Warnings: Guys, this is a dark fic. Like, beyond Color dark. There is no happy ending. What there is is death and blood and pain and suffering and hopelessness and horror and tragedy. This is M for a reason and it's not pretty. There's nothing terribly explicit , but there's a lot of implied and this is not for a young audience. You've been warned. And on that note, enjoy the absolute darkness and depravity of my mind.
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A Broken Shield
Hunk was the first to go.
It was no surprise, really. He'd taken a hit that would have killed most instantly, splitting him open and sending guts and blood gushing.
It didn't mean Lance hadn't tried. He had. He'd patched his best friend up as best he could with scraps of uniform, begging for him to hold on, that help was coming soon. But one moment Hunk was there, rattling out a breath and the next there was silence.
Not even a whisper, a chance for a last good bye. Alive one second and gone the next.
Lance had clung to the body, pleading and screaming when the Galrans had come in to take it away. He'd received a heavy strike to the head for his efforts, leaving him winded and gasping on the floor.
And then Hunk was truly gone.
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Shiro was the next.
He was too dangerous, the Galrans had said, back when they were all first waking up after a routine gathering mission gone so, so wrong.
The Galrans here couldn't figure out how to disable Shiro's prosthetic. They had tried, but had stopped after Shiro used it to impale one officer and lob off the arm of a second, yelling all the while for them to run.
The Galrans hadn't liked that.
So they cut it off.
Not just the arm though. No. That would be too kind. Too humane.
They'd used some type of bone saw, severing Shiro at the shoulder. Lance had never heard Keith scream so loud.
It left a gaping bloody wound that saturated Shiro's right side with blood, a slow steady gush that would not stop no matter how much Lance struggled, using his own hands to try and staunch it. Keith had pleaded for Lance to save Shiro, voice as young as Lance had ever heard.
Keith would do it himself. If he could.
But he'd rushed the guards after waking up, pulling a knife from a sheath hidden under his clothes. He'd gotten one of the Galras pretty good, ichor spraying the air and Lance had thought for a moment they might break free.
He'd joined the fight, throwing punches that at best glanced off the plated armor before another hit laid him out. He'd still been awake though, conscious enough to hear Keith's shrieks as they shattered every bone in his legs, starting from the kneecap and moving to the smallest toe.
Lance would never stop hearing those cries punctuated with the crackle of broken bones.
But no matter what he did, he could not save Shiro. There was too much blood, too much shock.
Shiro had mumbled incoherently, delusional with pain. He'd called out for his parents, for Matt and for Keith.
The most Lance could do was drag Keith over to their dying leader and let them be together. Keith had done so, burying his face against Shiro's chest and holding him in the tightest of embraces and crying for him not to leave.
Lance could do nothing but watch as the vanished from Shiro's eyes and Keith's too grew dim.
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It was just the three of them left now. And they still did not know what the Galrans wanted. Lance had tried asking, gasping out as they took Shiro's body away.
He'd only gotten laughter.
This was no gladiatorial combat, but it was a sick game. A twisted, disfigured game where they were just pawns of amusement. Lance didn't know how it ended. He just knew that he had to hold on, protect the two people he had left.
Help would be coming soon. Allura and Coran had to be coming soon.
They wouldn't leave them here. He believed that with everything he had left.
Lance held Pidge closer to him, smoothing back bloodied chestnut locks. She did not even twitch. Had barely even moved since they'd been brought in.
She'd taken a heavy blow to the back of her head in the explosion. Lance could feel it now, a pulsing mass under his fingers. She was too hot, sweat dotting her forehead and breath coming in shallow little pants.
There was nothing he could do but wrap himself around her and pretend like that was going to make a difference.
And Lance couldn't say what it was that tipped the Galra off. Whether it was how small Pidge was. How protective he was. He didn't know. But when two guards came back there was a gleam in their eyes, a lust.
They knew Pidge was female.
They had never tasted a human female before.
