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Someone is touching Silver’s forehead.
It feels nice. Cool, but gentle, unlike the hard surface beneath him. He opens his eyes, squinting at the bright light, and has to blink a few times before Lance comes into focus.
“Hey, kiddo.” Lance brushes Silver’s hair away from his face. “I’d ask how you’re feeling, but you just passed out on the bathroom floor.”
Oh, that explains it. Silver groans and closes his eyes. His pajamas are sticking to his skin. “Wanted to shower.”
“Sweetheart, you need to rest.” Lance keeps stroking Silver’s hair. If he doesn’t stop, Silver is gonna do something embarrassing like fall asleep. “C’mon, let’s get you back on the couch.”
Silver gives another halfhearted groan, not opening his eyes. “Don’t call me that.”
Lance laughs. “Okay, deerling.” He slides one arm under Silver’s back and another under his knees, scooping him up like he weighs nothing. “Up we go.”
“You don’t have to carry me,” Silver mumbles into Lance’s shoulder. His entire body seems to go slack, exhaustion turning his limbs to jelly. He barely registers that Lance is moving.
“And you don’t have to be getting up, so we’re even.” Lance sets Silver down on a soft surface and tucks a blanket over him. “All right, kid, go to sleep. I’ll wake you when it’s time to take your medicine.”
Silver opens his eyes, grabbing the nearest thing he can reach—Lance’s cape—before he realizes what he’s doing. “Stay? Uh, I mean…only if you want to.”
“Of course.” Lance sits down next to Silver. “I’ll be right here.”
“Mm.” Just to make sure, Silver keeps his eyes open.
“Sleep.” Lance runs a hand over Silver’s hair. He smiles. “Don’t make me sing you a lullaby.”
Lance’s singing voice is nice, but Silver isn’t about to tell him that. “You’re embarrassing—”
A sudden coughing fit rattles his whole body. Lance helps him sit up, pulling Silver onto his lap, and pats his back.
If he weren’t busy hacking his lungs out, Silver might try to move away from Lance. Or not, because this is comfy and he’s sick. That’s a built-in excuse for being annoying…even if it makes him look kind of weak.
He coughs again and feels his stomach churn. Uh oh. “Lance?”
Silver tries to say this casually. Lance’s face gets all concerned-looking anyway. “Yeah?”
“Um.” Silver stops, coughing. “I think I might…puke?”
“Whoa, okay.” Lance grabs a small wastebasket from the floor beside him. He gives it to Silver, who hunches over it and keeps coughing. “It’s okay, kiddo. I’ve got you.”
That’s cheesy, Silver thinks, and then he retches. Nothing happens—he doesn’t remember the last time he ate something solid. It still sucks, though.
Lance rubs his back. “I know,” he murmurs, like Silver’s saying something instead of just dry heaving.
After a few minutes of this, Silver sits back and leans against the nearest available surface. Unfortunately for his pride, that happens to be Lance.
Silver wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He frowns. “Gross.”
Lance makes a noncommittal humming sound as he puts the wastebasket aside. “I’ve seen worse.”
“From me, or from the baby dragons?”
“Both.” Lance brushes Silver’s hair away from his face, then touches his forehead again. “You feeling any better after that?”
Well, he’s less nauseated, but his chest hurts and he’s achy all over. Instead of saying anything, though, Silver shuts his eyes. He keeps them closed as Lance’s hand moves to his cheek. Maybe if he holds really still, he can stay like this.
Except then a chill runs through him and he starts to shiver. He’s huddled up (in a comfortable, if mortifying, way) against Lance, and he knows the temperature in the room hasn’t changed, but it’s like someone’s dumped a bucket of ice-cold water on him.
“Hmm.” Lance rests his head on top of Silver’s. He rubs the younger trainer’s arm, apparently in an attempt to warm him up. “Yeah, you’re still running a fever.”
Silver snuggles closer without thinking about it, as if Lance is a giant heating pad instead of a human being who’s probably annoyed by his clinginess. It’s effective, though, because soon enough he stops shivering.
