A/N: I used Translate for the Spanish in this chapter, so I apologise an advance for any mistakes.
"¡Déjame solo, Marco!" Lance panted, struggling to sit up and staring blindly ahead of him. "Quiero dormir, no puedo ir a alimentar al gato."
Keith had no idea what he was saying. But the Blue Paladin was clearly hallucinating, as Keith did remember Marco was the name of one of his brothers, and that guy was currently lightyears away.
He gently pushed Lance back to a lying position. Hallucinating or not, Keith couldn't have someone in his condition moving around the room and hurting himself further. The ice bag that rested on Lance's head fell off when he tried to sit, and Keith put it back in place – though he doubted the ice was doing any difference at this point. Lance's fever had stayed persistent for the last couple of hours, sending the sick boy reeling between sleep so deep Keith had to check several times he was still breathing, and bouts of distressed wakefulness, where he'd either moan in pain or babble in his mother tongue.
It was all very frustrating and tiring for Keith, who's developed his own headache from his rounds in the boiling heat this planet produced, living on nothing more than two nutrition bars a day (he was pretty sure he was dehydrated, too, after trying to save most of their water supply for Lance; but he didn't say anything to Pidge, as he didn't want to scare the girl further. It's been hard enough to convince her to get some sleep and let him take first watch, stressing they couldn't both be too sleep-deprived to function).
He hated being so helpless, stuck in the small, dark Lion like this. He wasn't the kind of guy who would sit around and wait for things to happen – he made them happen. He wouldn't spend hours by the bedside of an ill friend, holding their hand and murmuring soothing words – he was never good at comforting others; he would go and stab whoever did this to them in the face, that's what he'd do.
The thought brought back the sight of the slain Galra, trapped under the wreckage of their ship in the middle of the desert, and Keith buried his head between his knees and just breathed for a moment. He had seen some disgusting stuff in this war, but some things were impossible to get used to.
Just like there were some enemies that were impossible to beat with his sword alone.
Not for the first time, Keith wished Shiro was here. Or even Hunk. The latter would do a much better job in calming Lance down and bringing him back from his fever dreams.
As if on cue, Lance opened a pair of red-rimmed eyes and stared right at him. Keith braced himself for another hallucination, but what the boy said – with surprising lucidity – was, "You're not Marco."
Keith raised an eyebrow. "No, I'm not," he said. Then, for some reason, he added, "Sorry about that."
Lance's shoulders bucked in disappointment, as if hearing that from Keith himself smashed his last hope of seeing his brother. "We…" he shivered and made a clumsy attempt to hug himself with one arm. "Are we ever gonna go back?"
"To the Castle? Of course we are. We just need to ride out this storm, and then we can locate the others in no time."
Lance was clearly uncomforted by the answer as his lower lip trembled. "I meant… are we ever gonna go back home. T-t-to Earth."
Oh. Keith looked at the ceiling, praying for someone to help him through this conversation. "Eventually, yes, I suppose," he said.
"You don't sound like you believe it," Lance grunted.
"Well, what do you want me to say?!" Keith burst out – he knew it was wrong, he knew he needed to be more sensitive, but he was exhausted and hungry and his headache was getting worse by the minute – "I can't tell the future! I don't know how this part of the universe works! Honestly, as far as I know, we can all die from starvation before the storm even ends!"
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
Keith's ears rang, foul taste stood in his mouth. He expected Lance to yell back at him – hell, he deserved that – just like how their usual fights went. But all Lance did was turn away from him – or, at least he tried to, because that meant lying on the side of his bad arm, and he hissed in pain after putting the slightest weight on it. He sighed in defeat and closed his eyes. "Sorry," he whispered.
"No, I'm sorry," Keith rubbed the side of his head, his face warm. "It's been a… tough couple of days, that's all. But I shouldn't take this out on you. It's not your fault."
"Pidge said the same," Lance said without opening his eyes. "You too are really working hard to make me feel less crappy about myself, y'know?"
"Are you complaining?" Keith asked, a tentative smile tugging at his lips.
Lance gave a one-shouldered shrug. "It's just funny, the fact that I need to be practically dying for you to be nice to me."
The smile vanished from Keith's face.
He opened his mouth to argue…
…but no argument came out, as he realized deep inside of him there was a tiny grain of truth in Lance's words.
It was as if someone had just kicked him in the guts.
Apparently, Lance was shaken by his own words as well, as his face darkened in a way that had nothing to do with his temperature and be brought his left palm to cover his eyes. "Oh man. I don't know why I said that. Mi cabeza está en llamas."
"Hey, it's okay – " Keith spread his hands in a soothing gesture as the other boy began to thrash and claw at his undersuit as if he was trying to peel it off.
"H-hot," he blurted out, even though his teeth chattered as he spoke. "Estoy tan caliente, get if off, get it off…"
Keith's heart skipped a beat. This was the first time Lance complained about being hot instead of cold. He didn't know whether it was a good sign or not – he had no idea how space viruses worked – but one thing he was certain of: he needed to calm the boy down before he hyperventilated or hurt himself in any way.
He grabbed Lance's left wrist. Lance whimpered, but Keith did not let go. "You can't take off your undersuit – not with your arm wrapped like that," he pointed with his chin at the improvised sling. Cutting through the fabric with his blade was not an option either, since Keith didn't trust himself to be focused enough or Lance to stay still enough, and the last thing the latter needed was another wound.
