a/n: Hey guys! Welcome to my second entry for badthingshappenbingo! You can get your own card at

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This one got away from me! Please expect the length of these prompts to fluctuate depending on how deeply the idea digs its claws into me. I didn't mean for this one to get so long but I guess that's part of the fun with prompts!

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The sound of Lance's screams had gone on for about four days.

They took Shiro's arm on day one with swift and eerie precision. His metallic galra-tech limb looked like a threat so they severed the connection and ripped it off with brute force and without any kind of anesthesia. It had hurt but the look of terror on Lance's face had been enough to keep himself from falling apart.

Coran and Allura had warned him about these creatures surrounding the drop point. The Crohara; strong, void of empathy, not to be messed with. Apparently their thick skin was more than a means for defense. Their species simply did not feel physical pain, making them a worthy opponent. They were also quick to punish and since they did not feel pain, they took things away. Eyes from those who refused to look up to their superiors. Fingers from the ones who were a little too greedy. Coran had reached far into his historic memory and told a particularly gruesome tale of a soldier who never listened, so he had metal skewers jammed deep into his ears to kill his hearing.

Shiro had been chucked into a cell, alone, separated from Lance before he could even come up with some semblance of a plan.

Lance's screaming had begun not much longer after that, and it just… never stopped.

The frustrating part for Shiro was not that that they were doing things to Lance to rip those kinds of sounds out of him, but rather because Lance was, for whatever reason, bringing it on himself. He knew this because it was Lance, and that was what Lance did.

The Crohara always walked right by his own door, never sparing him a glance, and on more than a few occasions Shiro had heard the massive ape-like aliens complain about Lance's smart mouth.

"It makes a lot of noise for one so small."

"It laughs at me when I threaten it."

"Varsis tells me it is too valuable to kill, but I do not know how much longer I can allow it mock me."

"It informs me the one-armed human knows nothing."

"It tried to lecture me on something called hospitality."

Shiro was no idiot. Lance was obviously talking back, a lot, to keep the attention on himself and off of Shiro, to the point they were punishing him for it and making him scream instead.

In moments of quiet, he would talk into the wall in hopes that Lance could hear a familiar voice and be comforted by it. He never hears anything back.

XXX

At times, Shiro tried to be noticed. He tried to be disruptive and loud, which was difficult because he had nothing to break or throw around, and no matter how much he called out or beckoned, no one ever opened his cell door. No one even looked at him through the allotted feeding window. It was always straight to Lance's cell. What had Lance done to garner such attention?

By day three, Shiro sickeningly got used to the sound of Lance screaming, cracked and hoarse and tired. He even fell asleep to it once.

Then, on the fifth day, Shiro was startled awake but the sound of Lance flat out squealing like a slaughtered pig, high-pitched and peppered with sobs. During their time together, Shiro had heard many variations of Lance's voice, but this was hauntingly new.

All he could do was listen. He listened to the tortured cries of this person he'd come to care so deeply for, committing the sound to memory and sorting through all the horrendous ways he could avenge all of that suffering. The Crohana may not have been able to feel pain but that didn't mean they couldn't die with a fatal hit or be suffocated by a crushed windpipe. His flesh hand squeezed into a fist so tight it cramped his entire arm; oh, how he longed for his prosthetic then.

He must have gotten too deep into those thoughts because he missed the moment when Lance went quiet.

The contrast was startling, making every inch of Shiro's skin crawl with dread. He raced to the feeding window and pressed his face against it to see. A long varga passed before he caught sight of one of the bulky creatures passing by his cell, a satisfied grin on his face, his hands and front smeared red with blood. Shiro knew instantly who it belonged to.

Crohara didn't feel pain, but humans did. He felt it now from his side from where his nails had dug in ruthlessly as a form of sympathy. Because surely Lance was in a lot of it, and Shiro could do nothing to ease it.

XXX

It was later that night that rescue came.

There was an explosion. Shouting. The clashing of weapons.

When the smoke settled, Shiro could see the flash of colors in action. In front of his cell stood Hunk, sheepishly waving Shiro's prosthetic arm in the air. "Need a hand?"

From behind him, Keith glowered at the remark, but kept his focus on battle. Over the commotion, Allura was barking orders, reminding them to concentrate their hits not to hurt but to debilitate.

Pidge slid into view next to Hunk, a holoscreen already pulled up in front of her nose, fingers flying across the digital pad. The door hissed open at the same moment Hunk's face grew serious and asked where Lance was, because apparently, they assumed he and Lance were together. It only confirmed Shiro's already solid belief that Lance was on just other side of the wall.

"We have to go," Keith shouted, dodging a massive fist that would have taken his head clean off if not for his fast reaction.

"Shiro!" Pidge squawked when Shiro grabbed her arm and pulled her down the hall with him, not even glancing at his prosthetic arm, which Hunk had been holding out to him.

