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Greez never liked Abafar. He never hated it, mind you, but he never held contempt for it like he does now.
It was supposed to be a quick stop. Just a quick detour on the desert planet to refuel and tighten the bolts on Mantis’s upper right wing. Maybe pick up some real food so Greez didn't have to eat any more of those damned ration bars. Nothing major. Nothing that would take more than a couple standard hours. But it's been at least two days now, so what does Greez know?
“Greez, I don't… I think we're lost.”
“Y’think??”
Cal coughs. “Sorry.”
“Yeah,” Greez gripes. “I get it. We’re kriffed. No need to remind me.”
BD-1 beeps softly from Cal’s shoulder, barely audible over the wind. Sand glides across the dunes, drawing ripples in the ground. It’s almost beautiful.
Almost. Because the wind is also pelting the exhausted, hopelessly lost group with tiny grains of sand. Greez is mostly protected by his flight suit, but his bare head is taking a beating. Cal offers his poncho to Greez (why the kid is still hanging onto that damn thing in this blistering heat is a mystery to Greez), but the Lareto waves him off.
“I’m fine. Keep it.”
“It’s worse,” Cal says suddenly. “The wind, I mean. I think it's getting worse.”
“It's not getting worse,” Greez argues. “You're just paranoid.” He looks up at Cal for the first time in quite a while. But Cal doesn't look paranoid. He looks ill. Greez doesn't know much about human physiology, but he's spent enough time with Cere to know when something isn't right.
And the red face? The drenched hair sticking to Cal’s forehead? The droopy eyelids and the trembling hands?
Something definitely isn't right.
“What's up with you?” Greez demands, halting in his tracks.
“Nothing,” Cal mutters, throwing the poncho back on. BD-1 drops from his perch, buzzing angrily as his comfortable roost is upset by the constant removal and addition of the poncho. Unbothered, Cal draws up his hood. It's a fruitless battle, as the wind instantly blows his hood back down. “I’m alright.”
He obviously isn't, but he doesn't look like he’s going to collapse, so Greez lets it slide.
“Let's just get back to civilization, huh?” Greez returns to the task at hand, trying to block out his own aches and pains. Like humans, Laretos are not designed for desert life. The planet Lareton has a mild climate, and that's ultimately what Greez prefers. A comfortable temperature that neither boils nor freezes your blood. But even Lareton has its bad weather. To keep their bodies cool, Laretos exhale hot air. If hot enough, they might burn their tongues or singe their lips, but because of this, they can handle the occasional heat storm. It's painful and an overall unpleasant experience, but it won't kill them.
That might not be the case for humans, though.
“How do you humans keep cool?”
Cal doesn't respond right away, busy trying to coax BD-1 back onto his shoulder. The droid remains stubbornly grounded, darting around Cal’s legs. Greez almost asks again when Cal speaks up. “Sweat. Humans sweat this… well, sweat. Like water but sticky and smelly. It cools down our core temperatures. Or something like that.”
“Gross.”
Cal doesn't reply this time. Greez doesn't push it. The group just walks ahead in silence, the wind fighting against them.
---
The wind does get worse. It buffets them from all sides, blowing sand in their faces and ears. The heat only intensifies, and Greez spots flashes of light in the distance.
Heat lightning. Dammit.
They needed to find shelter now.
“Greez, something's… something's wrong.”
Greez stops, because when a Jedi says something is wrong, you better damn well listen. “What's wrong? This a Force thing or somethin’?”
But Cal shakes his head, looks down at Greez, and then collapses on the spot.
BD-1 jumps, its current grudge against Cal seemingly forgotten. It nudges the Jedi with its head, whirring in concern.
“Void-kriffing-dammit!” Greez hisses, hurrying to Cal’s side and shaking his arm. “Wake up!”
He’d been suspecting something like this. He’d just hoped that Cere would find them before it could happen. And now, trapped in a blazing hot dust storm, Greez is hoping even harder that Cere shows up. It's still just as unlikely for her to appear.
She's bound to show up eventually. We left days ago.
But she still isn't here, and Greez worries that the longer it takes her, the less likely she is to show up at all.
The wind picks up, and Greez has to cover his face to avoid a mouthful of sand. Cal, still unresponsive, can do no such thing. He just lies there and gets beaten up by a barrage of tiny daggers.