"We still have some bandages left," he said. "I can rinse them with water and wipe your face, okay? It'll make you feel better."
Lance's eyes still radiated utter panic, but since he stopped struggling, Keith wasted no time waiting for consent and made a beeline for the first aid kit and the water jerrycan he stored at the corner of the room. He regretted not putting it in the fridge, but it was better than nothing. He walked back to Lance with the soaked bandages, kneeled in front of the cot and started wiping Lance's face in slow movements, trying to be as careful as possible around the bruises littering the pale skin.
Lance sighed and Keith felt him relaxing a bit under his touch. "Esto se siente bien," he croaked.
"A-ha," Keith said, confused.
Lance licked his dry lips. "Gracias, Papá," he said, and before Keith had the chance to blush because he did get that last word, Lance was out. Whether he fell asleep or passed out, Keith wasn't sure, but he was grateful for not having to pretend he was Lance's father. His nerves could only handle this much.
"What's going on?" a voice asked from behind him and Keith jumped, nearly dropping the bandages. Pidge stood at the door, yawning and rubbing her eyes. "I heard yelling… wasn't sure at first if I was dreaming or not."
Keith looked at his sleeping teammate. "He was hallucinating again, and complaining he was hot. But I wiped his face with some wet bandages and that helped a little," he said curtly, unwilling to elaborate.
"Good." Pidge said and sat next to him on the floor. "Well, since I'm already awake, I can take it from here. No offense, but you look like you got run over by the Yellow Lion."
Keith threw the bandages away as they got too lukewarm to be helpful. "I'm fine," he said, but couldn't resist the need to rub his knuckles against his eyes. "But I'm not good at this."
"Me neither," Pidge admitted. "Hunk is the Mother Theresa among us. I'm better with computers than with people."
Keith huffed. "You have no idea how much I relate to that. But in my case, it's not computers. Training bots, maybe."
Pidge patted his shoulder. "But I know you care. You looked after us since we crashed here, going out in this heat and all. And you're doing a great job taking care of Lance, too."
Her last words stung him like a needle. He bit his lips and looked at his lap. "He keeps apologizing," he mumbled, "Like it's his fault."
"Yeah…" Pidge said, looking thoughtful. "I feel like we… we're too harsh on him sometimes. In training, or in missions. I always laugh at him for calling himself 'the sharpshooter'…" she shook her head. "And I don't even know why. He is a great sniper."
"Yeah, but – he's making fun of other people, too!" Keith said, knowing he was being awfully childish, but he couldn't help it. "All these jokes about my hair, and-and me being his 'nemesis' or whatever! I never understand why he says all these things!"
Pidge smiled sadly. "Isn't it obvious? He's jealous of your skills. Keith, the guy admires you. If he hadn't, he wouldn't have been so obsessed with you."
Keith stared at her in confusion. "Are you sure? Because he has a funny way of showing that."
"He talked about you earlier. He said you were a better pilot than Iverson."
Keith felt as if someone threw a bucket of icy water at him. "Lance said that? Are you sure you're not hallucinating as well?"
"Look, Lance comes from a big family, the youngest out of five brothers and sisters," Pidge said patiently. "He's used to getting into fights and being loud – it was probably his only way to get people's attention. And you know how much he misses his family – " a shadow passed through her eyes for a moment and Keith, who still remembered yelling at her for wanting to leave the team to find her father and brother, suddenly felt very ashamed of himself – "Maybe he's teasing you because that's what he used to do with his brothers, and he wants to recreate that experience. So, you should actually be flattered."
They sat silent for a while as her words sank. Then, Keith said with a small smile, "Are you sure you're better with computers than with people?"
Pidge's cheeks pinkened. "I… don't know? I guess being stuck in your Lion for two days straight makes you think…" she shuffled uncomfortably and tinkered with her glasses, not looking at him directly. "Anyway, you should go to bed! The sun's about to rise and I'm not letting you out there again before you get some sleep."
Keith smirked at her attempt to change the subject, but he couldn't argue with his need of sleep, especially as he started to feel dizzy from exhaustion. He stood up and dragged himself on unsteady feet to the cockpit, where the pilot chair was still set horizontally. The soft light of the peach-colored, clear sky poured through the windshield, indicating another day was around the corner.
Keith was just about to lower himself to the chair when he froze.
Clear sky?
He ran to the windshield and looked closely, squeezing his nose against the glass. The sky, which has been dusty and grainy for the past two days, was now so bright and clean he could make out the shape of the sun coming up in the horizon, yellow and smooth as butter. It reminded him of the sunrises he used to watch with his father when he was still alive, just the two of them in the middle of the desert, and a pinch of longing pierced his heart – but he had no time to think about it right now.
"Pidge, I think the storm is over!" he exclaimed.
Pidge bolted from the back cabin and stared through the windshield in disbelief. A huge grin spread on her face. "Finally!" she called. "Green will probably be back online soon, and we can call the Castle and get the hell out of – "
The smile vanished from her face at once, and her eyes rounded behind the glasses in terror.
Keith looked out again and felt his stomach sink.
A black spot stained the pink horizon. It became larger and larger as it approached the Green Lion in terrifying speed, quickly materializing into something more than just a spot.
A Galra warship.