Something about this situation makes Silver very drowsy. He guesses he must like physical touch or whatever, because he could stay here for a long time. It feels secure.
At some point he dozes off, too relaxed—when did that happen?—to care about what a nuisance he’s being. When he wakes up, he’s still tired and sore, but he’s no longer chilly. Also, Lance is rubbing his back.
“Kid.” Lance lifts his head. (Silver misses it, then cringes at himself for being so needy.) “Hey, it’s been a while since you had something to eat.”
That’s not true. Silver had a cup of orange juice…at seven o’clock this morning. He coughs a few times and groans. “Not hungry.”
“I know, but you still have to eat. I’m gonna make you some rice porridge, okay?”
Rice porridge sounds good. Getting up does not. “Mm. No.”
“Yes,” Lance says. He slides an arm under Silver’s knees before standing up in one smooth motion. (Silver, caught by surprise, makes an undignified squawking sound.) “Don’t worry, you’re coming with me.”
Silver hides his face against Lance’s chest, clutching his cape. “Fine. If you insist.”
Once they’re in the kitchen, Lance puts Silver on the counter as easily as if he were a bag of groceries. “You want anything to drink? Water, juice, don’t say coffee—”
Silver closes his mouth. “Hmph.”
“I’ll get you a cup of water.” Lance smiles and ruffles Silver’s hair.
He fills a cup about halfway, placing a straw in it before handing it over. Silver takes a small sip and watches Lance get out his cooking supplies.
(Silver’s been camped out in Lance’s guest room long enough to know that the older trainer is surprisingly good at cooking. Better at baking, though.)
Lance takes a container of cooked rice out of the fridge. He adds some to the pot, then pours in water and turns on the stove. “Okay, kiddo, what toppings would you like? Nothing spicy.”
Damn it. Silver considers this. “Green onions?”
“Great choice!” As he puts the rest of the rice back in the fridge, Lance gets out a bundle of green onions. He washes them and starts chopping them up. They go into a small bowl, which he sets to the side.
Silver drinks more water. Then he has to stop and try not to puke when the nausea comes back in full force, shoving his stomach all the way up his throat. Is he gonna be able to eat any food?
Maybe Silver is just easy to read, or maybe Lance is watching for this type of thing—either way, he turns to Silver with a concerned, possibly angry expression on his face. “Do you feel like you might throw up again?”
It’s ten times more embarrassing when he says it out loud like that. Silver looks away and keeps his mouth shut. “Mm-mm.”
“Nothing to be ashamed of. You’re sick—it happens.” Lance speaks with his usual optimistic conviction, as though he genuinely believes Silver doesn’t need to feel bad about this. “Tell me if it gets worse, all right?”
If it got much worse, Silver would be busy throwing up (or, like, trying to throw up) in the kitchen sink. “Mm.”
Lance sets down the spoon he’s using to stir the porridge, then covers the pot. He goes over to Silver and ruffles his hair again.
While Silver doesn’t flinch the way he sometimes does—hey, look at that—he doesn’t get why Lance is doing this. Sure, he could always use the assurance that Lance isn’t upset with him, but it’s confusing.
Oh, wait, now Lance is touching his forehead. Silver huffs and looks away. “’M fine. You can stop checking on me.”
“Hmm.” Lance flips his hand around so his palm is against Silver’s skin. “You definitely still have a fever.”
It would be super easy for Silver to fall asleep right now. He blinks, willing himself to focus. “You don’t know that for sure.”
“Want me to prove it?” Lance lifts his hand and brushes some of Silver’s hair away from his face. “I can go get the thermometer.”
Ugh, now Silver has to say yes. He shrugs. “If you want to.”
Lance smiles. “Okay, sit tight. I’ll be back before you notice I’m gone.”
That vastly underestimates how clingy Silver is. To his credit, though, Lance returns within a minute…not that Silver was paying attention or anything. “Got it! Open up, kiddo.”
