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Lance’s hands shake as they try clumsily to screw the cap back on the water bottle, and once it’s on he almost trips over his own feet trying to rush out of the creek bed. His breath comes in puffs as he races back down the path he’d marked yesterday with subtle notches in the tree trunks. The multitude of stringy roots and fallen branches that break through the dry soil almost trip him again, but he nimbly catches himself and slows his pace a little. He can’t afford injure himself further.
The woods are still quiet and tranquil when the cave mouth comes into view. Lance quickly but carefully moves aside the big mess of branches and leaves that conceal it and crawls inside. His shoulder gives a twinge of pain, but he ignores it, just like he’s been ignoring it for days.
The small space that the cave provides is lit with a warm orange glow from the self-powered lantern. The figure on the far side throws a dark shadow high on the rock wall. Lance’s heart pounds. He hasn’t moved at all.
“Keith?”
He shifts only slightly, a turn of his head on the bunched-up material of Lance’s jacket, and blinks when his eyes land on Lance. “Oh. You’re back.”
“Yeah.” He shimmies over to the red paladin’s side and looks him over intently. Keith doesn’t look any worse than when he left fifteen minutes ago, thank god, but he still looks bad. His face is ashen and sweat glistens on his brow and upper lip. Black hair falls in damp, greasy tangles across his sunken, too-bright eyes that unnerve Lance to look at. It doesn’t seem like his breathing’s gotten any better, either.
Lance tightens his jaw but tries not to let any worry show through his expression. He holds up the water bottle. “I got more water. C’mon.”
Keith closes his eyes and lets out a low groan, but works slowly to get his elbows underneath him. Lance places a firm hand on his back as he sits up, worry rolling through his stomach when he feels the unnatural heat radiating from his bare skin. He hands Keith the water bottle and watches him raise it to his lips with a trembling arm. He only manages a few sips before returning it and lying back down.
Lance stares, a question on his lips that he almost doesn’t want to ask. “How…how are you feeling?”
“Shitty.”
He’s not sure what else he expected. He frowns and sets the bottle against the wall with their other belongings–which aren’t very many. The small med kit from the crashed pod, their clothes, Keith’s armor and a few rations are all they have aside from the lantern and the thermal blanket that Keith is under right now. Things are grim. Lance clicks on the radio in his helmet again but is met with dead silence. Just like every other time he’s checked since they crashed.
This mission was only supposed to last a few hours.
“My head…”
Lance’s head whips toward Keith. “Huh?”
Keith’s holding a hand to one side of his face. “My head feels fuzzy. S’hard to think.”
Something squeezes Lance’s stomach. “Do you think it’s getting worse?”
“Mm…” Keith shifts a bit under the blanket and winces. “Yeah.”
Shit. The fever must be have gotten higher. Lance grabs the med kit and scoots closer to the makeshift cot. “Pull down your pants. I wanna look at your leg.”
“Y’don’t have to say it like that,” Keith grumbles, but pushes down the blanket and fumbles with the waistband of his pants anyway.
Lance ends up helping him. Normally he’d be tempted to make some crude joke about getting in Keith’s pants, but right now he’s just worried about what’s under the mass of bandages that starts right where the hem of his boxers ends. He’s careful as he peels them back, though at this point it’s almost routine.
There’s a putrid stench upon removal of the gauze that Lance knows instantly has gotten stronger, but he’s careful to keep his expression blank. It’s hard when he gets a look at the actual wound. It’s only been about ten hours since he last checked it, but it’s gotten noticeably worse. The long gash down the outside of Keith’s thigh is absolutely nasty. It’s swollen, and even though it’s stopped bleeding, it’s leaking pus nonstop. What’s most concerning, though, are the red lines streaking out from it that are slowly crawling further up and down Keith’s leg.
Lance bites his lip in worry. They’ve definitely gotten worse. He can’t even afford to change the dressings as much as he knows he should because of their very limited supply.
This is incredibly, unthinkably bad.
If they don’t get help soon, Keith is going to die. And there’s nothing Lance can do to stop it.
He feels ill. Ever since the crash he’d tried as best he could to keep the wound clean, but in the end his efforts hadn’t made a difference. Keith is so sick he barely sit up, and Lance doesn’t think there’s anything he can do to make him better.
He reaches for the medicines anyway.
“How’s it look?” Keith asks. His voice is so feeble.
“…’Bout the same,” he lies, slathering a generous amount of antiseptic cream on a length of gauze.
