Chapter Text
Lance had a habit of running through the castle, and also bumping into walls. These two habits weren’t always as intertwined as they were in this moment, but maybe they were at least, a little bit related. From the kitchen to his room was anything but a clear shot. Many twists and turns obscured his path, and especially after what he had just eaten, navigating was nearly impossible. So yeah; maybe Lance had a habit of running into walls, but was it really his fault?
Coran had concocted some disgusting sludge, as Hunk was away on a diplomatic mission with Allura and Shiro; Lance was the goose just silly enough to try it. Lance could cook back home, if you counted macaroni and cheese, but the food goo was a mystery. There was no additive someone at his level could include to make it palatable, and it was a job best left to Hunk. Lance had the sneaking suspicion that cooking had been far outside Coran’s usual responsibilities, even in the time of Altea. However, despite that, Lance tried the sludge. What he expected was a mystery, but it certainly wasn’t anything as putrid as the taste that touched his tongue.
So, Lance had been running to his room to empty the contents of his stomach in peace. If it weren’t for the stupid, seemingly sporadic, placement of walls, Lance would have made it unscathed, but that was not the world he lived in. He smashed his poor noggin directly into a wall where, according to him, it would have made far more sense to have a turn. This wall held nothing, aside from the entrance to the training room, and that was far on the opposite end, but the impact was apparently loud enough to reach. Laying there on the floor, preparing himself emotionally to open his eyes, Lance heard the quick succession of steps as someone ran to see what happend.
“What did you do?” Keith’s voice asked from beyond, and “Did you really just run into that wall?” when Lance only groaned in response.
He would say no. He would say Sorry keith, your plan didn't work. i'm just fine… if his mouth would work. He had the words, but they wouldn’t move. They stayed stagnant in his brain, no matter how hard he pushed. He couldn't hold down Corans “food,” he couldn’t run down hallways he should know by now, like that back of his hand, and now, he couldn't even speak? Lance could feel tears welling in the corners of his eyes, and then the sobs that followed were uncontainable.
“You definitely have a concussion, Lance. You need to go to the infirmary” Keith sternly directed, but Lance stayed on the floor, and his sobbing never faltered. “It’s not that bad. I’ve had a lot of them myself. It’ll get better” he coaxed.
Eventually, Keith gave up on reasoning with him and lowered himself to the ground, gently stroking his hair. Which sure shocked the hell out of Lance; his tears slowed instantly. Keith- Keith his rival, was petting his hair and attempting to soothe him... and it was working. He sat frozen under the strangely pleasant feeling of Keith’s hand cascading over the top and sides of his head, pointedly avoiding what Lance knew must be an ugly, glaring knot growing on his forehead. It was… surreal, and after he had been quiet for sometime and his breathing had truly leveled, Keith reached out his hand for Lance’s.
“I’ll take you to get checked out by Coran” he offered.
With a slow nod of his head, Lance accepted.
…
After careful examination, Coran practically exclaims, “Well number 4, you certainly have a concussion.”
Lance groans. It wasn’t enough to have a concussion, especially given how he acquired it, Coran also had to call attention to Keith now being taller than him. It was barely an inch; maybe 2, but Keith’s shoes probably made him taller.
“Can we put him in a healing pod?” Keith asks from the doorway of the room where he, quite edgily, Lance might add, leans.
Lance stiffens, before Coran answers. “No can do, number 3. The healing pods won’t work properly without Allura being in the castle. The best bet Lance has is to let it heal naturally until she returns.” to which Keith huffs and re-enters the room.
“Come on Lance, I’m taking you to the training room.”
To which Lance squeals indignantly. “I can't train, I have a concussion!” This whole time, Lance thought Keith was being weirdly responsible, but maybe he was just trying to get him alone while he couldn’t defend himself to finish him off? It seemed unlikely, but the man wanted him to train now? What other explanation could there be?
“So I can make sure you don’t fall asleep, genius.”
That made sense. Or it was a really good excuse. Either way, Lance decided to follow Keith out of the room.
…
In the training room, Keith asked Lance to sit, No, don’t lie down, against the wall. It was uncomfortable, if that was what Keith had wanted.
Lance looked on as Keith moved through the levels of the simulation. How taking two years away from the war could make him a better fighter, Lance would never understand, but it was obvious. Keith swung his sword with a certain peace, Lance thinks, maybe his face has never known. It was rhythmic, and watching it was… relaxing. Before he knew it, Keith was calling for the training sequences end and rushing over to him.
“Lance you have to stay awake, okay?” he said clearly.
Lance hummed. “It’ll be alright, Mullet. I’m up.You can go now,” as he burrowed himself into the wall, closing his eyes once more.
“You just need to be up a few more hours, and then you can sleep. Just focus on something else.”
“‘m tired” Lance mumbled into his jacket. Would it really be so bad if he slept? Why did Keith even care so much?
“I know darlin’, but stay up” he pleaded.
Lance felt a wave suddenly crash through his entire body, and with a deep sigh, he decided to stay awake, as long as he could help it.
“Fine, Mullet.”