Silver rolls his eyes and lets Lance stick the thermometer under his tongue. After a few seconds, it starts beeping.
Lance takes it out, checks the reading, and sets it to the side. His expression is kind of smug, like I told you so, but also kind of concerned, like I told you so. “Thirty-eight point nine.”
“That’s not super high.” (Silver has no idea whether or not this is true.)
“Higher than it should be.” Lance gives Silver a quick kiss on the forehead before shifting his attention to the stove.
It takes Silver a moment to process this, and then he speedruns the spectrum of emotions from shock to mild disgust to disbelief to the most mortifying of them all: comfort. Then he goes back to disbelief. That wasn’t affectionate, just practical. Because he has a fever and Lance wanted to check his temperature.
For his part, Lance is acting like that was a normal thing to do. And chances are it would be normal for other people, but Silver isn’t someone who…deserves to be treated gently. You know, on account of him being broken. Does that make sense? Maybe he’s overthinking it.
Once the porridge is done, Lance takes out two bowls. He fills one for Silver, then for himself, and adds green onions on top. “There’s plenty left,” he says, as if Silver can just eat all this food without feeling bad about it, “so let me know if you want more.”
Silver nods and hops off the counter. He’s fine for about two seconds.
Then his legs buckle and Lance has to catch him before he faceplants on the floor. (Since Silver’s head is spinning for some reason, he doesn’t fully process how embarrassing this is.) “Whoa, hey. Not so fast.”
Part of Silver—the mushy, pathetic part that doesn’t mind being taken care of or whatever—wants to give in and see if Lance will carry him. But there’s a reason Silver ignores that part, so he peels himself away. “’M fine.”
Lance helps Silver to his feet. “Hmm.”
“I am, ” Silver insists, leaning in…some direction. He can’t exactly tell. Is this a wall?
No, it’s too warm and comfortable to be a wall. And it’s moving. “I’ve got you. Let’s go.”
Lance drags him back to the living room, then makes him sit down on the couch. (Silver puts his head back and stares at the ceiling.) “Stay right there, kiddo. I’ll be back in a sec.”
What were they doing? Silver blinks a few times as he tries to remember. Oh, right—kitchen. Rice porridge. Counter, which he jumped off of too quickly. Now he’s just dizzy.
When Lance comes back, he’s holding two bowls, each with a spoon in it and a lot of green onions on top. He starts to hand one to Silver. “All good?”
“Yeah.” Silver sits up, taking the bowl. “Thanks.”
“Oh, let me grab some water for you.” Lance heads back to the kitchen before Silver can say hey, the room’s stopped spinning. He returns with the cup of water Silver was drinking earlier, which he sets down on the coffee table.
Silver isn’t hungry, but apparently he needs to eat every so often or he gets, as Clair puts it, ‘extra bitchy.’ Whatever—the rice porridge tastes good, and it’s not making him puke, so he’ll go with it. He wishes he could have put chili oil on top, though.
Or not, because halfway through the bowl he has to stop and cough again. He tries to do this as quietly as possible in case Lance decides to get all worried.
A quick peek at the older trainer informs Silver that he’s wearing a concerned-or-angry expression again. “You okay?”
“Mm-hmm,” Silver replies between coughs, ignoring the way his insides feel like they’re about to become his outsides.
Lance reaches for the wastebasket. I don’t need that, Silver thinks, and then he starts throwing up. A lot.
One of Lance’s favorite things to say when Silver is visibly going through it: ‘I’ve got you.’ He’s saying it right now, as he rubs Silver’s back. Embarrassing, but Silver is a little preoccupied at the moment, so he lets it happen.
He continues to puke his guts out while Lance continues to act like he’s concerned instead of inconvenienced. They do this for a few more minutes until Silver’s nausea dies down and he can (sort of) breathe again.
This might be a new low for Silver, which is really saying something. “Sorry.”
Lance keeps rubbing his back. “You don’t have to apologize.”