Over his shoulder, Shiro called back, "Everyone get ready to leave, now!"

He didn't even want to stick around to finish the job anymore. He just wanted to collect Lance and get everyone far, far away.

Pidge slammed into him when he stopped in front of Lance's door. She blinked up at Shiro, to the look on his face, and knew. She got the door open in less than three ticks.

It was shrouded in shadows and in the corner of it, practically pressed up against the wall with his back turned to the door, was Lance. The boy's name came out as a breath as Shiro stumbled forward, dropping painfully to his knees over Lance's slumped form.

Lance was trembling and whimpering and very much awake. His hands were cuffed tightly together and tethered to the wall by a short chain. Lance had maneuvered himself on the ground to where he could easily cup his hands over his face, mewling into his palms.

"Lance," Shiro whispered, not wanting to rush him yet needing to. No response. "Pidge, the cuffs."

"Right."

A green light. Pidge slashed the chain with her bayard, but Lance continued to hide his face in his hands.

Even when Shiro reached out to touch Lance's shoulder, Lance just curled further into himself and whimpered into his shaking, blood stained hands.

He gripped Lance's shoulder gently and rolled him onto his back, which Lance allowed with weak resistance. His hands were still pressed over his face, hiding. Hiding what?

"Lance," he said a little harder, motivating Lance to lower his hands enough to reveal his eyes, all puffy and red. His hands were trembling and slick with blood, smearing it onto his face like war paint. "Come on, let's get you out of here."

A massive explosion erupted from just outside the cell, causing the entire room to shake and sprinkle dust from the ceiling. Pidge yelped and all three of them made to cover their heads for protection. That was when Shiro saw it.

He had to suppress the urge to be sick, followed shortly by the overwhelming desire to murder every last Crohara in the facility.

Lance's mouth, coated with a mix of dried and fresh blood, swollen from the abuse and quivering in pain, had been sewn shut.

It was messy work, but Shiro couldn't image Lance had been still for it. There had been no precaution or care – they just went straight into his lips with a needle and suture and pulled it tight to seal them. Shiro's stomach rolled, his mind pulling up images of Lance squirming, being forcefully pinned down and a sharp needle being repeated forced through his flesh with not even an attempt at aftercare.

"I-I'm gonna.. I'm…" Pidge stammered, shaking her head to clear out any weakness she was feeling. Shiro only had one arm and she was far too little to carry Lance efficiently. "I'll get Hunk."

With a determined nod, she turned to do just that. Shiro stared helplessly at Lance's trembling form and bloodied face, trying to tune out the continuous whimpers because he didn't know how to make the pain stop. He was beyond grateful for the glory that was the cyro pods, but it didn't make any prior suffering any less difficult.

"Lance," he said again, like a broken record. He hardly knew what else to say. Tenderly he reached out to touch the stitches crisscrossing over the boy's bloodied lips, to test the material and tautness. Lance jerked his head away before he could even come close, but Shiro gently tapped his chin to encourage him to look up. "I won't… I just… I just want to see, okay? I want to see what we're dealing with."

He tried to keep his voice as steady and soft as he could, but even he could hear the waver. If Lance heard it too, he gave no indication as he slowly brought his head back to face Shiro, eyes tired and bloodshot. His left eye was half swollen shut.

Again Shiro went to touch the sutures and had to swallow the wretched gasp it tried to pull out of him.

It wasn't surgical steel or nonabsorbable monofilament or anything of the sort like it should have been. It felt stiffer, coarser. Like highly flexible piano wire. "Oh, buddy."

As if aware of Shiro's realization, Lance closed his eyes and whimpered.

"What's happening!? What–" Hunk's voice came to abrupt halt. Even though Shiro expected Hunk to vomit, he still winced at the sound of it splattering to the cold floors. He gave Hunk a moment to compose himself, knowing that he indeed would – when it came to Lance, he always would. "What do you need me to do?"

Shiro never took his eyes away from Lance. "Can you get him?"

"R-right." Hunk passed Shiro's detached arm to Pidge and knelt down to slide his arms under Lance, lifting him. He did so slowly yet urgently, tears welling up in his deep brown eyes when Lance let out a agonized, muffled scream at being moved.

God. That was right. Lance had been tortured and hurt well before they forced him into silence. He should have looked him over before attempting to get him out but he'd be so hyper-focused on the haphazard stitching at his mouth to think of much else.

Lance tucked his face into Hunk's chest as best he could without touching it to anything, still trying to hide. Shiro put his flesh hand to Hunk's back and gave a slight push to set him into motion.

It only took several minutes to get everyone out of the facility, but for Shiro, it was far too long.

XXX

Initially, Shiro had hoped that he could shove Lance into a pod to end his suffering as soon as they stepped foot into the med bay, but Coran had informed him that they'd have to remove the stiches first, else the pod might fuse it together with Lance's skin during the healing process since they weren't a degradable material. Lance moaned miserably at the declaration.

