Timeline notes: Anywhere really in season four or five minus you know, big crazy season-ending events.

Warning notes: Typical violence, blood and gore you get when dealing with me ;p

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In the Name of Love

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He was tied to a chair.

He was tied to a chair.

Or, well, at least Lance thought he might be. It sort of felt like that even though he really had nothing to compare it to since this had never happened to him before. But his hands were wrenched uncomfortably behind him and immobile, something hard-edged was digging into his upper back, he could feel the seat edge butting up against his knees and his ankles were lashed to what he imagined were the legs.

See, chair. It made perfect sense.

Now if only he could make sense of why he was tied to a chair. That would be good.

Oh, and blindfolded. He identified that part a tick later, blinking his eyes and feeling his lashes brush against something, as if the pitch blackness of his vision hadn't been enough. And, yup, gagged too as he went to make some sort of noise – torn between being polite and calling out a "hello?" and screaming for help as any sane person would do who found themselves tied to a chair with no recollection of how they got there.

Deep breath. Deep breath. He tried to take his advice and near choked as whatever the gag was – something that covered his entire mouth to the point where he couldn't even move his lips – blocked him from taking in air that way and his nose burned at the sudden rush.

Shallower breath. There. Good. And again.

Once he was no longer in danger of hyperventilating himself into unconsciousness, Lance scrunched his eyes behind his blindfold and tried to remember how he got into this mess so he could figure a way out of it.

They were on planet Ubax. He remembered that part. And unlike most planets they encountered, Ubax was almost like Earth in that it had various countries (a total of four) and each one of those had its own wide network of cities and towns and culture.

Voltron had arrived to speak with all four leaders of Ubax about forming an alliance and had chosen to settle the Castle down on the outskirts of the Jeyclid's capital, Jeyliva. And Jeyliva… it was literally like being back at Garrison City.

The Jeyclids – humanoid in shape, very slender but super tall (the shortest one he'd seen was Shiro-sized), with skin that ranged from light olive to forest green and smooth heads with these tiny little bumps that served as their ears on top – lived in cities made up of metal and wood. They had skyscrapers and three-story buildings and shops and sidewalks and street vendors and restaurants and –

It was a bit overwhelming, but in a good way. They even had newspapers and Lance could not recall the last time he'd actually held paper. He'd purchased one for the heck of it to hold it and had flipped through the crinkling pages just as his papá did every Sunday morning. The cover story had been about a serial killer still at large – and Lance supposed that when you had a setting like this you got the crazies and problems that came with them – that he skipped over, choosing instead to peruse a city council article about a new street tax, a few new business story, a feature on a local artist and then the real estate section because why not?

It was so normal and he loved and hated it, homesickness eating away at him. Still, his curiosity and excitement to discover new things won out and he'd spent the better part of yesterday trekking all over the city with Hunk and Pidge checking out shops and restaurants and ending with a movie (a movie! He still couldn't believe it).

But on the second day, while Shiro and Allura were still engaged in talks, Pidge and Hunk expressed interest in spending it at a museum dedicated to Jeyclid's technology and science that was really more of a research building than anything, so Lance had declined the invite. Boring to the extreme.

He'd debated going around town on his own, but that wasn't as much fun. Coran though had asked if he could run an errand to pick up some parts he needed – as the advisor was taking full advantage of the break and doing quite an inventory and diagnostic run of the castle – and Lance had headed out.

Lance gave a tiny nod and a muffled hum behind his gag. He was remembering all of this clearly so far. What next?

He'd picked up the supplies Coran had needed, flirting with the very attractive Jeyclid and charming his way to a better deal, and ended up with some spare GAC. He'd been en route back to the castle when a flower shop had caught his eye, or namely the light blue and pink blossoms in the window that reminded him of Allura. He'd grinned and strolled right in pick her up a bouquet.