“You cooked food for me and I threw it all up. It’s wasteful.” Silver drags his hand across the lower half of his face. He puts the wastebasket down, trying not to pay attention to the contents. “And gross.”
“Not your fault you’re sick, kid.”
Eh, Silver isn’t entirely convinced that’s true. “Still.”
Lance brushes Silver’s hair away from his face. (Silver hopes he didn’t get any puke in there. He should tie his hair back the next time he has to do this much vomiting.) “It’s okay.”
Silver feels…somehow even more gross than he did before, when he tried to go take a shower because he was all sweaty. Now there’s another layer of sweat sticking to his skin and he just got done throwing up. “Ugh.”
“Wait one sec.” Lance moves away, which Silver doesn’t mind at all, because he doesn’t even want attention. “I’ll be right back.”
Unclear what Lance is getting or what it’s for. Hopefully it’s cold, though, because Silver is burning up. He thinks about asking for an ice pack, then decides not to. Maybe he can have Sneasel freeze something to his face later.
When Lance returns, he has a damp washcloth in his hand. “Here, let’s get you cleaned up.”
Huh. Silver leans forward—wow, his entire body is sore—and tries to grab the cloth. “I can do that myself.”
Lance holds it out of his reach. “Oh, I know, but it’ll be faster and easier for me to do it.”
He puts his other hand behind Silver’s head, right above his neck. Before Silver can protest, he feels the washcloth on his forehead. It’s cool to the touch.
As much as it sucks to admit, Lance is right. He’s efficient but gentle, which might be strange if it weren’t embarrassingly soothing. Silver almost wants to close his eyes. “Why are you so good at this?”
Lance shrugs, smiling. “Natural talent. Lift your head up for me.”
Silver does as he’s told. Lance runs the washcloth under his chin, then down his neck. After that, he goes back over Silver’s forehead and cheeks.
“There we go.” Lance sits back. “Better?”
Silver looks away. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Lance sets the washcloth aside and picks up the cup of water. “Think you can keep some water down?”
As long as he doesn’t chug it, sure. Silver nods. (He’s kind of tempted to chug it.)
“Don’t go too fast.” Lance hands him the cup.
Silver puts the straw in his mouth to take a small sip. Then Lance does that thing where he just looks at Silver without speaking, and Silver can’t tell if he’s mad or not, so he gets kind of wigged out. “What?”
“Nothing,” Lance says, smiling.
He wouldn’t be smiling like that if he were mad, right? Silver looks away. “Hmph.”
A few sips of water later, he’s had enough to make his mouth taste less disgusting, but not enough to make him nauseated again. He lowers the cup.
“Okay, kiddo, you know what time it is.” Lance looks at Silver like he’s expecting a response.
Ugh, fine. As much as Silver tries to keep his tone deadpan, he kind of wants to laugh. “Medicine time?”
“Medicine time.” Lance scribbles something on the notepad he’s been using to keep track of this stuff. His hand drags over the ink as he writes, smudging it slightly.
(Silver often feels like he has mixed emotions about…everything, but he especially doesn’t know what to make of Lance acting like he cares. On one hand, the attention is nice, and Silver guesses he needs to rest up when he’s sick or whatever. On the other hand, he knows for a fact that Lance has more important things to do than make sure he eats food and takes his medicine.)
Because he’s the most theatrical person Silver knows, Lance holds up two medicine bottles with a flourish. “You want the fever stuff first, or the antibiotics?”
He asks every time, even though it makes literally no difference. Silver shrugs. “Fever stuff, I guess?”
Lance uncaps one of the bottles, shakes out two white tablets, and hands them to Silver. “Here you go.”
Silver mumbles his thanks before putting the pills in his mouth. He considers swallowing them dry, but Lance meets his eyes and gives him a look that says don’t even think about it, so he takes a sip of water.
Next, Lance measures out a spoonful of bright pink sludge. He offers the spoon to Silver. “Drink up.”
