This was written as part of a challenge set for the prompt 'Wish'.
Kuro paced the glowing bars that blocked him from the other half of the cell, eyes always straying back to his other half. He bared his fangs and hissed at the soldier who paused outside the door and peered inside at them, gratified when he yanked back and moved on quickly.
Shiro was unconscious, had been dropped on the floor like refuse - Kuro's hackles had risen as he watched that and he'd growled furiously at the drones responsible - and was still bleeding a little. His face, his arm, his chest. Kuro swiped his clawed hand through the air just shy of the bars and growled again, frustrated.
He wished they had dragged him off in Shiro's place. Shiro had already been injured before and Kuro wanted to spare him further hurts - and Kuro also very much wanted to shred something now. The arena would have allowed him that.
He growled low, glaring hatefully at the door, and flexed his fingers. He couldn't quiet himself, mind or body, and continued pacing the cell, chafing at his inability to do aught else.
"You . . . need to calm down."
Kuro froze, spinning to look down at Shiro through the bars. "Shiro!" he let out a soft breath of relief. Shiro sounded wrecked and exhausted, but otherwise not as bad as he could have. And he was speaking. "I am not the one who had to be dragged back from the arena." he added harshly, curling his hands into fists.
He dropped into a crouch as Shiro slowly and carefully propped himself up and rolled over, watching though he could not help. "You'll be in my place there again soon enough." Shiro said quietly, shoving himself back using only his right hand until he had his back against the wall. His left arm dangled a little too loosely at his side. "Too soon."
Kuro hoped it wasn't dislocated again, since he was unable to reach his other half to aid him. Usually the Galra in charge of the gladiators would put to rights anything that would risk permanent damage, though, before returning them to their cells.
"I would that I could go always in your stead." Kuro said softly, draping his hands over his knees and bowing his head a little, letting out a soft breath.
"You love fighting that much?" Shiro asked, his eyes sad when Kuro looked up to meet them.
Kuro growled. "I love you that much." he snapped, shifting uncomfortably. "I would . . . spare you that, if only I could." he added, more gently.
"Oh." Shiro said, softly. Shiro was a . . . softer person. A fierce - almost unbeatable - fighter, but he didn't want to fight, not unless he had to . . . and in the arena he had no other choice, but it plagued him after. More when it was others - Shiro would have said 'like them', but there were no others like them, Kuro thought - who had not chosen their place there. Others who were forced to fight, to die.
Kuro wished those others no ill, but he carried little regret for what he did to them in the arena, either. If Kuro's choice was his death, his injury, weighted against theirs? Or worse, Shiro's against theirs?
No, Kuro didn't hesitate - nor did Shiro, in earnest - but also he left the death he dealt behind him in the arena. Were it within his power to change things, he would - and for more reasons than only Shiro's soft heart - but as it stood, he could not, so he raised his head proudly and bared his fangs and bided his time.
"Kuro." Shiro called, weak and soft, but his ears perked to it all the same. "I love you, too." he said, with a gentle curve to his still-bloody mouth.
In almost the same instant, as though Shiro's words had prompted it, the bars of energy between them flickered and shut down. Kuro was up and darting across the division immediately, moving to Shiro's side and curling his body between his other half and the door protectively. He ran a hand over Shiro's left shoulder, only barely exerting pressure, and he gasped in pain, but Kuro confirmed the joint was in place properly.
Shiro made a little pained sound. "Must you punish me for it, then?" he asked, and it was a tease, but-
"Never." Kuro said, voice raw, and gently nuzzled Shiro's injured shoulder, tucking himself down more. He watched over Shiro as he finally let himself rest, and didn't push him to lie down - he wouldn't, possibly couldn't, so soon after being dragged back from the arena, even with Kuro to guard him.
When Shiro began to whimper in his sleep, Kuro purred soothingly for his other half, dredging the comfort up from somewhere deep in his chest. He leaned close, letting Shiro feel his warmth, eyes flicking repeatedly to the door.
Kuro did not sleep that night, alert both for the return of any threat and to Shiro's troubled rest.
Today's story marks the end of my May project to post a new story every day . . . but I still have another week's worth at least of stories, and after those I'll probably still be posting frequently. (And I'll be doing more with Kuro soon, too - Kuro Week is coming up!)