The shopkeeper had been a very dark olive and had lit up with a near maniac glee when Lance entered. Lance remembered thinking the guy must not get a lot of customers this early in the day. Or, perhaps, it was the sheer amount of flowers he was attempting to buy when he found out how cheap flowers were here and how many he could get with his spare GAC. He was in the process of getting a bunch for Pidge too – a green and pink tiny bloom that smelled like kiwis – when the shopkeeper called him over to the front counter and insisted he look at the small succulent he'd pulled.

It was nothing pretty like the flowers, but it had its own unique aesthetic with a giant circular type green flower, and Lance did so love collecting potted plants for his room. He'd gone in to smell it – everything here smelled strangely of Earth fruits – and he'd been hit with the cloying smell of lilac and tangerine and then…

Lance jerked his head up, eyes widening behind his blindfold. He couldn't remember what happened after that! He'd smelled the flower plant and then… and then…

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

What the quiznak had happened?

With a muffled grunt he attempted to move his hands again but the rope – or, well, something that felt infinitely more smooth to his searching fingers, but functioning in the same way – was well and tight. He tried then turning his face towards his shoulder but only his chin was able to brush against it thanks to the tight pull of his arms behind him.

Just as he was about to try rocking the chair forward to see if it was bolted down or not (although why lying on the ground was a better option than sitting he hadn't figured out if it did give) there was the sound of a door opening and Lance went still.

Footsteps sounded, light and quick, and they stopped directly in front of Lance. A moment later something touched his face and with a rip that made his eyes water as his skin was yanked the blindfold that was apparently band-aid like was removed.

Blinking through his tears he made out the figure of a dark skinned Jeyclid, yellow and green flecked eyes wide. Lance blinked again. He knew this Jecyclid.

It was the flower shopkeeper.

He smiled at him, white teeth nearly glowing against his face. "Hello," he whispered, breath ghosting over Lance's face, sending the back of his neck prickling. A smooth four-fingered hand came up and cupped the side of Lance's face and he resisted the urge to shudder as it traced down his cheek.

What. The. Hell?

He chose to go with anger over the fear that was trying to take root at the touch, to say nothing of the situation. He jerked his head away but the hand followed it, tightening almost painfully on his chin.

The gag was apparently of the same make and Lance's lips tingled beyond pain as it was yanked off without warning, a harsh inhalation torn from him as surely as he swore skin had been.

He immediately leaned forward, trying to bite at the fingers that were lingering by his face but the alien pulled back with a cluck of his tongue.

"Now, now, none of that if you please. I do not like violence."

"Don't like…" Lance repeated incredulously, tasting blood on his lips. "What is this then?"

"You are merely restrained," the florist said, fingering the gag he'd removed that Lance realized now was some sort of leaf. "I would prefer if you would not resist. I do not like violence but I will resort to it if I must."

That seemed to be all the alien had to say as he turned to walk away.

"Hey!" Lance shouted after him, craning his neck awkwardly around to keep the alien in his sights. "Get back here! We are not finished!"

"I must hurry to make preparations. You came so soon after my last one I am lacking in proper supplies. But do not worry. I will return soon."

"Last one? What are you—?"

But the door closed with a snap behind the Jecyclid and Lance's question hung in the air.

He forced himself to take a deep breath, this time at least air easy to come by, and then take actual stock of his surroundings now that he could see them.

He was in some type of storeroom by the looks of it, a table on the far wall piled high with ribbons and vases while unused flower stands and racks cluttered the rest of it. Still likely in the flower shop, Lance surmised, which meant he was still downtown. Good. Downtown meant people. People who could hear him scream for help.

He stopped himself though before he belted out. It wasn't that he was too proud to do so. Nope. While he could definitely see Keith being the stubborn mullet he was and maybe even Shiro (to start, at least) be that way, he had no qualms about doing so. Not when he'd been apparently kidnapped by some crazy florist.

No, it wasn't pride. It was observation. And it sounded like the florist had – he shuddered – done this before, if "last one" meant anything. He wouldn't have taken the gag off if he had actual concerns of someone hearing him. Which meant that either he was no longer in the flower shop or the entire day had gone by and there were no longer any customers to hear him if he did scream.

