Written for Kuro Week, Day 2 - Identity/Memory.
Warning for major character death.
"You were called a Champion, theirs. . ." Shiro swallowed hard, glancing down the clone's body to the gaping wound he was trying to staunch with one hand. Despite his best attempts blood still pulsed out over his fingers. Too much blood. "But this. . ."
Shiro's clone shook his head, slow and painful, and coughed, fresh, bright blood spilling over his lips, already stained a rusty red. "I . . . am not . . . Champion." he rasped, and Shiro leaned close, trying to hush him.
A faint voice - Keith, Shiro thought distractedly - echoed thinly from the comms in his helmet, which he had discarded shortly after Shiro's clone had collapsed here. It had been distracting, hearing the other Paladins through it, and it obstructed his vision.
"I'm not." He shook his head again, and Shiro grimaced, dropping his free hand to the bloody hole in his clone's side as well. "Told me," he said breathlessly, "made to be . . . you. Better. Opposite. Not to resist, like you. To want it."
Shiro frowned, eyes meeting the gleaming yellow ones that were one of the few differences between himself and this . . . copy. "I-"
"I . . . have your memory." Shiro's eyes widened. "Opposite . . . together. One can't be complete without . . . the other." Shiro's clone lifted one hand, though not far, making a swirling gesture that folded back on itself. "A little of one in the other. Push, pull. Light, dark. Attack, defend. Shiro, Kuro." he struggled to speak, taking quick, shallow breaths between pairs.
". . .shiro and kuro." Shiro said softly, eyes wide, glancing down at his armour - white and black - and then back at Kuro's face. "Then why- You could have. . ." Shiro looked down at the wound still bleeding between his fingers. It had been meant for him. Kuro had forced Shiro back and interposed his own body, taking the blow himself.
"No- No Kuro, without Shiro." Kuro said with a crooked, strained smile. He winced and it disappeared as he coughed weakly. More blood flowed over his lips, but there was less of it this time. Somehow Shiro couldn't think that was actually a good sign. "I couldn't-" He shook his head again. "Not let the witch have you. Not let them kill you." He shuddered, swallowing convulsively and beginning to choke.
Shiro pulled one hand from the useless job of staunching Kuro's bleeding injury and supported his neck as he struggled to catch his breath, propping his head up a little. He caught hold of Shiro's forearm, clinging to it for support, and his whole body shook with the hitching, abortive gasps he was fighting through.
Shiro winced as he watched the struggle.
"And now," Kuro said when he'd gotten at least enough air in his lungs to speak, "you . . . can go. You're safe. Or you will be. Free. If- If I couldn't stay with you, at least. . ."
Shiro's blood ran cold. "No. No." He shook Kuro lightly, and Kuro gave a weak groan, meeting his eyes.
"At least . . . I did this. Go, Shiro." Kuro said, his voice thick and wet with the blood in his throat. "I am not you. I am not to replace you." he said laboriously, and Shiro choked on a soft cry. "You . . . are part of me. And I am part . . . of you. Even. . ."
Kuro's voice trailed off weakly, without the sputtering coughs this time.
"Damn it, you're right, op- opposites do belong together, balance and- So you can't." Shiro said harshly, pressing down firmly on Kuro's bleeding side. "You'll- You'll come with me and we can get you healed up on the Castle and- No!" he shouted as Kuro's expression went slack, clasping his jaw, smearing blood over his pale face, shaking him. "No, you can't! Kuro!"
Kuro's lashes fluttered, his lips curved slightly, and his fingers tightened around Shiro's wrist. Then his hand fell away as he huffed out the last of a rough, shallow breath and did not take another.
Shiro leaned over him, pressing hard, thumping his chest. "No, no you can't, you'll be fine, just- just breathe and we'll get you up and- Please. . ." His fingers curled into Kuro's shirt. "Please, Kuro." he breathed, a tear splashing down and trickling through the blood on Kuro's face. "Please."
"Shiro?" Gentle hands caught his shoulder. "Oh thank- Shiro, come on, we need to get out of here! Allura can't hold them with the Castle for much longer."
Shiro's breath hitched and he let himself be pulled back a little by Keith's insistent tugging, though he didn't let loose of Kuro. "I- We can't. . ."
"Shiro!" Smaller hands and a tighter, nervous grip as Pidge pressed against his left arm, hugging herself tight to his side, squeezed between him and Kuro lying beside him. He was painfully still, now, his gleaming golden eyes gone dull beneath half-lowered lids.
Shiro bit his lip, fresh tears welling up, and he grabbed Kuro's hand, lying on the blood-washed decking, squeezing it tightly. Kuro didn't react, no tension in his muscles. His chest was still. He was gone.
Shiro said a silent prayer for him, allowing Keith and Pidge to pull him to his feet, leaving his . . . opposite behind.