The sludge tastes sort of good…even if it’s meant for small children, which Silver only found out when he got bored enough to search up ‘amoxicillin oral suspension.’ It’s like bubblegum if you made it slightly shittier, then turned it into a goopy liquid. He swallows and takes the spoon out of his mouth. “Thanks.”
“Of course.” Lance puts the cap back on the bottle. “You’re not getting tired of the way this tastes, right? You still need to take it for a few more days.”
Silver shrugs and drinks some more water. “It’s not bad.”
“Okay.” Something glints in Lance’s eyes as he grins. “The doctor said this stuff is popular with little kids, so I figured you’d like it.”
At first Silver is affronted. Then he thinks it’s kind of funny. After that, he’s…weirdly comforted? Even though he knows Lance is joking around, all this consideration and attention is nice. It’s making him feel less hollow inside, whatever that means.
Still, he’s not about to let it show, so he rolls his eyes and puts the cup back on the coffee table. “Yeah, whatever.”
“I’m just teasing.” Lance ruffles Silver’s hair. “You should get some sleep, kiddo.”
Now that Lance has told him to do it, Silver doesn’t want to. “No.”
“All right, come here.” Lance shifts to let Silver nestle against his side. He puts an arm around the younger trainer’s shoulders and squeezes. “I’m not leaving. Go to sleep.”
Silver isn’t tired—or, he is, just in the sore way instead of the sleepy way—but it doesn’t seem like Lance is going to give in. Maybe if he closes his eyes and pretends to take a nap, then…
(He’s out cold within a few minutes.)
The thing about Silver, Lance knows, is that he’s equal parts stubborn and independent. Oh, and his specific type of trauma has convinced him he needs to prove himself useful (or capable, or self-sufficient) at all times unless he wants to be abandoned again. Plus he’s just not good at respecting his own limits, because that means admitting they exist.
All of this to say: when Silver wakes up and gets to his feet despite being very sick and very dizzy, Lance is not surprised. Tired, yes. Concerned, definitely. But not surprised. “Slow down there, kiddo.”
Silver blinks, swaying a bit as he looks down and tries to widen his stance. He puts his arms out for balance like he’s on a tightrope.
From a guardian’s perspective, it’s adorable and Lance can’t stop himself from smiling. From a responsible guardian’s perspective, he needs to get Silver to sit down before he falls over. “Kid—”
“’M fine.” Silver squeezes his eyes closed, then opens them wide. “This just happens sometimes.”
Okay, they’ll have to unpack that later. For now, Lance makes a mental note to take Silver back to the doctor and get some labs done. The main problem is that this would mean a blood draw, which would mean Silver passing out because he’s terrified of needles…and possibly anemic.
While Lance is thinking about all of this, Silver starts to walk in the direction of the kitchen. Lance goes after him. “Hey, where do you think you’re headed?”
“Kitchen. Gonna get some water,” Silver says, his tone nonchalant like this is the most normal and rational thing to do in his condition.
“I’ll get it for you. Go sit down.”
“No, I’ll do it. Don’t want help.”
“I understand that, but you should be resting.” Lance pauses. “You know, because you have pneumonia.”
“I’m fine.” Silver steps to the side, trips over nothing, and has to catch himself on the back of a kitchen chair. “Oh, shit.”
Lance steadies him with one hand on each arm. “Okay. Yeah. I’ve got you.”
Even with Lance holding him in place—and while Lance doesn’t mean to brag, he’s quite strong—Silver wobbles like a baby girafarig. He lets go of the chair, which makes him stagger backward a few steps as he tries to find his balance.
“Hey. Come on.” Lance pulls the chair out and tries to set Silver down in it.
“No,” Silver half-mumbles, half-whines, leaning into him. “Don’t leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Lance wraps his arms around Silver. If he can’t get the kid to sit in a chair… “It’s okay.”
As Lance lowers both of them to the floor, Silver keeps clinging. He turns his head to the side a little bit so his face isn’t completely hidden. “Hey, Lance?”
“Yeah?”
“I might…need to sit down.”
Lance hums in acknowledgment. “You think?”