And based on the rumbling in his stomach that wasn't entirely to deal with nerves and the terrible crick in his neck now that he was aware of it, Lance could conclude he had been here for at least a few hours.

Did anyone even realize he was missing? Coran would be missing his parts, surely, but if he had gotten sidetracked in another inventory he might not. Allura and Shiro were in talks all day until they came back to the castle to sleep and Pige and Hunk obviously wouldn't be expecting to hear from him while they were at the museum.

And while Lance had pretty much ruled out that yelling was moot at this point, he had learned to always cover every option. So tilting his head back he screamed out "Help!" and then waited, throat aching at the sudden harsh volume.

After a counted thirty ticks of nothing he went back to his original observation. No one could hear him.

Great.

Okay, so what did he have to work with? He shimmied in the chair – and ha! He had been right about that – and noted that the legs were loose. That was good. He could maybe maneuver the chair a bit if he could find somewhere useful to go.

His eyes lighted on one of the shelves a tick later. It looked to be made of metal as everything on Jeyclid was and metal was sharp. A grin lit up his face. If he could just get over there and cut the bindings on his hands he could get out of here.

Good. Good plan. He'd pat himself on the back if he could but since he couldn't he settled for tapping his fingers awkwardly against one another.

Now to move. He had to be careful because if he overbalanced and fell he wasn't sure he was going to be able to get moving again; not with the way his ankles were strapped so his toes skimmed the floor and his hands were tied at the mid-back of the chair.

"Piece of cake," he muttered under his breath as he threw all of his weight to the left and forward and immediately followed it with a toss to the right. The chair rocked and scooted forward maybe an inch. Only about one hundred and fifty to go.

"So easy," he pep talked himself as he achingly slow moved across the room.

Not even two feet shuffled across though his breath was coming in harsh pants and he could feel sweat beading on his forehead. Okay. Not as easy as it looked. His jaw was clenched so tight his teeth were starting to ache but he couldn't help it as one wrong tip could send him crashing to the ground where he'd be completely helpless and at the mercy of the florist.

And he really, really didn't want to be here when said florist returned.

Lance prided himself his sharp eyes, both in sniping and in observing. And right now his brain was recalling the tiny bits of newspaper he had skimmed through on the serial killer and Dios, he could not really be that unlucky, could he?

There'd been six bodies so far, he remembered, five Jecyclids and one Ubaxian from the southern country. Each body been found in various parks around the city after being reported missing around a week before, no outward fatal trauma reported but the paper had said autopsies revealed the victims had literally had their insides removed without a trace. One doctor off record had gone on to say it seemed, based on internal bruising and defensive wounds of various shades that the victim's had likely been alive. Lance had stopped reading after that, not needing any more nightmares that the war hadn't already caused.

Now he sort of wished he had finished because he had a terrible, sinking feeling he'd somehow gotten wrapped up in it.

Why did the universe seem to hate him?

But he wasn't this florists's typical victim. At least, he really hoped he wasn't. He was a Paladin of Voltron, ace sharpshooter and, he liked to think, pretty quick on the uptake. He wasn't some poor, helpless Jecyclid who had gone in to purchase a flower and ended up being tortured to death. Nope. Not him. Not his fate.

His eyes narrowed. And when he got free that florist was going to pay for what he had done. Lance would see to that.

He'd reached the shelf now, chest heaving from this efforts. Unfortunately, he realized a moment later that none of the shelves lined up with his hands.

Fear spiked in his chest and he hurriedly fought it down. Not now. He had to think.

The unit had a lower shelf that was not flush to the ground; hovering a couple inches up. If he were to tip over that should be at a height he could rub his wrists against. But… but if he was wrong or it didn't cut then he was stuck on the ground.

And what, he snorted, being stuck tied to the chair was better? This was his best option.

Before he could over think it, Lance threw all of his weight to the right. There was that split-second sensation of being suspended as the chair hovered on its two legs that made his stomach swoop before gravity took over. His crashed hard a moment later, shoulder aching where it had taken the brunt of the fall and stars dotting his eyes where his head had hit the shelf coming down.