Greez gives up on trying to rouse his companion. Instead, he climbs to his feet and squints through the haze of sand. There has to be shelter somewhere. It's not a completely uninhabited planet.
Sand. Sand. Sand.
It’s nothing but sand! Damn dustball of a planet with nothing but heat and sand and wind and-
A rock.
Not a particularly big rock, but still a rock. Still something.
Greez doesn't waste any time. He grabs Cal underneath the shoulders and drags him through growing heaps of sand. His arms scream from the effort, but he keeps going. The droid follows along, taking large clunky steps as it tries to keep up.
They’ve nearly reached the rock when Greez missteps. He isn’t looking where he’s going (and how can he when he can barely see anything at all?) and he steps on something uneven. His toes land on solid ground, and his heel descends into the bodiless void of sand. He feels something snap in his foot and, in an instinctive attempt to reduce damage, he digs his toes into the solid surface and tries to pull his ankle free. But then the solid ground (an unnaturally stiff clump of sand, most likely), crumbles away, and Greez’s foot is once again yanked in the wrong direction. And this time, he doesn’t feel any snapping or popping.
This time, he feels something break.
Greez screams. He curses. He swears vengeance against the laser-brained piece of sith spit that invented sand.
For a long moment, and possibly longer than he even realizes, Greez lies on his back, eyes screwed shut against the weather. He breathes shallowly, trying to ignore the fire climbing up his leg.
“Cal!” he shouts, hoping beyond hope that maybe Cal is awake again. Maybe the kid will show up, laugh at Greez for worrying, and then carry him to safety.
But it doesn’t happen.
The droid bonks his head against Greez’s, but it isn't all that helpful. “You can't get us out of this, can you? Or build a shelter or something?”
BD-1 beeps out a denial.
Oh well. It was worth a shot.
“Okay, time to go,” Greez mutters. He takes one more breath, mustering the courage, and then sits himself up, doing his best not to move his right leg. Even still, the slightest jolt sends electricity through his bones. He sizes up the situation.
Cal, three feet away. Motionless.
Greez, with an injured leg. Sprained or (more likely) broken ankle.
BD-1, too small to carry anyone and so far unable to contact the Mantis.
Mother Nature, spewing sand every which way and already burying the wayward group in the dunes.
The odds are not good.
“C’mon,” Greez begs himself. “C’mon. Just… Just gotta-” He levers himself up but stops immediately, mouth frozen in a horrified “o” as his leg screams in agony. He breathes through the pain, once again thrown to the ground. BD-1 scurries over, but Greez barely notices. And as the pain slowly, slowly ebbs from pure acid to a mild bed of hot coals, the pilot realizes the truth.
They’re not getting out of this one.
He wonders how long it will take. Will they quickly get buried with the sand and suffocate? Or will they simply get trapped? Will they wait days - weeks - until they’ve starved to death? If Cal dies first, will Greez be stuck watching his crewmate - his friend - decompose until Greez can starve? If Greez dies first, will Cal wake up and realize what’s going on? How confusing and scary would it be to-?
Greez’s thoughts cut off when something jars his leg. His vision goes white as sudden pain overtakes him. It takes him a long moment to remember how to breathe. He needs another moment more for his vision to come back. And that’s when he sees it.
A pair of dusty brown boots. A pale hand gripping Greez’s jacket. The ground sliding past as Greez is dragged away.
“Cal?” Greez bites his tongue, struggling to ignore his leg, still getting jostled about. “Cal, ’zat you?”
There’s a grunt. That might be a “yes.” Greez can’t be sure.
Cal stops abruptly, and Greez realizes that some of the wind has died down. Or, not died down. It stopped completely from the east. They’re protected by the rock. Cal must have seen it too and dragged Greez the rest of the way.
Cal slowly kneels, but he falls halfway through, hitting the ground with a solid thud. Instantly, the droid, who had been content with trailing behind Greez, is scurrying past him, whining and beeping at Cal.
“Kid?” Greez twists to his right to see a once-again unconscious Jedi. Greez shakes him once for good measure, but, unsurprisingly, there’s no reaction.
But Cal did his part. Time for Greez to earn his keep.
Slowly, carefully, Greez drags himself backwards so he’s situated by Cal’s shoulders.
