whatsacactus | (no subject)

Keith. We're a team. We look after each other, good and bad, all right?

[And you are an absolute idiot if you think Shiro's going to let you take care of yourself when you're this badly off. He shouldn't have let Keith handle the wounds on his own to begin with, he always has had a perilous disregard for his personal health and safety.]

Now c'mon. I can't carry you. Let's get you into the bathroom. I need you out of your flight suit.

[There's an irritated noise he swallows down in his throat, doesn't dare let it out. He knows he's too tired to win this. Instead, he uses the energy to pull himself up to sit, head against Shiro's shoulder for a minute not even thinking.

Get his breath. Breathe.

Another minute working up to it and he carefully swings his feet to the floor to stand. A little shaky, but he makes it.]

...Bathroom, right?

[He supports him as best he can, tucking Keith in against his good side and wrapping his arm around him. He barely feels like he weighs anything at all, and he's so hot it's almost scalding.]

I just wanna look you over. Maybe get you a shower.

[He nods and starts to the bathroom. Thankfully it's one of the only two doors on this floor so it's not hard to remember which. He hadn't appreciated before how big the whole bathroom actually is, but now with the both of them in there and how hot he feels, he can't help but notice it doesn't feel crowded.

He sits heavy on the side of the tub to get his breath. Just a second. Just-- a minute for him to breathe before he starts working out of the suit. It's rough underneath - a black and purple pattern of bruises, strips of gauze and tape over gashes that bled through before that sleep. There's a clear problem around his rib area on his back; he'd slammed and crashed into the different railings on the outpost so many times during that fight, was slammed against the floor with his and Shiro's weight. Its discoloration is the worst by far.

He sort of kicks the suit away when he gets it to his ankles, sitting there sweating in just his boxers and looks up at Shiro.]

Edited 2018-06-22 15:56 (UTC)

[Each bruise and contusion, each scrape and scar has its own counterpart mapped out on Shiro's skin. He remembers the fight the way one remembers a dream. Some things are knife sharp and cut the psyche, some are already fading into darkness.

Shiro knows that he - his clone - didn't hold back. But Keith did.

His expression is shuttered. No time for self-pity or admonition. Keith needs him in the here and now.

He checks him over with military brusqueness, gentle but efficient as he peels back bandages and checks the skin for heat. The source of the infection is a deep cut (the Galra hand) that made it past the armour and got Keith against the shoulder blade. Not deep enough to score the bone but the skin is jagged and inflamed. He climbed like this.

Shiro sets his jaw.]

Stay here. I'm going to get the last of the antisceptic. This needs to be cleaned and stitched up or at least taped closed.

[He keeps his voice steady. He isn't about to take his anger and frustration out on Keith.

He leaves him as comfortable as possible and sweeps the house. Things get upturned, drawers dumped out on the floor with increasing frantic desperation.

Downstairs, he finds it. A box of Altean and Galra medical supplies - out of date even compared to the Castle, but better than nothing. Self adhering bandages and a bottle he recognizes as their form of antibiotics. Whether or not it will work on Keith after thus long is another thing entirely. He gathers it up under his arm and heads back upstairs, skidding on the bathroom in his haste.]

Hey. I found some things. Let's get that shoulder clean.

[There really was no way he would have been able to clean that one himself. Too awkward a spot, too sore and pinched. He'd only managed to cover it taping the gauze at the top and bottom; it was messy. And he hadn't wanted Shiro to see it. A small part of Keith is embarrassed, like reliving small childhood aches.

He turns a little, letting Shiro get at the gash. He has to hold his breath when he feels the antibiotic against it - it may be old and outdated, but it still has the burn of something that works. The best he can do is grip his knee, not think about the split second his teeth feel different before they're his again.

The adrenaline is burned off of him as the wound is closed off from the open air. He slumps against the wall while Shiro finishes bandaging it, shaking minutely from the lingering throbbing.]

...Thanks.

[Shiro steps back, shaking his head. Trying not to look at those bruises. Trying not to think about the dull thud of his hand - this hand meeting with Keith's skin in all the wrong ways. It's the first time he's very suddenly, viciously glad that Keith took the Galra arm off. That one always has hit harder. It's not anything less than what he deserved.]

You aren't out of the woods yet. We'll need to monitor that fever. Best thing for you now is just to rest and keep your fluid intake up.

[He leaves the flight suit where it is - the servitor bots can handle it - and helps Keith back to his feet. This time, instead of the couch, he leads him back to what must have been the master bedroom. The last time they saw it, it was dusty and covered in neatly folded sheets. Now it's been aired out, made properly, and it looks soft and inviting enough. Shiro sets him down on the edge of it and peels the covers back to gesture him in.]

Any special requests? Maybe I can find some tea.

[He almost doesn't even sit down. The bed is the biggest he's ever been near, let alone allowed to sit on or lay in. There's a disconnect there, that he's allowed to use it at all. His fingers catch on Shiro's arm as he sits to keep him there while he steadies himself sitting.]

I... I don't know.

[He doesn't remember much the times he was sick before the home. He doesn't remember anything his dad would do then or what he needs besides water.

It feels silly that the thing he wants most right now is to be back out by that fountain.]

...What do you usually ask for when you're sick?

[There's an abortive folding of his arms that he segues into a shrug.]

Well-- popsicles, usually. [Which he doubts he's going to find in the cold storage unit in the kitchen. With a small, sideways smile.] My granddad always tried to get me to drink tea, but-- I never really was much for it.