He gave himself a minute to reorient himself and then reached out groping fingers, nearly crying with relief when the encountered the shelf. He pressed his bound wrists to it and began the second agonizingly slow process of moving them up and down. Bit by bit he could feel the tension lessening. Something cold and sticky was dripping onto his fingers.

Sap, he concluded, rubbing it between his thumbs. Made sense. The guy had already used a leaf as a gag, why not vines as rope?

A few long ticks later and there was enough give for him to pull at the vines and they let go with a wet snap. Lance lay there for a moment, in disbelief that had actually worked. He brought his arms back to his front – and Dios that hurt – and angled his torso down to pick at the vines holding his ankles tight. Between his nails digging into the plant and his desperate strength they were torn apart shortly thereafter.

Lance rolled off of the chair then and carefully stood, legs shaking with pins and needles and a mixture of adrenaline and fear. He rolled his shoulders and massaged his hands with each other, trying to bring back feeling to sleeping limbs while the rest of him felt jittery.

Okay. He was free. Now what?

There were no windows in the storeroom so the only exit was the door the florist had gone through. The room didn't have much in the way of items to be used a weapons, but Lance grabbed a cylinder shaped glass vase. It wasn't terribly thick but if he cracked it across the florist's face he was sure it would at least do something. Still, he shuddered, he'd rather avoid him completely. While slender the Jecyclids were still big and the florist was an easy seven feet. Lance didn't relish his chances against trying to take him out.

"You've got this," he whispered, voice sounding too loud in the quiet room but he needed to hear it. "You're going to be fine. Just go through the door, find the exit and run. Okay? Okay."

Save the heroics for later. He needed to get to the castle, relay the situation, and then the authorities could descend. The last thing Allura needed was some type of international incident during alliance talks because Lance went vigilante justice on her. That was a Keith thing. He was the level-headed one.

His hand settled on the knob, blood pounding wildly in his head. And with the gentlest of turns he eased it open and stepped over the threshold.

On the plus, no florist in sight. On the negative no exits either.

Just a hallway full of doors with no signage above any of them. Well, he supposed he needed to pick one.

He opted for the door right next to him, the handle cool to the touch. He grinned. Yes. Jecyclid got rather chilly in the evenings and he'd already anticipated he had been here for a good part of the day. This one must lead outside.

Turning it he expected to see a possible back alley to the shop. Instead he realized it was not an exit at all but another storeroom, a cooler rather, much larger though, that housed cut flowers to keep them fresh. He was about to step back and try another room when a doorknob across the hall turned and Lance swore his heart stopped.

He dove into the dully blue-lit cooler and pulled the door closed with a quiet snap behind him, heartbeat thundering in his ears. The Jecyclid hadn't seen him, had he? Or this door close? There was no lock on it, Lance cursed.

Then again, he shivered, he didn't want to stay in here for long. It was no freezer but it certainly still wasn't comfortable. Maybe mid-thirties?

Lance retreated further into the cooler, which stretched much further back an anticipated, sharp eyes seeking any type of actual weapon he could use. Maybe a pair of gardening shears or clipping scissors?

But the only thing here were flowers and more flowers. He spotted a large bundle of the ones he'd originally been drawn to for Allura and scowled at them. "Traitor," he hissed as he passed them by.

As he was rounding the row he heard the telltale click of a door open and he ducked down behind a rather tall shelf that housed a white petaled plant.

"I know you are in here," came the smooth voice of the florist.

Lance did not respond to the bluff. There was no way he knew he was here.

"Your body temperature has registered thanks to the controls here," and oh quiznak, apparently he did know, "so there is no need to hide. Come out."

Uh, no. Lance clutched his vase tighter.

"Please, do not make me resort to violence. You will not like it."

Lance resisted his immediate thought to point out that he didn't like the non-violent approach either and swallowed down the retort. Quiet. Be quiet.