“Sorry, kid,” he says, wrestling the poncho over Cal’s head. It’s a tedious process, but once it’s off, Greez pins it to the rock with a climbing spike and secures the other side of it into the sand, forming a rudimentary tent against the rock. It’s the most reprieve they’ve had since the storm started, and Greez is grateful for the sand-free air.
Now that they have shelter, however shoddy and temporary it might be, Greez can worry about the next problem on his list:
Cal.
“Kid,” Greez calls, jostling Cal’s arm. Then, when he gets no response, he removes Cal’s armor, makes a fist, and jams his knuckles into Cal’s breastbone.
“Ugh,” Cal groans, blindly swiping at Greez’s hands. “In a minute, Master.”
Greez’s stomach drops to the center of the universe and is promptly sucked into a black hole. “Cal, it’s Greez. Remember? Ugly old pilot?”
BD-1 clicks, nudging Cal again.
Cal watches Greez with glassy, half-lidded eyes. His face is drenched in… sweat, or whatever Cal called it. His skin is bright red, though Greez isn’t sure if it’s from burns or illness. “Oh,” he mumbles. “Right. Hey, Greez.” Then he smiles weakly at the droid, who's now begging for his attention. “Hi, BD. Y’okay, buddy?”
Leave it to a Jedi to completely ignore the fact that they’re trapped in a dust storm, he’s probably dying, and there’s little to no chance of escape.
“How you feeling, kid?”
Cal squints. “Um… bad.”
“How very descriptive and helpful,” Greez grouses. “I was asking what was wrong, not if something was wrong. I already know that. Obviously.”
“‘m… ‘m dizzy. An’ I don’... I dunno where we are.”
“Abafar. We stopped for supplies, remember?”
BD-1 butts in, beeping its own version of events, but the droid says little worth repeating.
Cal seems to consider this. He’s working too hard to remember something that happened a few days ago, but he eventually comes up with a satisfactory answer. “Right. An’... Cere stayed back to… to do… somethin’? An’ then we got lost inna… inna storm.”
“Good,” Greez sighs. “That’s real good, kiddo. And now we’re trapped in another storm - wouldja believe that? - and you keep falling asleep on me.”
The Jedi hums. “Doesn’ sound like me.”
Greez snorts. “Just stay there, okay? I need to splint my leg.”
“Y’hurt?”
“Ankle’s messed up, yeah. But just… just stay there, alright? I got this handled.”
Cal gives a thumbs-up. (Greez finds it strange that so many planets consider that an affirmative gesture. On Lareton, it’s one of the more offensive hand signals, and every time he sees someone use it, he has to fight the knee-jerk anger it evokes.)
Content with the kid’s condition (for now), Greez addresses his rapidly worsening problem: his leg. As long as he stays still, it only aches and burns and throbs. But if Greez so much as twitches, his whole world is engulfed in pain. It takes too long for him to splint his leg. He needs to stop every few moments to recover the strength to continue. But once he has sufficiently bound a strip of leather from Cal's armor to his ankle, he can move a bit better. It's still incredibly painful, but it's no longer agonizing.
“Where’d y’learn t’do that?”
Greez looks over. Cal is watching him with hazy eyes, looking moments away from sleep.
“Flight school,” the Lareto replies. “There was a first aid class. But to be honest, I don't remember much of it.”
Cal hums. His eyes drift shut, and Greez has to shake him again.
“Hey, keep talking to me,” he insists. “What's wrong? How can I help?”
“It's… ‘s hot, Greez.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “It's a desert. It's hot. My mouth is so burnt right now, you don't even know.”
“I… what?”
“You really know nothing about Laretos, don't you?”
“Didn’... didn’ have ‘em on Bracca.”
“Guess we're too smart to get into scrapping.” Greez shrugs.
And then an idea smacks him in the face, so obvious that he hates himself for not thinking of it sooner. “Hey, where’d the droid go?”
There's a beep, and BD-1 pokes its head out from behind Cal’s legs.
“You got any stims left, little guy?”
The droid whistles grimly.
“Oh. We used them all?”
“Ha-” Cal coughs hard. “Haxion Brood took ‘em. We were gonna restock at the plaza.”
Right. Great. So this is once again Greez’s fault. Perfect.