Lance had fought tooth and nail to keep them from touching her, Keith even managing to tackle one guard around the legs.
But it was useless. There was nowhere for them to go.
And the last thing Lance saw before darkness took over was one the guard's clawed purple hands descending into Pidge's hair.
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There was blood. So much blood.
The metallic tang permeated the air, splattered the floor.
Lance doggedly crawled over to the small, broken body lying in the middle of it. He gathered the bare form into his arms, tears dripping into her hair.
He met Keith's eyes across the room, purple hollowed with horror. Keith had seen. Lance's eyes traced the new chains that kept Keith fixed to the wall. He'd been forced to watch.
Lance felt even more sick. He turned his gaze back down to the small figure, unable to meet Keith's any longer.
She was too small. And they were too large. They'd broken her from the inside out. A dribble of blood made its way down her mouth and Lance clung to her harder.
But Pidge was alive. He could feel her heart beat under his hand.
He could still save her.
He'd struggled out of his shirt, wrapping it about her. He carried her over to Keith then, settling her against his side. Keith mechanically put an arm around her, chains clinking in the silence.
And then he pounded on the door, screaming for help. He would do anything. Anything. Just please help Pidge.
To his surprise the door opened then and a single guard entered. Lance backed up, eyeing this soldier with pure loathing – he had done that to Pidge – but he was his only possible hope.
"Anything?" the guard chuckled, stepping forward and peering down. Lance held his ground and nodded, jaw clenched.
"Kiss me."
Ocean eyes widened.
"Kiss me," the Galran repeated, stepping forward again and forcing Lance to take one back. The yellow gaze shifted to Pidge and a cruel smile pulled up his lips. "She was no fun."
Lance trembled, nausea mixing with fear and determination. He jerked his head in a nod. For Pidge.
The Galran was tall, forcing Lance to stretch on tiptoes. He pressed his lips to purple ones, stomach churning.
With a scoff the Galran pulled away. "Pathetic," he sneered. "You're going to have to try harder than that."
Lance swallowed thickly. It was to protect Pidge. To save her.
This time the Galran lowered his head. He pushed harder, trying to give the Galran what he wanted, eyes scrunched close so he didn't have to see.
And then there was a fang pressing against his lip and Lance gasped as suddenly he was no longer pressing forward but being driven back, the Galran pinning him against the wall.
The kiss became painful. Bruising. Lance struggled in the Galran's hold as teeth bit down on his lip and blood filled his mouth.
He couldn't breathe. He pushed back, hands scrabbling weakly at broad shoulders as his mouth remained captured. Dimly he thought he heard Keith yelling, but the words were lost to the blood pounding in his head.
He was released suddenly, only barely managing to catch himself on trembling legs as the Galran stepped back. A pleased smile adorned his face as he leered down. "I wonder what else you'll offer up."
Lance's stomach flipped and he hated how he pressed himself against the wall, away from the guard.
"Still, a deal's a deal. I'll be back."
Lance stumbled his way over to Keith and Pidge, all but collapsing. He tugged Pidge to him again, noting that her breathing had worsened and more scarlet trails were dribbling from her mouth. He buried his face into her hair, swollen lips crying at the contact.
Keith didn't say anything, but a hand descended on Lance's shoulder and he leaned into it, feeling tears make their way down his cheeks now.
Pidge stirred. A tiny little gasp of pain as eyes twitched beneath closed lids. Lance called her name, desperate.
Honey eyes blinked open. They were hazy. Unfocused. She stared at Lance and he stared back at her. He whispered her name like a prayer.
"Matt?" she managed, eyes slipping closed again.
Lance swallowed back a sob as she shuddered in his arms. Yes, he finally choked out. He would give her that last bit of peace, if she would take it.
She smiled, blood flecking her teeth. "Matt," she whispered, reaching up a small hand, brushing it against Lance's cheek. "I found you."
Her hand went limp.
She was gone.
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When the Galran finally, finally, came back it was to take Pidge's body.
