Work Text
Swing to the left.Dodge.Uppercut, right hook.Duck. Double punch.Another opponent down.The bell rings and Keith sighs, gratefully, his stomach burning from where the guy had gotten a lucky hit in. He hardly notices when the referee comes over and lifts his arm up for the third time that night, announcing his victory; daring anyone to come face the fierce Red Paladin.No one comes forward, as the script had said. Keith sighs in relief.Despite what the script says, sometimes regular audience members come up just to get a giggle from their friends, or to see if they can. It’s usually pathetic, but they play dirty; tripping, pulling hair, stress positions and once, someone had decided hit him over the head with a chair when he was turned around (they were kicked out immediately).Keith is able to tune out most of the boasting on the referee’s part, thecheering and the booing, instead focusing on all of the little aches in his body. The sting in his knee from when he had landed wrong, the burning in his stomach, the slight ringing in his left ear, and definitely the busted knuckles. Coran is not going to be happy with him, and he’ll probably be even less happy after the next match.It’s not like WWE; everyone hits, and they hit hard, but when they aren’t fighting, things are scripted. For example, when Lotor and his gang are going to supposedly ambush him and attack in a couple of minutes.He really wishes he had turned it down. He’s not sure he has the energy left to fight after three matches in a row.He shifts slightly, gasping harshly in pain when white hot pain bursts from his stomach— no, ribs?— and he says a little, desperately trying to keep it together. He has another match; he can’t collapse, or be hurt.When he sees a flash of orange hair in the crowd, accompanied by a grin, he knows he’s screwed. As much as he wants to push through, Shiro would have his head, but... he’s supposed to lose, anyways. Wouldn’t this make it more believable?“Paladin!”Keith grimaces, forces himself out of his little bubble, and plants a scowl on his face.“Here goes nothin’,” he mumbles, beneath his breath, and pulls his arm out of the referee’s grip.Cheering erupts from the crowd and he sees Lotor climb onto the ring, a smirk on his face.This won’t be fun.His ears ring so badly, so loudly, he thinks his eardrums have been broken. It seems impossible, since the most they’ve done to his head is put him in a headlock that he barely broke out of, but... why else would he hear so much ringing?The crowd bursts into a loud mix of booing and cheering, mostly booing, and he feels some sort of smug feeling when he realizes Ezor is boasting with Zethrid and Axca. A four on one is in no way fair, but they’re supposed to be the ‘bad guy’ group, anyways. Nothing is fair to them.He knows he should get up, maybe even tap out or talk to the referee, but everything hurts too much to move, and... it doesn’t seem worth it, anyways. The match will be over soon.A warm, heavy weight settles on top of his lower back and he gasps sharply, grimacing and squirming, trying to get free, until a large hand grabs his hair, lifts it up, and slams it down onto the stage.The next few moments are a blur, his vision filled with black dots, and a dull feeling in his head where there should be pain.His arms are pulled taut behind his back, and no matter how hard he pulls, they don’t budge. It lifts his entire torso, as much as he doesn’t want it to, and nausea rolls heavily in his stomach. Typically, he’s able to put up with these positions, but his stomach and ribs hurt so badly that he might puke within seconds.Whoever has settled over him— probably Lotor— grabs his chin, next, and pulls him up more, eliciting a sharp cry from the pain that hurts throughout his torso. He feels Lotor flinch against him, obviously not expecting that, and the grip loosens, but doesn’t go away completely.Soft, quick breathing moves his hair away from his neck, and he lets his eyes flutter shut for a brief moment, not bothering to struggle. Moving anyhing will only make him feel like he’s dying.A few strands of silver hair float into his line of sight and he wheezes, making a show of ‘struggling’ to the crowd by stretching out his feet as much as he can.”Are you in pain?” A whisper for him and him only, the words ghosting along his ear.He debates saying no briefly before realizing Lotor could see right through him, and taps once on his forearm, as much as he can manage.Yes.“Do you require medical assistance?” Another breathy whisper, grazing his ear. He knows it’s standard protocol, and that he’s done it to opponents when they were in one of the stress positions, but he can’t help but feel that Lotor sounds... concerned.Three taps.I don’t know.He hears Lotor hum softly, then shift, allowing him a bit more breathing room. Everything hurts a little less, now.”Is that any better?”One tap.
Yes.
”But it still hurts?”
Yes.
”I am going to call in someone for help, and let them win. The match shall be over soon, and hopefully, my partners will leave you alone.”The statement is finished with Lotor pulling away, scoffing, and throwing him back to the floor, pulling a quiet moan from his throat that he can’t quite hold in.He feels looks of concern from Lotor’s partners and he grimaces, trying to make a show of getting up for the audience, but he can’t. Physically and mentally.”Is this what you call ‘strong’, Altea?!” Lotor’s booming voice echoes across the stadium and Keith swallows hard, knowing it’s all for show, but... some part of him knows Lotor is right. “This pathetic thing is terribly weak! Bring me a worthy opponent!”It stings, but Lotor is only helping him. He hopes the other 3 get the hint.He hears a pair of footsteps, loud and fast, followed by a few other quieter pairs, before everything fades to black.“...anytime, now.””How bad was it?” Shiro’s voice, laced with concern and worry. He feels guilt build in his head and he breathes out heavily, wishing he had gotten amnesia so he wouldn’t remember what happened.”I assume it wasn’t too bad at first, but after watching what happened, Zethrid had thrown him around far too much for it to be a simple crack. Three of his ribs are broken, and he tore a neck muscle.””Oh, god...””Don’t fear, number one! He should be out and about in about two weeks time, so long as he gets plenty of bed rest.”A hand settles in his hair. He presses against it as much as he can, attempting to curl onto his side to get closer. It feels like Shiro’s hand.A thick arm settles across his shoulders, too, keeping him still, and he hears himself whine more than he realizes he makes it. Someone chuckles. Shiro again, he thinks.”Hey, bud’. Welcome to the land of the living.”He grumbles something in reply. He doesn’t know what, exactly, but it makes Shiro laugh.“I know how you feel. I didn’t want to be alive after fighting Zarkon. Anyways,” Keith frowns and opens his eyes to cracks, wincing at the harsh lights. Shiro must notice, as his face is blocking most of them nearly seconds after. “How are you feeling?””Sore,” he mumbles, the words fearing against his throat. He winces, curling into himself a little more as Shiro slowly rubs circles onto his scalp. “Wh— wha’ happened?””With Lotor?” After a timid nod, Shiro sighs, rubbing his scalp a little more gently. “After we won the match, he told us about your conversation. He saw bruising on your stomach from where your shirt had ridden up and he hot concerned. Why didn’t you ask the referee for a break? You know Alfor wouldn’t have minded—“”Didn’ hurt ‘til Lotor sat on m’,” He mutters, letting his eyes flutter shut again. It’s not a total lie; while it had been hurting before, he was able to ignore it, for the most part. He hears Shiro sigh again and guilt turns into regret.”’m s—““Don’t apologize, Keith. Just get some rest, alright? We’ll talk about it when you’re more coherent.”As much as Keith wants to fight it, black overtakes his vision without his consent, Shiro’s hand pushing him to a content, relaxed sleep.