind. He just wants to hear Lance’s voice.
Lance says everything that comes into his head, poems, stories, more rhymes, anything he can think of. He finds himself singing softly, holding Keith’s hand tight.
Keith finally drops into sleep, exhausted, and Lance hopes the plant was able to help with the pain.
Lance stares at him in the firelight, tears in his eyes, fingers still moving numbly through his hair. “Please don’t die.”