Lance fought. He wouldn't – couldn't – allow him to touch Pidge again. But the small body was wrestled from his grasp.
He tried then to get the assistance turned to Keith. He couldn't protect Pidge but he could still help Keith.
But the Galran laughed. "The deal was for her." The yellow orbs narrowed then, a smirk forming on the furred face. "But I might be open to another negotiation."
Lance blanched. And then Keith was there, grabbing him by the back of his neck, white-knuckled and begging Lance not to. Please.
He relented, slumping back next to Keith. He wouldn't make him watch anything like that again. He could at least do that.
After all…
Keith was the only one he had left to try to protect. And he had to. Had to until help arrived.
It couldn't be long now.
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They came the next time in a mob-like pack.
Lance tried to understand as they stormed in, guns in hand and scowls on their faces. Half-breed, he caught as they pulled Keith free of the wall. A mockery of their heritage.
There was no place in the world for creatures like him.
Keith fought, whipping one of the loose chains into a soldier's face and drawing blood. Lance joined in, limbs shaky but full of fear and determination.
It didn't matter though. He was no match for the brute strength of the Galrans.
He'd never been much of a match for anyone.
They dragged Keith to the center of the room, already stained with so much blood. They forced him to broken knees, reveling in the strangled cry.
Lance struggled to free himself from the chokehold another guard him in, feet kicking weakly against armored shins.
No. He couldn't… they couldn't…
Please. Please no.
One of the guards pulled a pistol from his belt and pressed it against the back of Keith's head, execution style.
Amethyst eyes, so scared and filled with tears, met his own.
"Lance," Keith choked out. "Don't—"
A bang. A flash of light.
A deafening thud.
It was over in an instant.
Lance sagged forward, staring blankly at the crimson stream running from Keith. Behind him the guard chuckled, his hold loosening.
No.
Keith's eyes were staring blankly at him.
No.
More red lines stretched across the floor as the Galrans laughed.
No!
Lance's hands closed into fists. And that action had them brushing against cool metal.
He glanced down, the guard's belt and blaster tantalizingly within reach.
But too little too late. They were all gone. He'd failed to protect them.
Still, his hand closed about the gun. A cold fire filled deadened blue eyes.
He couldn't protect them.
But he could avenge them.
He fired the first shot into the guard's foot. The hands released with a scream of pain and he'd turned the gun point blank and watched the Galran's face explode.
The laughter had turned to shouts now, screams then as Lance fired again and again, blood splattering in a macabre arc.
He faintly felt the sensation of pain, white-hot in its agony, strike him.
He did not care.
He was no longer a shield. There was no one left to protect. He was just a weapon now.
And a weapon was made to hurt.
The screams blended together, red and purple and yellow in a dizzying swirl. Lance kept firing.
He pulled the trigger again and again until the only sound in the room was that of the click, click, click.
Only then did he sink to the floor, starbursts of fire making themselves known and copper filling his throat.
He was dying. The thought was sudden in its clarity as blood bubbled up between his lips. Darkness pressed in on him and he released his hold on the gun, the dull clatter ringing in his ears. He felt his pulse slowing, the pain fading.
He was not a weapon now. He was instead nothing more than a broken shield.
And a broken shield could protect no one.
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Author's Notes:
Made it through this, did you? Congrats. This idea was born out of nowhere and no matter how hard I tried I could not stop thinking about it. It got the point where I couldn't even work on Color until I wrote it down and so here we are. Hello darkness, my old friend. I am not personally a fan of tragic death fics, so why this was pressing on me so hard is a question I cannot answer. But two hours later I have drabbled this out and here we are so I can move on.
What was Keith trying to say at the end you ask? I personally am going with "don't look," but you can think up whatever you'd like. There are plenty of endings actually I enjoy for it.
If you enjoyed (or were disturbed, or whatever may have you) feel free to leave a comment down below. We can all revel in my darkness together. Thanks everyone!