Our Paradise

8

(A/N: Trigger Warning!! This chapter mentions blood and a bit of abuse! If that triggers you in any way, don't feel obligated to read! I don't like putting people in situations they're uncomfortable with, so if this does bother you, I won't be hurt if you choose to skip it! Do whatever makes you comfortable!)

Top of the fourth. The opposing team had the lead, taking it 1-6. Keith was sweating like crazy, clearly close to exhaustion. Lance had taken up on this, still watching from the bleachers. Keith was panting like a dog, still playing third base. The 90-degree weather wasn't exactly helping.

Yet again, the pitch was thrown and the batter drove it instantly to the fence in left field. Keith was obviously unable to catch it as it blew over his head, watching helplessly as the left fielder charged his fastest after it. His throw came in late, thus, earning the other team another point.

Keith groaned, wiping some sweat off his brow before calling out their inning stats once more. "No outs, boys. Let's clean it up!"

He spotted a smirk coming from the third base coach of the other team and soon enough the coach was giving signals to the batter. The batter patted his helmet in conformation, stepping into the chalked out batter's box. The first pitch was thrown, coming in as a strike and the batter simply nodded, stepping out of the batter's box. The coach smirked again, changing up his signal and the batter patted his helmet again.

The pitch came in as a ball, making the count 1-1. The coach and batter exchanged a glance once more, and a different signal was sent. However, Keith noticed a glint of worry and confusion in the player's eyes, and caught a quick look from him sent in his direction. The coach raised his eyebrows, staring the player down until he patted his helmet once more.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, the player stepped back into the batter's box, adjusting his stance the slightest bit, angling his left foot towards Keith. Keith crouched into his fielding position, preparing for the hit. In all reality, there was no way to really prepare for the impact.

Especially the excruciating pain that followed.

People cringed to the max and the batter refused to run the bases. Instead, he was the first to Keith's side after the impact.

The first cough sent blood spewing from his mouth. Clearly, the force of the hit was harsh enough to immediately cause damage. Keith let out an ear-piercing shriek, cupping his mouth and nose as more blood began flowing.

His head was spinning and a faint ringing started to encase his hearing, causing certain voices to fade in and out. Soon enough, he recognized Coran rushing to his side, pulling out a towel and pressing it around his mouth.

"Keep it still, we've gotta get you up," came the faint instruction. Keith tried to nod, making himself dizzier, gripping the coarse towel.

He could faintly hear his coaches yelling as he passed through the dugout with Coran. They were obviously frustrated, just by their tone of voice. As the two swept through the dugout, the head athletic trainer came to Keith's other side, helping him out of the back doorway towards the locker rooms. Keith groaned every once in a while as they went, clearly out of it.

Once they reached the locker room Keith was placed on a bench and bags were unzipped to find the necessary supplies for his injuries. Keith sensed the shuffling of feet and soon realized Hunk and Lance had shown up to check on him.

Coran soon walked over with a washcloth and an ice pack, slowly lowering Keith's arm with the towel. The sight wasn't pretty. The most serious impact was around the tip of his nose and teeth, causing his nose and gums to bleed. His upper lip had started to swell already, a nasty bruise forming near his left cheek.