Content Warning: As the title suggests, this chapter contains violent, intentional strangulation.

Asphyxiated

Keith was well aware that there was no way to be one hundred percent prepared for every specific fight. Just about anything could happen and it was up to your own instincts to get you out of a difficult situation. Another thing that quickly became apparent was that sometimes what went wrong during a battle was those instincts failing you—in astronomically horrible ways. For instance, you could neglect to foresee an incoming surprise attack, be blind-sided by a Galra soldier ramming headlong into you, lose your balance, and then find said soldier's hands wrapped around your neck as you crash to the floor.

That could pass as a random example, but it was Keith's horrific reality. Huge hands were pressed so hard against his windpipe that their owner shook with the effort, focusing all their strength into cutting off The Red Paladin's airway. Keith expected to get a sword to the gut at any moment, but his assailant seemed too intent on giving him a drawn-out death. In a panicked haze, he knew that he had seconds—not minutes—to free himself before he'd pass out.

He frantically groped for his bayard that had been tossed out of his hand in the attack, seeing it just out of reach in the corner of his eye. When that failed, he attempted a kick, but his legs were pinned under the hulking Galra looming over him. Could he call for help over the com-link? No. His helmet had been knocked off upon impact. Besides, he couldn't speak. All he could manage was a wordless, glottal click that only caused the soldier to squeeze impossibly harder.

Keith's vision began to tunnel, fuzzy darkness creeping in the edges of his sight like an infection. Don't pass out. Don't pass out. Don't pass out. Abandoning all logical thought, he resorted to clawing uselessly at the Galra's hands and arms. All noise was drowned out by the rush of his own blood in his ears—it felt like his head was about to pop.

His wide, bugged eyes took in the hateful glowing amber of the ones above him, and the cruel, toothy grin from whom Keith found himself accepting to be the agent of his death. The realization scared him. He didn't want to die here. He didn't want to die. Keith knew there were tears, flowing free and hot down his face and mingling with sweat. His fists beat weakly against the hands that bound him, but he kept catching himself in the jaw instead. Air. I need air. Please.

In answer to his silent pleas, the hands disappeared. Through his failing vision and muffled hearing, it was difficult to tell exactly what had happened. He was aware that the soldier had been attacked, or at least distracted enough to cease their vice grip on Keith's throat. A blur of yellow and white had barreled into their side, effectively pushing them away from him. Hunk?

There were the vague sounds a scuffle and some gunfire going on beside him for a few seconds before The Yellow Paladin appeared at his side again. He was rather content with just lying there and letting his body recover, but Hunk was hovering directly in his line of sight. He was yelling, that much Keith could tell, and urgently patting his face. What did he want from him? Keith then realized that during the brief time since he'd been released, it seemed his body had forgotten that he needed to start breathing again. It was almost a conscious effort to draw in a painful, rattling breath.

Keith coughed violently as Hunk turned him onto his side, carefully arranging him into the recovery position. He wasn't sure how much that was needed in this situation, but he deeply appreciated the gesture. As he tried to catch his breath, his senses started filtering back. His vision cleared, aside from the tears that he couldn't seem to stop. Hunk was babbling, and he began to hear that too.

"Okay. Okay, good. You're okay, Keith. You're breathing. Thank goodness."

He sounded like he was still panicking. Keith wanted nothing more than to assure his friend that he was fine—he might even be good to walk out of there in a few minutes. But, he couldn't muster the strength to speak just yet. He settled for attempting to take deep, obvious breaths, hoping that Hunk would get the picture.

The Yellow Paladin had switched to rattling off information over the com-link, relaying their situation to the rest of the team. Keith could feel the weight of Hunk's hand resting on his forearm as he listened in on half of the conversation.

"Yeah, no. He's fine…I think. He hasn't said anything, but he's breathing at least."

Keith sucked in a breath as Hunk affirmed that they'd meet up with the rest of the team as soon as he was good to go.

"M'good. Don' w'rry," he said, utilizing the exhale to form the assurance.

Hunk moved so that he was in Keith's line of sight, seeming pleased that he'd finally heard his voice. He smiled shakily before reaching out to him.

"You sure, buddy? You've already got some bruising on your—"

Keith couldn't help but flinch away and yell as Hunk's hand brushed—however tenderly—across his neck. The memory of that vice grip on his throat was still way too fresh. Keith instinctively doubled over to protect himself from the sudden flash of claws and murderous eyes.

"Oh, no, Keith! I'm so sorry. I wasn't even thinking. That probably hurts so bad!"

