This was originally written for 2019's Whumptober prompts, but I fixed it up and have thus decided to share it with random strangers online. So, enjoy!
Lance shivered, the constant chill of the air finally drawing him from unconsciousness. His head pounded in a pulsing, sharp sort of way, the cold doing nothing to numb that pain like it did everything else. Or, maybe it actually was. Maybe without it, this would actually be worse. Lance swallowed, his mouth dry and throat hoarse, before forcing his eyes open. The action was useless- had been useless for… for… how long had it been? Was it a week, now? Two? Only a few days? He wasn't quite sure. They never told him anything, or answered him, or. They just asked the same questions over and over, taking their time in between each reiteration to- to hurt him, and then it was time to rinse and repeat. Over and over and over again, until they decided to leave for... hours? A day? He could never keep track. All he knew what that it felt inconsistent. That the gaps between the interrogations were varied, but always lasted just long enough that he thought that maybe, this time, they had decided they were done with him.
That was almost worse, honestly. At least, it seemed worse when he was left alone for hours on end, in the dark and the cold. It was pitch black in his cell, the floors and walls were padded to the point that he might as well not be laying on anything, and his voice was shot from either dehydration or all the screaming, so he couldn't even do a thing to stop the ringing silence all around him. And that was all. No lights, no door... nothing. Just the thick, cloying darkness and the ringing in his ears.
The expected darkness of his cell greeted him as his eyes opened, and he quickly slammed them shut again. Somehow, he felt better laying in darkness when he wouldn't be able to see anyway. He shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position, freezing as his injuries flared with pain. He wasn't even chained up. They didn't see the point in doing something like that. And there really was no point. They didn't need to tie him up; He couldn't escape either way.
On top that, Lance couldn't really feel all that much when he wasn't moving. He was just… numb. He didn't think that was a very good sign. He could still move, though, if he ignored the pain it caused, and that very sensation proved he could still feel, so it- it probably wasn't really that important. At least, that's what he was hoping.
But- but at the very least, he hadn't told them anything. He couldn't escape, but he could still think clearly. At least, he could usually. ...He could right now. Yeah. That was more accurate. But clear head or no, there was no way he was going to give these people anything that they could use against Voltron. Sure, sometimes his mind was muddled, or scattered, and his thoughts were vague, and, most of the time, filled with more fear than rationality, but... he was fine. That usually only happened when they came to interrogate him, or sometimes when he woke up- when he could even get to sleep in the first place, that is. But it- he hadn't told them anything. That was enough for now, right? They couldn't keep him here forever. Someone would come to rescue- He cut that thought off immediately.
Lance sat in the darkness, doing his best to just breathe, trying to gather all the strength he could. After a moment, he opened his eyes again. Shapes and colors swam into view, indistinct and fuzzy. He blinked, the fluttering hope in his chest crumbling when he could still see them with his eyes shut. Swallowing down a brittle sob, he opened his eyes again, and the shaped shifted even as he watched, never quite the same. Never really there. Just a trick his mind came up with, thinking it would be funny to get his hopes up again- though maybe that was Lance's fault, for still hoping even after- after- after how ever long he's been here. He stared up into the darkness, idly wondering how far up the ceiling was, and… he started to hear something, echoing faintly in the darkness. His breath caught in his throat, a sudden fear taking hold of his heart, sending it plummeting into his stomach.
The noise didn't stop. After a moment, he managed to take another breath. It wasn't the creak of an opening door he couldn't see, nor was it footsteps (something that he had quickly learned he couldn't hear until the door was open, the walls encapsulating him in perfect isolation. Even when the were in the room, it was less footsteps and more the sound of shifting fabric, which is was he was pretty sure the floor and walls were covered in.). No, this was softer. It was almost like singing. Or maybe whispering. His eyes burned. There wasn't anyone there. There was no song playing, no real sound. He knew he was just hearing things. In the beginning he'd managed to cover his ears, only for the sound to remain. He wouldn't be able to manage that now, even if it would block out the noise.
If he was lucky, it would only be the music, and the whispers, and it wouldn't turn into… into the voices.