“It’s not getting better, is it.”
Lance’s breath halts in his throat. The way Keith said it makes it clear he already knows the answer. Still, Lance doesn’t want to confirm it out loud. He says nothing as he begins wrapping up the leg again with fresh material.
Keith laughs humorlessly. “Y’know, this…this isn’t the way I thought I would go.”
“You’re not gonna die, idiot,” Lance snaps as he tapes the bandage securely and tugs Keith’s pants back up. “It’s gonna be fine. They’ll…they’ll find us soon.” He pulls the blanket up to Keith’s sweaty chest.
“Don’t do that.” Keith draws in a raspy breath. “We don’t have to pretend everything’s gonna be okay. It’s…it’s been days, Lance. The comms are still dead. They’re not gonna find us before I bite it.”
“Don’t say shit like that.” Lance glares, vapors of real anger rising in his chest. “You can’t just give up, Keith. You’re not gonna leave me on this stupid planet by myself, okay? That’d be shitty, even for you.”
“It’s not like I want to, you ass. I don’t wanna die here, but…” He wilts, suddenly. His eyes close and he looks so sick, sicker than Lance has ever seen him. “But I feel really…really bad, Lance. I don’t know–”
He cuts off and his eyes widen.
Lance leans in closer. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m gonna puke.”
He helps Keith sit up and holds back his hair while he vomits into a piece of rounded scrap metal. Not much comes up, just a dribble of foamy bile and the little bit of water he’d had minutes ago. Worry squeezes Lance’s chest again. He can hardly keep anything down anymore–it seems his body’s even rejecting water now.
When Keith lies down again, he’s shaky and panting. Lance wets a strip of cloth with water and wipes his face and mouth. “You okay?”
“As…okay as I can be.”
“Listen.” Lance wets his lips, shifts a bit on the ground. “I think…tomorrow I’m gonna go, uh, look around a bit. I don’t know if this planet’s populated but…I want to find out.”
“What?” Keith turns his head and looks up with confused, fever-bright eyes. “No. There could still be Galra out there…or something else. It’s too dangerous.”
Lance scowls. “You need help, Keith. I can’t just sit here and watch you get worse. If there’s someone on this planet who could help you, I’m gonna find them.”
Keith’s nostrils flare a bit. “Then I’m going with you.”
“Are you delirious or something? You can’t walk.”
“I don’t care. You’re not leavin’ me here by myself.”
“Keith…” Lance has never felt so desperate. He doesn’t want to leave Keith, but the kid said it himself. No one is coming to find them. They’re out of options.
“You’re hurt too,” Keith rasps. “I know your shoulder’s bothering you. I’ll get a crutch, or something. You’re not going by yourself.”
“Keith, you won’t make it! What if we run into something dangerous?”
“Then I won’t be left here wondering if you’re ever coming back!”
At that, Lance draws back. The fear in Keith’s voice is raw and very, very real. It doesn’t have any place coming out of the red paladin’s mouth.
“I don’t want to lose you either,” he continues, his voice trembling. Lance wants to pretend he doesn’t see the tears welling in his eyes. “Lance, I’m scared. I don’t want to die alone. Please, don’t leave me.”
Fuck. Now Lance feels like crying too. He squeezes his eyes shut and presses a fist to his head. What is he supposed to do? He can’t just let Keith die, but now he can’t leave him alone either, and Keith’s too sick to walk. Keith has never pleaded like that before. He’s like a child, helpless and vulnerable and utterly terrified. Lance knows the feeling.
He wishes Shiro were here. He’d know what to do. Lance is just pathetic and inadequate and useless.
They don’t speak for the rest of the night. Lance doesn’t even bother trying to get Keith to eat anything. He wordlessly does whatever he can to make him comfortable and settles down to sleep.
He knows what he has to do. The ache in his chest doesn’t ease up no matter how many times he assures himself that it’s the right thing.
It doesn’t take long before he’s sure that Keith is dead asleep. He’s so lethargic and spacy from the fever that Lance doesn’t even have to worry about waking him up. He packs up what he can afford to bring, which isn’t much–just the barest amount of medical supplies, a couple of ration bars, and the spare water bottle. He leaves everything within easy reach for his sick companion, hopes that he’ll stay on top of cleaning his wound and keep hydrated as best he can.
His heart feels the heaviest it ever has as he bends down to press a kiss to Keith’s feverish brow. “I’m sorry.” Please don’t die.
Before he can change his mind, he leaves.