[But he'd passed on shortly before Shiro met Keith, not that he's ever said as much. They were both alone. Maybe that was what had drawn Shiro in initially, but what kept him-- what kept him was looking past the defenses of a kid who was hurting and seeing how bright he could be. Keith doesn't see it. Is a star ever aware of its shine? Doubtful. But it lights the universe just the same.]

I probably should have listened better back then.

Should've listened then too. [He was always bad at it. The longer he's upright, the more exhaustion sets into Keith's bones. He squeezes Shiro's sleeve once, then carefully starts letting himself lay directly on his side not even bothering to bring his legs in.]

Nurses never wanted to say what they were doing. [At the home, he means.]

[Shiro bends to scoop up Keith's legs and nudge him the rest of the way onto the bed. He handles him unselfconsciously. Even given everything that's happened between them, Keith is still one of the very few people Shiro has never minded having in his personal space.]

Guess we can both be pretty bad at that.

[The blanket gets tugged across Keith's body - enough to cover him up but not suffocate him if he gets too hot.]

Just don't-- go anywhere, okay? I'll be right back.

[He's not in the best shape either. Everything throbs. His bones ache. Every muscle, every joint, and his body is having such a hard time re-calibrating his balance without the massive weight of his left that if he isn't paying absolute attention he has a tendency to stagger every few feet.

Still. He makes it down into the kitchen, and sorts through what they'd brought inside. One thing, a soft green plant with spiky leaves, stands out to him. He recognizes the smell - it's something Allura used to drink. She said it was what her father used to give her when she was feeling under the weather, but that she tends to just drink it when she misses him, these days. In lieu of any such remedies of his own, he'll have to rely on hers.

So he boils water, adds the leaves. Luckily, cooking (or anything like it) doesn't seem to be a process here, so it's ready almost as soon as he'd finished rummaging around for some sort of sweetener. Ultimately, he just tests out their stash until he finds a stalk of something that looks like celery that produces a sweet excretion.

(He tastes it all first. Not half bad.)

Then he heads back upstairs to Keith and sits down on the edge of the bed. If he's since dozed off, Keith's going to gently nudge him back to wakefulness.]

Hey. Drink this first, then you can get all the rest you need.

[The warmth envelops him, almost has him asleep by the time Shiro gets to the bottom of the stairs. He shouldn't be this tired. He should be up, should be helping Shiro with his injuries. He knows his friend is still healing too.

But his eyes are heavy and his breathing steadies as he drifts.

Just to be woken again. He jerks a little, then settles. Soft. Warm. Shiro's voice. He's fine.]

What-- [Drink what first. He looks at the mug, then starts trying to push himself up to sit. He can't help how his voice drawls just a breadth like his father.] What 'm I drinking?

[You know, he's not sure he's ever heard Keith get southron. It's actually kind of-- well, adorable. Not that he's going to call it that.

Also: he can't even help steady him unless he wants to drop the damn cup. Instead, Shiro just shifts so Keith can lean against him once he's gotten up, murmuring easy at him like one would with a startled horse.]

It's something Allura mentioned to me once, some kind of Altean tea. It doesn't taste half bad and it hasn't killed me yet.

If it hasn't killed you then...

[He leans easily enough against him, not thinking anything of it. He's still hot, and Shiro's almost like a furnace himself. But cup. It's taking intense focus to get his hand around the cup, and the other underneath to steady it so he can sip it.]

...Not horrible.

[He doesn't quite let go of it. If Keith drops it, the last thing either of them need to deal with are scalding burns.]

I'll take lessons from Hunk when we're back with the others.

He'd probably like that.

[He takes another sip, leaning heavier on Shiro. That was a friendship that had surprised him when they got to the Castle. Hunk hadn't been what he expected, but he found he could have fun around him. And Hunk actually laughed at his attempts of jokes.

He's still warm, and Shiro is almost a furnace in his own right. He manages another sip before his hands feel heavy holding the mug.]

Should learn more from him...

[Shiro just murmurs encouragement and brushes Keith's hair back from his forehead gently.]

We should hold a workshop. Everybody teaches a skill. Nothing about fighting or-- being Paladins.

[He doesn't mean to, but Keith leans into the motion, touch-starved and tired.]

've got nothing from me then.

[Gently,]

That's not true.

'm only good at fighting and flying and paladin stuff.

[It's why he pushes as much as he can when he can.]

Remember all those pictures you used to take out in the desert?

[Keith had a real eye for composition. It almost-- made him sad, in a way. That someone with an artistic soul could see nothing for themselves but soldiering.]

You could teach that, easy. Hell, you taught me how to fix a hoverbike. I bet you know plenty of things Hunk and Pidge don't. And we could all learn how to darn socks.

[Keith, coming from as little as he did, developed the skill to make things last a lot longer than they might have otherwise.]

Maybe...

[He's distant at that. Both feeling like it's distant and like he doesn't have much confidence in that. The warmth both around and in him is weighing him now.]

Y'could teach study habits... Somethin' with music...

[He laughs a little, a quiet rasp of noise, and scoots over on the bed until they're both side by each and Keith can still lean comfortably against him.]

It's been so long I'm not even sure I remember what an f-sharp is.

More than I know.

[He'd watched Shiro sometimes. It helped bring him down on his worse days. It was relaxing, and something Shiro enjoyed. He never forgot how calm Shiro looked....]

Could never figure any of it out.

Well, I started young. It's easier that way, like-- [he may never play again.] -- Learning a language.

Tell you what. When we get back to Earth, I'll teach you. I bet you'd make a great violin player.