"We will have to reattach your arm as well," Coran added as a slight diversion, which Shiro knew would leave his shoulder feeling tender for a couple of days. He was counting on some advanced Altean drugs to force Lance into unconsciousness or a numbing agent to ease Lance through the process, because he just wanted Lance to stop being in pain.

He'd suffered enough already physically. Coran and himself had assessed the damage on the ride back. A broken arm, a black eye, lesions on very telling points of his body; Lance's wrists, neck and ankles were peppered with large bruises, along with a bright red ring where the cuffs had been too tight around his wrists. Upon inspecting further, they found some of Lance's clothing had been melted away, the skin burnt as if forced against a white hot poker. While his left leg wasn't broken like his arm, Shiro did notice a certain limpness to it, and any movement to said leg had Lance groaning deep in his throat. He'd taken it upon himself to investigate, cutting the fabric wrapped around Lance's leg and slowly peeling it away. Lance's breathing picked up when he did, near-hyperventilating through his slightly bruised nose.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry," Shiro offered, unable to give much else.

Once he lifted the fabric off the knee, Lance turned his head away, knowing. The entire knee was swollen and slightly deformed. Shrio swallowed thickly; the kneecap was completely busted from a direct hit. No way was Lance walking out of there on his own.

If there were more injuries, Shiro didn't get to find them. Coran put a hand on his shoulder.

"Come, Number One, let us get him settled," he said.

Yes, yes please. "Alright."

XXX

It was a beautiful sight seeing the drugs knock Lance into a forced slumber. He swayed for a moment, eyes locking onto Shiro's before closing completely. Coran had to catch him and lower him to the table when he had finally, finally passed out.

"How long will it take? Can I help?"

Coran leaned over Lance to observe the damage, mouth pressed into a thin line. "Not long. I will be as quick as an Anthrolop."

Shiro didn't know what that was, be it was comforting. Somehow.

"And no, Number One, just stay sitting where you are. You have done plenty and I'd like for you to rest."

He didn't argue because Coran was right. He was always right.

The knot in his gut began to twist tighter when Coran brought the cutters right up to Lance's mouth. At the first sharp snip, he jumped. For an entirely new reason, he was very grateful that Lance was knocked out right now.

A few more snips (ten total, he counted), the cutters clatter to the table next to Coran as the advisor tilted his head curiously.

"What is it?" Shiro stood and approached the table, hand immediately reaching for Lance's to hold it. The wiring had been removed, sitting in short, bloody strips on the table next to the clippers. The area around Lance's mouth was still inflamed and now lined with holes where the wire had once been, but his lips were able to part now, and Shiro saw exactly what had caught Coran's attention.

Behind pink, blood stained teeth was a hint of something else. His heart skipped the next few beats as next to him, Coran carefully pried the boy's mouth open to pull it out

A wad of fabric, once white but now darkened to a dark maroon, unraveled as Coran held it up to observe. Immediately after its removal, Lance took a large inhale of air through his mouth, followed by a slow, shuddered release. That was… Lance could have…

"Number One!"

It took Coran's shout for him to realize he was clutching Lance's hand with a vice grip, causing him more distress. He immediately loosened it, rubbing small circles on Lance's knuckles with his thumb apologetically, grateful that it had not been his prosthetic.

The Altean's voice went soft then. "Chop chop, then. To the pods with you now."

XXX

A day later, Shiro stood outside Lance's pod, two arms and everything, holding Lance's favorite post-pod blanket and waited.

Everyone waited with him. Shiro told them everything he knew, all the things he heard, all the damage that had been found. Keith mirrored Shiro's anger while Hunk fell into a storm of empathy and several batches of cookies in the kitchen. Pidge had nodded fervently, saying nothing but her eyes had glistened the entire time. Allura's guilt was so powerful Shiro could feel it in waves and no amount of reassuring her seemed to quell it.

When the frigid hiss of the doors sounded, Shiro readied his stance. Lance outstretched his arms as he fell, knowing reflexively that someone would be there. He hummed softly as he was wrapped in a soft, thick blanket and allowed himself to lean forward against Shiro's chest.

"I've got you," he told him. "It's over."

Lance lifted his head to look at him. Shiro released a breath he didn't realize he was holding at the sight. Lance's lips were pulled into a frown but they were smooth and soft and very much not full of holes.

"Good," Lance croaked, tucking himself back into Shiro's arms to be held and nothing else, seeking that prolonged comfort but Shiro was happy to give it. It was one only word, but Shiro savored in the sound. It was the first real thing he'd heard Lance say in nearly a week. Good, he'd said. Good. Glad it was over. Ready to heal. Shiro didn't doubt that Lance would be having a lot to say again soon enough.

Then, as if to confirm, Shiro squeezed him tighter and said, "Good."