Farce/Tragedy
A friend asked for « Keith on the brink of death, Shiro screaming » and I obliged.
.
.
.
Surely, this is a tragedy.
It plays like one, Shiro thinks.
No, more than a tragedy, this has to be a farce.
It has to be, because a minute ago, there was Keith's smile, brighter than a galaxy, as he jumped into the fray. It was just a little battle.
If this was a tragedy, they would be facing Zarkon.
But this is a nameless planet, with a nameless, hostile breed of alien attacking them to keep their territory safe. It's a battlefield without honour, a starless sky, a windless beach. Between the blaster noises and the dance of swords, the laughter in the comms, this should be a breeze.
If this was a tragedy, there would be a battle in the sky. Explosions like supernovas, racing through the horizon as battleships would crash in the sea around them. But this is a farce and this is barely more than a skirmish, an honourless battle.
It's a farce because if this was a tragedy, Shiro would have turned around at the very moment one of these aliens shot Keith. Right in the guts, making a bloody flower bloom on his abdomen, a dribble of blood leaving in his in a little cry. Because it's all a farce rather than a grandiose story of loss, Shiro only moves when he hears his name into his ear.
"Shiro…"
He's the closest. Keith sounds pained and he rushes to him, falling to his knees next to the heap of limbs on the ground. There's still the sound of blasters, echoing like an old laughter track as he pulls Keith up, jaw shaking imperceptibly. Oh, baby, he murmurs, pulling Keith's bloody hand off his stomach, squeezes it tight.
"You're going to be fine, baby," he says, feeling panic boiling under his skin as that stained hand fumbles for purchase against his collar. "Keep your other hand on it, okay? For pressure. Don't let it go. I won't let go of you."
It's a farce in the way Keith's head tips backward on his forearm. His helmet falls off, visor cracking as it hits the ground. It's a farce because Shiro panics for a split second and thinks of picking it up. It has everything of a terrible, terrible joke in the short keens of pain Keith lets out when he runs back to the Black Lion, under enemy fire. There's a cacophony of noises behind him, in his ears, the communications.
Shiro knows it's a farce because after a moment, he blinks, everything turns purple and magenta. It blinds him suddenly until he blinks again and he's fallen. Keith just rolls away, opening glassy eyes to look at him, reaches before one of the grey aliens of his planet fists a hand in his hair to lift him up, cackling.
"Keith!" Shiro screams hard enough to hurt his throat, another alien slams a foot on his back to keep him down. "Don't you dare touch hi—"
Keith startles awake with a cry as there's a shot to his stomach again. Blood spills out instantly and Shiro can't heard anything but his own screams, laughter again. It was supposed to only be a scouting mission.
But it's a farce, not a tragedy.
"Champion," a grey alien says, letting him go as he rushes to Keith's side, the fight taken out of him as he pushes down, the panic making all his attention centre on Keith. "Lord Zarkon has put a high bounty on your head."
Champion.
It's a farce. The blood seeps through his fingers. He can't possibly keep it all there. Keith's head lolls against his arm, he whispers his name.
"Surely, he'll be glad to get his toy back."
There would be more fanfare for Keith, rasping in his arms, if this was a tragedy. Shiro just rocks him slowly, letting his arm light up as he stares up.
"Help him and I'll come without fighting."
The alien grins, its black teeth shining in the darkness, whiskers shaking with laughter.
"A bloodthirsty warrior like you, turning himself without a fight for a dying little cub?"
It's a farce because Shiro would give everything for Keith.
"But of course."
And it's a tragedy, because the Universe's fate is sealed, all of it, because of a farce.