Silver mumbles something unintelligible. Then he passes out.
“O-kay. C’mon, deerling.” Lance rubs Silver’s back and wonders if he’s supposed to have the kid lie down. Maybe, but his instincts stop him from letting go. “We’re okay.”
Silver’s doing a pretty good impression of a rag doll. A few seconds pass before he stirs, moving slowly and then jolting awake. “Wha?”
“Hey, welcome back.” Lance gives him a squeeze around the shoulders. “It’s all right, I’ve got you.”
“Mm.” Silver makes another unintelligible series of sounds. Knowing him, it’s probably something like, ‘I’m fine, just fainted again, no big deal.’
“You should lie down.” Lance has Silver lie on his back, which is easier than usual because he’s still kind of floppy.
He is trying to cling, though. And he’s mumbling something. Lance runs a hand over his hair. “I’ll be right here, kiddo. It’s okay.”
Silver mumbles some more and closes his eyes. Lance moves his hand to Silver’s forehead, brushing his hair out of his face. Maybe his temperature has gone down a bit, or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on Lance’s part.
Another interesting (and sort of concerning, if Lance thinks about it too much) trait Silver has: he can sleep on any surface, in any position, no matter how uncomfortable it might seem. He also seems to fall asleep faster when Lance is around. Like right now, lying flat on the kitchen floor.
Well, if it gets him to rest, Lance will go with it. He takes off his cape and puts it over Silver…which somehow wakes him up. (Whoops.) “Huh?”
Lance thinks of the baby dratini in the Dragon’s Den nursery and how hard it is to get them to fall asleep again after being disturbed. “Nothing. You can go back to sleep.”
“Mm. No, ’m good now.” Silver quickly sits up, then winces and wobbles a bit. “Whoa.”
Lance lets the kid lean against him. “Silver…”
At this, Silver jumps a bit and looks up at Lance. “Am I in trouble?”
“What?” Lance frowns, then realizes that this action is slightly counterproductive. “No, I’m not mad. I just don’t want you to pass out again.”
“Oh.” Silver blinks. “But…you used my name. Like, my name name. Not one of those goofy nicknames.”
Lance finds himself smiling. “You’re not in trouble, kiddo, so don’t worry about that.”
“Hmm.” Silver leans his head against Lance. “I guess I don’t hate the nicknames.”
“Glad to hear it, sweetheart.”
At first Silver looks irritated. After that, he looks amused, and then his expression becomes wistful. (Lance thinks it’s cute that Silver’s emotions are so clearly written across his face. Silver disagrees.) “I used to wish my parents would call me those kinds of things instead of…you know.”
While Lance doesn’t have all the details, he’s got some idea, and it makes him a teeny bit homicidal. He rubs Silver’s upper arm.
“It was mostly normal stuff. Like, they’d tell me I was an embarrassment, or that I was wasting everything they’d given me. Whatever.” Silver shrugs. “They called me a candle a lot. Maybe that counts?”
A candle? Lance’s take: Silver is bright, helpful, and nice to have around. Something tells him that’s not what the kid’s parents meant, though. “Why?”
Another shrug. “’Cause you have to burn me to get me to work.”
Lance barely stops himself from taking a sharp breath in. “Kid…”
“It’s fine.” Silver hides his face against Lance’s chest. “I-it was dumb and a long time ago. I don’t know why I even brought it up.”
It’s not fine, and Lance wants to make sure Silver understands that, but it’ll have to wait until after this whole pneumonia thing. He runs a hand over Silver’s hair. “Well, I’m not going to burn you, deerling, and I plan to keep calling you the goofiest nicknames I can think of.”
Silver is still hiding his face. “Cool.”
He stays like that for a while—long enough to make Lance wonder whether he’s fallen asleep again, in which case Lance plans to put him on the couch and wrap him up snugly enough to keep him from escaping—and then lifts his head. With the backs of his hands, he rubs his eyes. “So…now what?”
Now Lance is going to make sure Silver gets some rest. “You ready to go back to the couch?”