He could hear the light footsteps coming into the room and his ears strained to track where they were headed. He just needed to stay opposite them and then—

The room was plunged without warning into darkness and Lance barely bit down his squeak of surprise.

"My species can see quite well in the dark," was the explanation he received. "But I do believe whatever yours is cannot."

Oh Dios. Lance's heart was hammering now and his grip felt sweaty on the vase. Without the visual cues everything was so much harder and the footsteps seemed to be echoing from all over. He knew, or he thought he knew, where he was relatively to the door. If he got up and—

A hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Found you."

Lance shrieked and whirled his vase around, feeling it shatter against the alien's leg and pieces of glass pelt his own face. The Jecyclid let out a sound of pain and surprise and the hand released him.

Lance wasted no time, jumping fully to his feet and sprinting.

He slammed into a table a tick later, breath knocked out of him from the force as it crushed into his stomach. But he was nothing if not quick and he scrambled atop it, flowers crunching under his body, and rolled off the other side towards what he thought was the row he'd come down.

Keeping one hand along the table edge Lance ran. The table disappeared a moment later and Lance kept going until he crashed solidly into a wall. Desperate hands flew over it seeking a doorknob that had to be there.

Come on come on come on come on.

He could hear the alien moving now and he choked back a terrified sob.

There!

His hand landed on the doorknob and Lanced yanked it open, flooding the cooler with the yellow light of the hall. Lance tore out of the room and turned to another door, but a turn of the handle revealed it was locked.

He whirled to go to the next one but the Jecyclid was there then, large form bearing down with all the force of a freight train. Lance let out a strangled yell as the alien crashed into him and they both went tumbling to the ground.

He kicked out, foot smashing into the Jecyclid's side, but it didn't seem to faze him. Instead, two large hands came down and gripped Lance by his shoulders, digging in cruelly and the Jecyclid picked him up to slam him back down.

"I" – slam – "did not" – slam – "want to" – slam – "use violence."

Lance's brain was rattling in his skull and stars were bursting in front of his eyes. The florist's eyes were mad now, unhinged as he lifted Lance up by his shoulders again.

But before he could be brought back down Lance forced himself to go completely limp and closed his eyes to feign unconsciousness. His back and head were aching and he couldn't keep taking hits like that. He couldn't overpower the Jecyclid – clearly, he thought bitterly – so he was going to have to try something else.

And to his great relief the Jecyclid did not follow through with another hit but merely lowered Lance back down to the floor. A deep sigh then, as though somehow Lance was inconveniencing his kidnapper. He felt the larger alien rise but remained still, struggling to hold his breath so as not to give away the giant inhale he really wanted to take.

Footsteps again, moving away. Lance cracked open an eye and observed the Jecyclid going to a door he hadn't tried and opening it, a blast of hot air wafting out – greenhouse, he concluded – and disappeared inside.

Lance jerkily sat up, already feeling bruises forming across his back. He stumbled to his feet, bracing himself against the wall as the hallway spun in a dizzying circle and blackness encroached. No. No fainting.

He had to get out of here.

Lance blearily surveyed the doors, trying to remember which one's he'd already tried, more than turned around from the head bashing. Definitely not the door the florist had just gone into. He decided to try the last one on the hall and made his way over there as quickly as he was capable of moving.

Locked.

He resisted the urge to cry although his throat tightened regardless.

Dios. All he'd wanted was to buy flowers.

The next one revealed the cooler so he skipped the next knowing it was the storeroom he'd first been in, and tried the one next to it.

The front counter of the store greeted him and he blinked at it.

The windows that led outside to the sidewalk showed it to be twilight and Lance trembled. He'd been gone a long time.

But it was almost over. He almost cried again but this time in relief. He moved out from behind the counter and the motion turned on the store's lights, bathing the flower shop in a cheerful glow. Lance was beelining for the door now.

Shaking hands grasped the handle and…

…and it remained locked. "Dios, no," he whispered, giving it another futile yank. This close and thwarted by another locked door?