“Okay,” he says, trying not to sound desperate. “What about meditating? That fixes you Jedi right up, doesn't it?”
“S-sometimes,” Cal wheezes. His voice is getting softer, eyes losing focus.
“Can you try for me, kid?”
“Sure… sure thing, Master.”
It looks like Cal fell asleep, but Greez doesn't have much right now. He has to hope that Cal really is meditating. That he'll open his eyes in an hour, perfectly healthy, and get them all out of this.
Greez doesn't really believe it, but he tries to ignore his inner critic for the moment. Hope is scarce out here, and they need all the hope they can get.
---
When Greez wakes up, the storm is over. Sand is piled up on either side of their shelter, but the wind is gone. Sun burns through the gap between the rock and Cal’s poncho.
On reflex, Greez tries his communicator, but it's just as broken as it was before.
“Cal?” Greez sits up, careful of his leg, which has begun to swell up.
The Jedi doesn't respond, brows knit but eyes closed. He flinches every so often, like he's having a terrible nightmare. BD-1 is curled up on his chest, humming softly.
“Cal, buddy. Wake up.” Greez jars Cal’s shoulder, but all he succeeds in doing is upsetting the droid. BD-1 sparks in irritation, hopping down and scurrying out of the shelter.
Greez can't bother to care about the droid’s feelings. “Cal!” he barks. “Wake up!”
And then Greez notices it: Cal’s skin is dry. The sweat-whatever is gone. He must be meditating, because he’s getting better-
Cal’s skin is hot, though. Almost as hot as Greez’s mouth. Cal said the sweat was supposed to keep him cool, so why did he stop doing it? He’s clearly not cool.
A spike of fear runs through Greez. “Cal, talk to me! Open your eyes, dammit!”
The Jedi mumbles nonsense under his breath.
“Kid!” Greez shakes him. Slaps him. Pinches him. All he’s rewarded with is the slightest of whines, which only makes Greez feel horribly guilty.
Trill-beep!
Greez glances over his shoulder. BD-1 is hopping from foot to foot at the tent entrance.
“What’d you find?”
And then there’s the loud rumbling of thrusters. And not just any thrusters. The Mantis’s thrusters.
Greez breaks from Cal’s side, leaning as far as he can outside the tent. And sure enough, the Mantis is landing nearby, its turbines blowing sand in all directions. BD-1 beeps proudly.
“You flagged her down?”
The droid trills. If it could smile, it’d probably be beaming.
The Mantis sighs one last time before the hatch swings down. Cere runs out immediately.
“Here!” Greez calls, waving his arms. “We’re here!”
Cere sees them and hurries over. She’s far enough away that Greez has time to worry about Cal, trying yet again to shake him awake.
“Cere’s here, kid. You’re gonna be fine. Open your eyes for me, huh?”
Cal is arguably less responsive than he’d been before. He’s not even flinching anymore. He looks-
“Greez,” Cere places a hand on his shoulder. “What happened?”
“Damn sandstorm,” he huffs. “Broke my ankle, and Cal won’t… Damn kid won’t wake up.” He decides to be angry about this. Anger is easier than fear or grief or panic.
Cere absorbs this stoically, nodding. “Let me see.”
Greez awkwardly shuffles aside, and Cere kneels beside Cal, placing one hand on his forehead and the other on his arm. She closes her eyes, and Greez feels that strange air of calm. The odd rippling of the Force. Greez is no Jedi. He knows nothing about the Force, but he can feel when something is off. And right now, Cere must be using the Force, because the air feels off. Not necessarily wrong. Just… off.
After a moment, Cere opens her eyes again. Cal’s remain shut.
“Well?” Greez asks carefully.
“Heatstroke. We need to get him to the Mantis and cool him down.”
“Can’t you just… I dunno, fix it?”
“I’m no healer, Greez. I could barely figure out what was wrong. Trust me; you don’t want me trying to heal him.”
Cere retreats to the Mantis for a few minutes, during which, Greez simply breathes hot air and - try as he might to avoid it - worries. But Cere returns quickly with the old hover-bed from the Mantis’s tiny medbay. With Greez down for the count, Cere has to bodily wrestle Cal onto the bed, but she manages better than expected. Greez suspects Force assistance. Cere refuses to say.