“I can walk,” Silver says. He pulls away…then crashes right back into Lance when he gets dizzy.
“Absolutely not.” Lance scoops Silver up and carries him into the living room.
When they get to the couch, Lance sets Silver down. Or, more accurately, he tries to set Silver down and is only halfway successful. “Hey, kiddo, you gotta let go. Don’t worry, I’ll stay right here.”
“I’m not worried,” Silver says, clinging to Lance like he’s about to fall off a cliff. “I don’t even care. You can leave.”
“I won’t.” As gently as he can, Lance starts to pry Silver’s hands open. “You have my word.”
Silver releases his hold, but he doesn’t look happy about it. “Mm.”
“There we go.” Lance grabs a throw pillow. “You wanna sit up a little? It might be easier to breathe that way.”
“Yeah—” Before he can properly sit up, Silver starts coughing again.
“It’s okay.” Lance helps Silver move into a seated position and pats his back. “I’m right here. It’ll pass.”
Silver keeps coughing, seeming to get paler by the minute. His eyes start to look frantic. Is he able to breathe?
By virtue of Silver being both reckless and unlucky, Lance has seen him pass out multiple times. (It’s great for Lance’s blood pressure.) He doesn’t usually seem this scared, though.
“C’mon, deerling. You’re okay.” Lance puts his arm around Silver, who’s coughing with less force now…maybe because he’s about to lose consciousness. “I’ve got you.”
Silver leans into Lance, attempting to grab the front of his jacket. He makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a whine. Lance’s rough translation: I don’t feel good—help.
“I know, sweetheart.” Lance turns slightly to press a kiss to the top of Silver’s head. What can he do other than wait it out while trying to comfort the kid? “It’ll be okay.”
The good news: Silver’s coughing has died down, so he can breathe again. The bad news: his breaths are coming fast and shallow, like he’s trying not to faint or throw up.
Lance can work with that, though. “Let’s slow down our breathing, all right? Follow me.” He takes a few deliberate breaths as he rubs the kid’s back.
Silver’s breaths get deeper, but not much slower. “Lance?”
Well, this isn’t looking great. Lance keeps his tone calm, hoping Silver doesn’t notice his heartbeat speeding up. “I’m right here, kiddo.”
“’M gonna pass out.”
“Okay.” Lance pulls him closer. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Fear seeps into Silver’s voice, pitching it higher and shakier. “I don’t wanna.”
“I know. I’ll be here to catch you, I promise.”
Since his face is hidden and his body language isn’t much help at the moment, it’s not clear whether Silver believes this, or whether he can even hear it. He mumbles something Lance can’t understand.
“You’re safe.” Lance rests his head on top of Silver’s. “I won’t let anything hurt you.”
Silver groans. His whole body goes limp except for his head and right arm, which jerk a few times.
From the alarming amount of medical background reading he’s had to do since he became Silver’s unofficial guardian, Lance knows this is just a fainting thing. That said, it still freaks him out.
About fifteen seconds later, Silver seems to wake up. He mumbles vaguely and nuzzles into Lance’s chest, letting his eyes close again.
How this kid manages to be so cute and yet so stress-inducing might remain a mystery forever. Lance runs his thumb over Silver’s cheek. “I’ve got you.”
Most of the time, Silver doesn’t let people touch his face. He’s only started to tolerate it from Lance, and only when he’s sick or hurt. Something Lance has figured out: it’s not that being touched bothers him, but rather that it comforts him. Very effectively. And to Silver, that’s a vulnerability reserved for extenuating circumstances.
Right now his guard is down—although not all the way, because he’s still Silver—which means he’s accepting the affection without complaint. Lance gives the top of his head another kiss.
For the next few minutes, Silver tries to slow his breathing to match Lance’s. Once he’s caught on, and once he’s done some internal screaming because gods, this is adorable, Lance starts to give quiet encouragement. “Deep breaths, kiddo. You’re doing really well so far.”
