The two men rode silently, both annoyed that Shiro was forcing them to spend more time together. They weren’t friends, and they wouldn’t be friends. Keith was too grumpy, and Lance was new. They rode their new horses, which seemed to get along pretty well. Despite the horses both being males, they were also both gelded, so the ambition to fight to breed with mares was little to none. They were both younger horses, and more playful. Lance prayed that they didn’t become friends; he hated Keith, so his horse shouldn’t betray him so cruelly.
As Lance pouted in thought, Keith rode ahead on his horse -- affectionately named Red -- with a frown. He didn’t want to be stuck babysitting someone he couldn’t stand. He should have tried to convince Hunk or Pidge to go. They all got along fairly well, that bunch. Keith wasn’t very close with them. He was closer to Shiro -- who was like a brother to him -- and Adam -- the man his brother loved.
It wasn’t terribly strange to have a gay adoptive brother. Keith, in fact, was the same way, but he had been unable to find a partner. “Unable” might not be the right word; he didn’t care to try. He didn’t think it would be wise to get attached to anyone, or get anyone attached to him. The gang moved around a lot to avoid the law catching onto their scent, and they sometimes moved further than they wanted to. Further from anyone else they knew.
Keith snapped himself out of his thoughts before looking over his shoulder at Lance, slowing his horse to a stop. Lance followed suit and looked to Keith expectantly.
“Here. We’re far enough away that we won’t scare the locals,” Keith muttered, hopping off of Red and retrieving his rifle from his horse’s saddle. He held the gun out to Lance as the cowhand dismounted and approached him, promptly taking the rifle. Part of him wondered for a second if Lance would fire at him, but the thought was extinguished as he saw Lance inspect the gun and handle it properly, surprising the outlaw. “At least you won’t accidentally shoot me in the back.”
Lance huffed, a little amused. Keith should have guessed that, in Lance’s line of work, a gun was as necessary as food or water. Or booze.
“I had to carry these bad boys,” Lance mused, patting the holster of one of his revolvers. “I know how to use each of these.”
“You might not even be that good compared to me,” Keith reminded him, pulling his bandanna out and using his knife to hang it on a tree. “Hit the middle of the design, if y-”
Keith was interrupted by the loud bang of Lance’s revolvers, and the middle of the bandanna was torn apart. As he turned to glower at the man, Lance twirled the revolvers on his fingers with a smirk. Before Keith could scold the cowhand, he was interrupted by whistles and whooping. The two looked over to see a group of men, all clearly outlaws, firing their guns in the air. The two bristled with fear, and they rushed back to their horses. They hopped on and spurred the horses forward, bullets from the group of about six or seven men whizzing by their heads. Lance held his rifle and aimed back, firing at the men. Each bullet found its mark, making Keith raise an eyebrow. He glowered again before he called back to Lance.
“Hey! Hard right! Better to lead them towards town and get the law’s attention!” he yelled back to him, causing Lance to face forward again.
Before Lance could reply, a bullet caught his shoulder and he lurched forward, nearly falling off of his horse as a cry left his lips. Keith looked back in fear, but was glad to see Lance hadn’t died; it was more a graze than an actual wound, and they wouldn’t have wasted money on a horse for a dead man. Keith rode closer and lassoed Lance’s horse while Lance focused on holding on with one hand while the other fired a revolver at the men. Lance panted as the warm, wet feeling of his blood soaking his shoulder and dripped down his chest and back, soaking his shirt. Keith fired back at the men as well as they rode down the dirt road covered in powdery snow. They turned off towards the town, and Keith leaned towards Lance.
“Hold on, Lance!” Keith called, ducking down as a bullet nearly hit his head.
The quick motion pulled his hat off his head, and he couldn’t snatch it out of the air in time. He damned the men and the wind as he and Lance continued forward to town, where a regiment of lawmen emerged from and charged forward. They pulled out their guns and waited until Keith and Lance had gotten past them before they opened fire at the large group of outlaws. Keith and Lance ran into town before Keith led Lance to the doctor, hitching the horses as he sent him in. Keith leaned against Red and covered his face with his arm, still catching his breath as he tried to relax after the attack. Behind him, Lance’s horse snorted and pawed at the dirt, clearly agitated. Keith stepped towards it and hushed it, running his hand over its neck while his other hand reached into the saddlebag to search for a snack. He pulled out a sort of oatmeal cookie -- a common snack Coran made for both rider and mount -- and offered it to the horse. The blue roan mustang’s ears faced forward, and it relaxed, knickering to Keith as it ate the snack. Keith patted its neck again before he walked into the doctor’s office. He had taken Lance into the next room and was starting to patch him up. The first thing Keith heard was a hiss of pain before Lance half-groaned, half-laughed, cursing the cleaning solution. Keith didn’t enter the room, and instead found himself sitting in the front room. He wrung his hands in worry, mostly because of his predictions for how the other would react, especially Adam. He takes Lance out, and he ends up shot. It didn’t look great. He knew, however, that the others wouldn’t actually think Keith would hurt someone he hardly knew. Eventually, Lance came out with his shoulder patched up, his eyes not meeting Keith’s. Keith stood and looked to the doctor, who smiled reassuringly.