He glanced to the side for something heavy to break out the window then. But as he looked up he caught sight of his reflection – frightened ocean eyes, bloodied lips and small cuts from the shattered glass peppering his face – staring back at him in the window… as well as the florist's.

"You are becoming most troublesome," the alien told him, rounding the display next to him with a long coil of black vines in his hand, while Lance frantically backpedaled to keep the alien in his sights. "But you will provide good sustenance for Aulie."

"Aulie?" Lance repeated, hoping for any sort of distraction as all he encountered were cut flowers and paper sleeves that would do nothing.

"My precious child. A beautiful specimen of the Varhany line. She takes a lot of upkeep but she thrives under my care."

Lance's brain fizzled. "Aulie is… a plant?"

The Jecyclid growled, offended. "A plant? A plant? You dare trivialize her great beauty to a plant?"

Lance just blinked. People were being murdered for… for plant food? He was going to be killed for plant food?

He had known fighting the Galra was beyond dangerous and death was always a possibility that they all tried hard not to think on. But if he did die during the war he thought it would be in battle. Not… not like this.

If it wasn't so terrifying it might be kind of funny.

"Do not try and resist again," the florist told him, pursuing Lance's dogged steps as he still found nothing that would make a dent. "You will not like the consequences."

"Like being eaten?" His voice cracked on the last bit. "By a plant?"

"Do not think of it in such barbaric terms. You are offering your insides so that Aulie may grow and flourish."

"Offer up your own then," Lance shot back, hand latching around a water pitcher.

"That is ridiculous," the florist sniffed. "She needs me to feed her. Without me she will not survive."

"What a tragedy."

The alien had closed the distance between them now and reached out a long arm. Lance slammed his pitcher at it but the thin metal flattened at the impact without doing any apparent harm. Lance cursed and shot out a leg, knowing his kicks were much stronger than his punches.

It connected and with an "oof" the shopkeeper stumbled backwards. Lance made for the window again, figuring he'd just throw his body at it at this point and hoped it would be enough.

The air whistled behind him and he let out a short scream as something slammed against his back and he felt multiple points dig into his flesh. He spun around to see what it was, but all that did was make the pain worse and he realized a tick too late that by turning he'd just ensnared himself more as the object was the long, apparently thorny, vine the alien had been holding.

It cut across his chest, barbs sinking through his shirt fabric like it was nothing and dark red stains showed immediately through the gray cloth.

The alien jerked on his end and all of it came free with a terrible ripping noise and Lance cried out again, stumbling sideways from the momentum and pain and right into the waiting hands of his soon to be murderer.

He tried to wrench himself free of the tight grip but he was pushed down to the floor, a knee digging into his back. Still, he wasn't going down without a fight.

His arms and legs flailed out but one of his arms was caught. The vine was pressed against his wrist and he gasped as it bit deep into his flesh. His left hand was captured and pulled behind his back and the thorny vine was secured from his wrists up his arm.

Dios it hurt and trying to shift his arms at all just made the spikes pull at his flesh more. Lance choked out a sob of pain and horror.

No. No.

This couldn't be how it ended.

"L-let me go," he tried to demand, although it came out a wavery mess.

"I cannot."

"I'm a P-Paladin," his breath caught as the florist pivoted on his back, knee grinding, and grabbed a still weakly moving ankle and stabbed it too with the vines. "Of Voltron," he continued over the pain.

"Oh," and there was definite surprise to the alien's tone. Lance felt a flicker of hope as the hands paused in binding his ankles together. A long hand reached back then and patted him atop the head. "I do thank you for your service. But it will no longer be required."

"St-stop," Lance pleaded. "Please don't," he gasped as his ankles were fully tightened, cutting right through his jeans. "Don't do this."

The alien pivoted again and his hands came to cup both sides of Lance's face. He jerked his head fruitlessly.

"I must. For Aulie. She is the only one who loves me and I love her."

"She's a plant," Lance choked out, trying to appeal to reason.

The alien's nails dug painfully. "She is my child. And you…" one of the hands moved to slap a leaf gag over his still tender lips, "are much too noisy. I do not like it."