Hunk had sat back, hands curled in front of him. He looked guilty as he visibly resisted the urge to comfort his friend, afraid to touch him again. Keith took a moment to relax a bit before extending one of his arms to place a hand on Hunk's knee.

"N-no. It's okay. You didn't hurt me. It's just…I really thought I was gonna—"

Keith's eyes welled up again, tears rolling and dripping off his nose. "I'm just being a baby. It's fine." The last word was almost lost in a sob. Why couldn't he stop freaking crying? This wasn't the worst thing he'd been through, so why?

"Aw, Keith," Hunk breathed. Keith felt a hand in his hair, running comfortingly through the sweaty strands.

"You're not being a baby. That was pretty scary, man. You almost got choked out there." He paused, sorting through the appropriate words in his head. "Heck, I'm the last person who's gonna judge you for freaking out and crying."

Keith couldn't help a watery huff of laughter from escaping him. He smiled gratefully up at Hunk, unable to find the words to express how glad he was to have his teammate with him. They stayed there, Keith finally getting his breathing back under consistent control as Hunk carefully checked him over for any other injuries. He moved Keith's limbs and checked his ribs, eyes trained on Keith's face to gauge any pain response. The ministrations quickly became soothing and he all but melted under Hunk's gentle touches. That is, when he wasn't wincing at some of the more tender areas being prodded at.

The Yellow Paladin hummed in approval as he found nothing else too egregious aside from what was probably some already wicked-looking bruises circling Keith's neck. He muttered to himself about getting Keith into a pod—he probably didn't want to take any chances. Keith wasn't about to argue. He still felt like an elephant had dragon-kicked him into a wall before butt-stomping his windpipe.

Despite his body's protests, Keith pushed himself up into a semi-seated position. They needed to get going. Hunk hovered a bit, but trusted him to complete the action on his own.

Keith caught sight of the Galra that had attacked him. He couldn't tell if he was dead or not, but the chest plate was a still-smoldering mess. Hunk could be downright ruthless when his friends' lives were directly at stake. That had been made crystal clear on many occasions and this was no exception.

Once Keith was upright, he paused to contemplate whether he was really up to walking on his own—no, not really. He turned sheepishly to Hunk, who was still eyeing him with concern and offering Keith his helmet back. He accepted it and slipped it on before speaking.

"I-uh-I think I'm gonna need some help here, big guy," Keith said, his voice still a little raspy, but stronger than it had been.

"Oh! Right. I got you, buddy."

Hunk immediately moved into action, gently wrapping an arm around Keith's back. The Red Paladin placed his arm across Hunk's shoulders for preemptive support and the two slowly stood together. Keith hissed slightly as his sore neck was jostled in the motion. They moved forward, regardless.

"You sure you don't want me to carry you or something? Because I could, you know?" Hunk offered. Keith didn't doubt he could. He'd seen Hunk do his fair share of carrying Lance and Pidge away from danger—both of them at the same time once.

"Uh, no. I think I'll live."

"Hah, good." Hunk sighed. "In all seriousness, I'm really glad you're okay. It's difficult to see someone like you go down like that."

"Someone like me?"

"I mean it's just easy to see people like you—and like Shiro I guess—as, like, totally invincible. Because—if you don't mind me saying—you're always pretty awesome at the whole fighting thing. But, then you guys still get hurt sometimes and it's kinda like my whole sense of reality shatters and—"

"Hunk, relax. I get it," Keith reassured. He knew that Hunk was about to launch into gushing about Keith being his friend and how much he cared about him and hated seeing him hurt and all that. Keith decided that he couldn't emotionally deal with those kind of words right then, so he cut him off. He was better at accepting physical affection from those he cared about anyway—preferred it in most cases, actually. Words could just be clumsy and awkward. He briefly tightened his hold on Hunk in a sort of oddly-angled side-hug—it's the idea that counts.

"And don't forget that you're awesome too. You saved my life today, Hunk. Can't thank you enough," Keith said, his voice fading slightly.

"Anytime and every time," Hunk said, beaming a little at the praise.

Keith chuckled, but stopped on a cough which agonized his throat. He could feel Hunk's worried gaze boring into him.

"Let's go get you fixed up, man. There's a healing pod back at the Castle with your name on it."

Keith nodded, beginning to feel the exhaustion catching up with him as he allowed Hunk to steer him home. Despite knowing that sleeping would be Nightmare City for a while, it was still hard to fight—especially with Hunk's warm, grounding presence beside him. He wouldn't remember it, but The Yellow Paladin ended up carrying him the rest of the way.