Sort of related to Silver’s ‘I can’t let anyone know that physical touch comforts me because it’ll make me look weak’ thing is his refusal to accept words of affirmation. Except when he’s very ill or injured, in which case the mask drops and he drinks up praise like he’s been lost in the desert for weeks. (Lance is noticing a theme here.)
Once he’s recovered enough to lift his head and look around, Silver pulls away…partially. He averts his eyes. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. No need to apologize.”
“Hmm.” Silver’s gaze stays fixed on the floor.
Lance uses the back of his hand to touch Silver’s forehead. “Feeling any better?”
Silver sits back against the couch, staying close to Lance. “Yeah.”
“No more fainting on me, got it?” Lance gives Silver’s hair a gentle ruffle.
If he weren’t so drained, Silver might make that funny little smirking expression. “Aren’t you always telling me I need more sleep?”
This gets a laugh out of Lance. “You do, but not like that. You’re turning my hair gray, kid.”
“Just stop worrying about me…old man.”
“Mm, that’s not about to happen.”
Silver looks at the floor, then at Lance, then back at the floor. “Thanks for…you know, putting up with me.”
“It’s not ‘putting up with’ you if I care about you and enjoy your company.” Lance smiles. “Which I do, by the way.”
“Ew.” Silver leans into Lance’s side.
“Yeah. It’s true, though.”
There’s a pause, and then Silver mumbles something under his breath. Lance decides to push his luck a bit. “I didn’t quite catch that, kiddo. What’d you say?”
“I said I…care about you too, I guess. Whatever. We don’t need to make a big deal out of it.”
Happy barely begins to describe how this makes Lance feel. Overjoyed, elated, knocked off his feet by a tidal wave of affection, smiling so much his face gets sore—that’s more like it.
Silver groans and hides his face in his hands. “Forget I said anything.”
Lance shrugs. “All right.”
“You’re still smiling, aren’t you?”
“Yep.”
Silver looks at Lance through the gaps between his fingers. “Mm.”
Lance’s face is actually starting to hurt, so he lets his expression shift closer to normal as he ruffles Silver’s hair. “You wanna watch a movie, or are you ready to go to sleep?”
“I dunno.” Silver yawns, moving his hands so they’re only covering the lower half of his face. “I’m not tired.”
“Uh-huh.”
There’s a brief silence. It seems like Silver wants to ask something, so Lance stays quiet.
“Can you…” Silver looks away. He puts his hands down and fiddles with the hem of his shirt. “When you said earlier that you could, um, sing or whatever…”
Lance has seen a lot of cute stuff in his time looking after baby dragons and (more recently) a human kid, but this has to be the most adorable thing in the entire world. He tries not to sound too happy in case it makes Silver take back his request. “Yeah?”
“I know you were probably joking. Um, if you weren’t, though…?”
Okay, Lance can’t resist. He smiles. “You want me to sing to you?”
Silver cringes. “Ugh, don’t say it like that.”
“Sure, kiddo, I’d love to.” Lance tilts his head to the side, still smiling. “Any specific song you have in mind?”
There’s another pause before Silver makes an I don’t know sound. He leans his head against Lance’s shoulder. “You choose.”
“All right.” Lance thinks for a moment, then picks…well, he isn’t sure what the song’s name is, or if it even has a name, but he’s known the melody and words for his entire life. It’s the song he sings to the dratini in the nursery when no one else is around.
As he starts the first verse, he feels Silver relax a little bit. (And Clair said he’d never get any transferable skills from taking care of baby pokémon.) It’s a lullaby, so he takes his time while doing his best to keep his voice low. By the time he gets through the chorus, Silver is completely knocked out.
Lance finds one of his capes in the pile of blankets on the couch. He wraps it around Silver before adding the kid’s favorite-but-he’ll-never-admit-it purple blanket on top. Then he puts his arm around the younger trainer, pulling him closer.
Silver will probably try to push himself too hard when he wakes up, and Lance will have to re-convince him to let himself rest. For now, though, this is perfect.