“He’ll be alright, just make sure the wound stays clean and you change the bandage often,” he sighed, his eyes watching Lance with a glint. He was clearly confident in his abilities, and Lance’s ailment was a walk in the park. “And make sure he doesn’t strain himself.”
“Thanks, doc,” Keith murmured, paying the man before he led Lance out. “Let’s head back at a walk. Don’t wanna tear open the good doctor’s work.”
Lance offered a little smile and walked up to his horse. The horse snorted and nudged its owner, clearly relieved to see Lance alright. Keith unhitched the horses before helping Lance up and ordering him to use one hand while resting the arm that had been hurt. Lance didn’t argue, but he wanted to. He, of course, was in no position to do so, and thus he simply followed Keith back at a steady walk. The long walk back home -- was it alright to call it home? -- was voiceless. The two men were quiet, but there wasn’t anything to talk about. They wanted to focus on getting back.
Once they did, everyone was fawning over them both for injuries. Keith explained that they had been ambushed by a group of outlaws, a small squadron that was associated with the Galra. Lance listened as Shiro explained to him the rivalry between them -- among other gangs -- and the Galra, led by a mysterious man that communicates through his right hand man, Sendak. Sendak and Shiro had a history; they once ran together before Sendak betrayed him and left Shiro at the mercy of the law when Shiro told Sendak to not hurt the hostages. Luckily, the hostages felt an obligation to Shiro for saving their lives and told the law that he was one of them. Ever since, Shiro and Sendak have hunted each other, and the grudge turned into genuine hatred when Sendak attacked and killed Shiro’s parents. No one knew who really led the Galra, but there were always rumors.
“Shiro...I’m so sorry,” Lance murmured, carefully getting off his horse before hitching it with the others.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Lance.” Shiro was sincere as he approached the young man, his hand clapping down on Lance’s uninjured shoulder. “We need to focus on ourselves first. Revenge can wait.”
Lance searched Shiro’s face and found nothing but sincerity. He nodded, reassured, before he went to the fire with Hunk and Pidge in tow. As Hunk tended to Lance -- he was teary-eyed in fear for his friend -- Pidge got him something to eat. Adam and Shiro made sure that Keith was okay, but he brushed it off.
“I’m fine, guys, really,” Keith murmured, offering a little smile to reassure the two older men. “You should worry about Lance. He’s the one who got shot.”
The two men looked at each other, and Shiro went off with Keith to spend some quality time with his little brother. Adam, however, gave them space and approached the others. He sat across from them and watched Lance carefully.
“I’m glad you’re okay Lance. And I’m more glad to hear it wasn’t Keith who shot you,” Adam chuckled, watching the trio with a smile. “So, can you shoot?”
“Of course,” Lance assured, used to Adam going straight to the point. It was easy to talk to him that way. “I think I’m a good shot, good enough to take down a couple of the Galra.”
“Good! We’re gonna need that talent. We have plenty here, but we won’t say no to a shot like you.”
The morning was still bright, but Lance needed some rest. He did get shot after all. It had been happening too much for his taste. The young man made his way back to the tent he shared with Keith once he finished talking and eating to lay down and rest for awhile. As he entered the tent, he saw a leather notebook and a pencil on his cot with a little note. He picked up the note and smiled; it was a gift from Hunk. After reading the note, Lance set it aside and opened up the notebook. He sat down and began writing the morning away.
‘I’m not exactly sure what to write. I guess I could start with the fact that I got shot less than an hour ago. It’s not too bad, it was only a graze on my right shoulder, and I can write with both hands so it’s not a huge hassle. Keith and I got ambushed by these Galra guys, but we took care of it.’
Lance was unsure of what else to write, and opted to just write more later in the day. He wasn’t a great writer -- he didn’t do it often, aside from keeping a journal like he did at home and at work -- but it was good to get his experiences and thoughts on paper. What could it hurt?
Keith entered the tent, knocking his train of thought right off the tracks. They both frowned, ignoring the other. The animosity was still there, and -- Lance guessed -- it would last a long time, if not forever. He hated Keith for hating him. He did nothing wrong to Keith. He was a stowaway on his cruise ship life. An illness.
Lance grimaced slightly as he turned his focus back to his journal. He began sketching his new horse, smiling at the thought. He still didn’t have a name for him, but he knew he would have one at the end of the day. He pushed his hair back and scratched his head in thought while he drew, tongue sticking out slightly as he concentrated. He didn’t even notice Keith standing beside him.
“Not terrible,” Keith murmured, causing Lance to jump and slide his pencil across the drawing. “Ah, sorry...Thought you knew I was here…”
“I knew you were in here,” Lance huffed, erasing the mark before going over the drawing to fix what he had to erase. “Didn’t know you were right there just watching me like a creep.”
“I’m not creeping, just curious.”
Lance and Keith exchanged glares. Because of Keith’s judgement, Lance had gotten shot.
“Creeping,” Lance repeated, earning a soft swipe on the back of the head. There was anything but affection to the gentle blow, however. More of a warning than anything. “Hey!”
Before Lance could retaliate, Keith had disappeared. Lance huffed and stared at the closed tent flap with a look that could kill. It didn’t take Lance long before he turned away and laid down, holding the notebook under his chest as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
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