A/N: This work could be triggering for you! This chapter has no warnings, but most of the rest do. You may want to avoid the fic if you will be bothered by: experiences in poverty, drug use/addiction, vehicular accidents, injury, nausea/vomiting, unconventional self-harm, or animal death. For everyone sticking around, this is a collection of prompt fills for Augusnippets 2024, which has a suggestion of keeping each fill under 500 words. I used that as an excuse to get some quick hurt scenes down on paper, but I plan to expand on this fic eventually and turn it into a more complete chapter fic.

Keith never realized how far it was to where Shiro stored the hoverbike at his shack out in the desert, probably because they'd always checked out one of the garrison's rec vehicles and rode together to pick it up. It is not, in fact, a short walk now that he's stuck going it on foot.

The sweat replaces itself as fast as he can wipe it off his face now that he's an hour in. His only solace is that he'd made his break for it in the late afternoon, so it should cool down soon enough. Unfortunately, it will also be dark by that point—it's already getting so dark—and he'll be stumbling around the desert nearly blind.

He'd told Shiro how important it was to always have a go bag. You never know what'll happen or how fast you'll need to make an escape. But noooo, Keith had let the man convince him that he was wrong for being prepared just because he'd been caught storing his daily deodorant and comb in the go bag one time when Shiro had swung by unexpectedly.

…Well, he'd been storing it there all the time, but he'd only been caught the one time. It didn't matter.

Before Shiro had convinced him to unpack, there had been a flashlight and other essentials in that bag, but with the panicked last-minute repacking Keith had resorted to after he was caught off-guard by his own reactions earlier today, he can't remember snagging the flashlight in his rush.

And now Shiro isn't even around for an "I told you so."

…not that there'd probably be an "I told you so" if Shiro hadn't left. Shiro wouldn't have let this happen.

His heart squeezes in his chest, and that's not him missing him. He knows better, knows that everyone leaves sooner or later. It's nothing—just overexerting his chest by carrying this backpack for so long in the heat. That's all.

The first drop of rain goes unnoticed, blending in as well as it does with the droplets of sweat still freely flowing down his forehead. The same goes for the next few, but then it's suddenly raining in sheets.

Fuck. His backpack and everything in it is getting soaked.

Letting out a frustrated yell as the rapid downpour erodes his field of view, he brings a hand up to try to shield his eyes, but it does next to nothing.

If he's gauged the landmarks right so far, only twelve more miles to go or... four hours at an average walking pace.

At least he can't tell he's sweating anymore.