“Here.” Cere tosses him a pair of crutches.
Greez scowls. “Crutches? On the sand?”
“If you fall, I’ll come back for you,” Cere replies, completely unbothered.
Greez huffs but doesn’t complain. He tells himself it’s because Cere is already out of earshot. The truth is that he can’t get the sight of a completely limp, completely unresponsive Cal Kestis out of his mind. By the time Greez actually makes it on the Mantis, leg elevated on the couch in the main cabin, he doesn’t even remember if he walked the whole way or not.
“Cere!” he calls out, hoping his voice carries past the galley and into the medbay. “He awake?”
Cere doesn’t respond. She hasn’t responded the last four times he’s asked either.
Greez groans and lays back, throwing one arm over his eyes. He wishes this day was over.
“Greez.”
The pilot lifts his arm, squinting against the artificial lighting. How long had Cere been standing there?
“You were gone for three days,” Cere says, helping him sit up and pushing a cup into his hands.
“I know,” Greez grouses. “I was there.”
“What happened?” she demands. “You said you’d be gone for an hour!”
“Couple dust storms. Kid collapsed. And-” He nods at his foot. “Busted my leg trying to haul him outta there.” He’s quiet for a moment. Clicks his teeth on the lip of the cup and savors the cool water on his burning tongue. Then he swallows and searches Cere’s expression for answers. “How’s the kid?”
Cere doesn’t respond immediately, sitting beside Greez’s feet and cutting off the splint. “He’s… not great. I’ve got bacta patches on the worst burns, but he’s going to need a tank. And unless he wakes up, there’s not much we can do in the way of hydration.”
Greez tenses. He’d thought Cal wasn’t looking great, but he didn’t realize they’d need to find a medical center for him. Naively, Greez had assumed it was nothing more than a little fatigue.
How wrong he was.
“Abafar doesn’t have a med center, but Taris isn’t too far out.” Cere sticks a bacta patch to Greez’s sorry-looking ankle. “I assume you didn’t get supplies while you were wandering out in the desert, but I got the Mantis fueled up.”
“She’ll survive the trip,” Greez assures the Jedi, absently hoping the same can be said of Cal. “Let’s get out of here.”
---
They spent three standard days in the desert on Abafar. Cal spends one day in a bacta tank on Taris before they run out of credits, and then they’re forced to camp out in the Mantis. Two days after that, Cal graces his friends with his awareness.
“Ugh.”
Greez notices first, because he’s been at Cal’s bedside more than any of the Mantis crew. He jumps.
“Kid,” he says, patting the Jedi’s cheek. “Hey, Cal. Wake up, buddy.”
“Gr…eez…?” Cal cracks one eye open, frowning up at the ceiling.
“Hey, kid,” Greez greets. “You scared us.” He wants to be angry at Cal. He really, really wants to be angry at him for conking out at the galaxy’s least convenient time and leaving Greez to fix everything. But then Cal looks at him with those sad green eyes, and Greez just feels bad.
Cal blinks a few times, like he’s trying to shrug the grogginess off. Then he moves to sit up, failing spectacularly and falling solidly on his back.
“Whoa, relax, kid.”
“What… What happened?” Cal’s voice sounds like he was gargling rocksalt and blaster bolts.
“Got lost on Abafar,” Greez explains, helping prop Cal up and offering him a cup of water. “And then you passed out. Cere said it was heatstroke.”
Cal gulps down the water faster than he should, chokes on it, coughs up half a lung, and then sets the cup down in defeat. “That… makes sense. Feels like my blood’s on fire.”
Well, that can’t be good.
“Are…” Cal coughs on the water one more time. “Are you okay?” He nods at the pilot’s heavily-bandaged leg.
Greez smiles. “This? Gonna take a lot more than this to keep ol’ Greezy down.”
Cal smiles back, though it’s weak and watery. “Good. I’m… I’m really glad you’re alright, Greez.” He shifts so he’s lying on his back again, eyelids heavy.
“You too, kid,” Greez agrees. “You scared me for a bit.”
“Sorry.” And he looks so sad.
“No, no, don’t be-”
But Cal is drifting off again, eyelids fluttering.
Greez ruffles Cal’s hair and straightens the sheet lying over him. “Sleep well, kid.”