Lance's whine as the shopkeeper grabbed him by his hair was swallowed up by the gag. He was dragged across the ground, hands helplessly bound behind him and ankles the same. He still tried to dig his toes in, hoping the rubber in his shoes would catch although it wouldn't do anything in the long run.

The front window was vanishing from sight and Lance stared past the reflected image of himself, desperately seeking anyone to be looking through it.

He choked on his next breath as the forms of Pidge and Hunk appeared, walking past the window and not yet looking in. He let out a muffled scream and apparently it was loud enough that the shopkeeper heard as he paused in dragging Lance to look up.

"Oh dear," was all he said, before he resumed dragging Lance, the window vanishing as he slid behind a stack of flowers and then the front counter. A knocking came on the door a tick later, polite and unhurried.

They hadn't seen him.

"Stay," the shopkeeper told him, pulling him further behind the counter and dropping him on his back. Lance screamed behind his gag as all of his body weight landed on his bound hands the spikes dug into his lower back.

The florist moved away, steps light, and opened the door with a little jangle. "I am sorry but I am closed," he said, voice carrying across the storefront.

"We're so sorry to disturb you," Hunk sounded then, polite but underneath it Lance could hear his fear. "A friend of ours has gone missing and we're looking to see if anyone saw him. He was out shopping earlier."

"Here," he heard Pidge say, her voice exhausted, and there was the soft sound of a datapad. "This is him. Goes by Lance."

Lance screamed for all he was worth and despite the horrendous pain it caused he picked his feet up and slammed them down against the ground. Unfortunately, it was on a rubber mat behind the counter that absorbed most of the sound.

Still, there was a tiny thump.

"What was that?" Hunk asked and Lance almost cried. Yes. Yes. He was right here.

"Hmm? Oh, I have a number of plants capable of moving and they can get a little feisty after hours."

"Cool," Pidge said, with a tired sort of enthusiasm.

No! No. Dios, no, he was here. That was him. Hunk! Pidge! Please!

"As for your friend here, no, I am sorry I do not recognize him. I am sorry."

No! Hunk, no! Dios, por favor. Please. Lance let out another muffled shriek but no one said anything of it.

"Thanks anyway," Hunk said, voice heavy. "If… If you do please let us know. We're staying at the Castle of the Lions and the authorities are aware too."

"Of course. I wish you the best."

There was a quiet murmur of good nights and then the door shut and the lock clicked with a final air.

Tears were coursing down Lance's face that he couldn't even try to stop and he heaved out another sob.

No.

No.

The florist came back into his sight, a pleased little smile playing over his face. "Lovely friends you had."

He reached down and grabbed Lance once more by his hair, pulling him from behind the counter and through the doorway into the hallway filled with doors. Lance whimpered as the thorns dug deeper into his hands and back, but that pain had nothing on the shattering inside his heart.

"Now come," his captor said cheerfully as he dragged Lance towards one of the doors. "It's feeding time."

xxx

Author's Notes:

See warning up top but this fic is finished. I know. (Edit: I will be making this into a two-shot. I can't leave it like this. I can't). I'm dying too. But this (horrifying but delicious fic) was commissioned this way by the lovely onesmolhurt/jaspurrlock. She requested a kidnap fic with a chase, almost escape and tying up and gagging. Bonus points if I could include Pidge and Hunk almost finding him. So. Close.

I am taking fanfiction commissions as a fundraiser to help out a dear friend of mine who is in a pretty critical financial situation. If you are interested in donating to her or commissioning a fic with all funds going to her situation, please see my Tumblr for details, icypantherwrites. No personal profits are being made for myself.

I have to say, this was so tough to write for me knowing that a happy ending was not happening. But it was sort of dark and fun too? Thank you, Jas, for both the commission and for turning me into even more of a monster. (I say that with love). I really hope you like it!

For everyone else reading, I hope you enjoyed it too! Again, please don't shoot the author for how this ended. If you have anything other than threats upon me please do drop a comment below. I'd love to hear from you!