A loud bang filled the room, joined shortly by the awful screech of metal on metal. Lance gasped, the loud sound sending a wave of pain bursting to life in his already aching head. The door was slowly inching open, the metallic screech its constant companion. A flashing, red light burst through the widening crack in the wall from the door, and he did his best to angle his head away from the light, too harsh and bright even against his closed eyelids. There... there wasn't usually light. Even when they came in, the hall was as dark as his cell was. Something- something was wrong. This was wrong. What was-
"Lance!" A loud voice filled the room, and he winced. It wasn't that loud sounds were really that uncommon between their loud demands and his own screams, but it was still somehow overwhelming to hear. And- it had used his name. They never did that. He'd never given it to them, so how did they know? "Lance- hold on!"
It… it almost sounded like Shiro. His mind screeched to a halt at that thought. No. No, no, no- please, please, not this. He'd thought they were done with this. Why were they doing this again? Either it was another trick his mind was playing on him, or... they wanted to make sure that he knew. That he understood he was never, ever getting out of here. They did this a lot before, at the beginning. They got ahold of his friends' voices somehow and they came for him. It was too dark for him to recognize that they weren't the paladins at first. They brought him to the door, took him all the way into the hall. And then they hurt him.
He didn't have to see it again.
He knew that no-one was coming for him. He knew that he was trapped. He knew. He didn't want - didn't need - to see it all again. They'd dragged him out the last time, after he refused to believe them, refused to let them carry him. They dragged him out, and even knowing it wasn't real, he could help but think of the Paladin's with every strike, every scream. Which one broke his foot? Which one burned his hand? Shiro? Hunk?
It wasn't them. But he couldn't help but think- but no. It wasn't them. It never was. And he'd thought they were done pretending like this. Somehow, he wished he was going crazy. That this wasn't real. If it was all in his head, then they weren't going to hurt him again. If this wasn't real, it was going to be okay.
Something fell onto the floor next to him, and a hand brushed against his shoulder. He cried out, flinching away. Okay. Okay, either it was real, or he'd gone absolutely nuts. Please don't be real, he silently begged the voice. He didn't want to be hurt again. Not again.
"Alright team, I- I found him," The voice - because he couldn't think of it as Shiro's, that hurt a bit too much - said. If it was real - and it probably was, despite all his wishing. it had to be, he couldn't have slipped this far in such a short amount of time (though it wasn't like he really knew how long it had been) - then they were really putting a lot of effort into it this time… "He's in bad shape, I need- I think I'm gonna need some help. And Coran, make sure a pod is ready."
A chill ran down Lance's spine. How did they know Coran's name? And about the pods? They hadn't known before. They'd wanted to know, but they didn't. They were using his name, they knew about the pods, they knew about Coran... Had- had he told them? Surely he'd remember that, if it was true. But how else would they know? What else did he tell them? How badly had he messed up?
"Lance?" The voice called again. "Hey, buddy, can you- can you look at me?"
He didn't want to. He didn't want to play along. Besides, it wouldn't make a difference anyway. It was too dark. Always so dark. (And if he looked, he'd just be proving that he still had hope, and they'd know they had to keep doing this. Had to keep tricking him.)
"Lance, it's Shiro. I need you to talk to me, okay?" Not-Shiro said softly. "We're going to get you out of here."
Lance shook his head slightly. "I-I don't… won't fall for it a-again." His throat ached, and his voice was weak, but he had to at least try do convince them that this wasn't necessary. "I k-know they aren't coming."
"What? Lance, please," The voice was getting desperate. "What are you talking about? We need to-"
"Shiro?" Another voice said from the doorway. It took a moment for him to recognize it, probably because it was difficult to think at all right now beyond the desire to stop this. But he did recognize it, after a second of thought. It sounded like Keith. "Is he-"
The voice cut off, but there was a soft thump as the newcomer also fell to their knees beside Lance.
"Shiro, we need to get him out of here. Now."
"I know, but he- he won't work with me. I don't know if- ...I don't know if he knows it's us."
They'd never used this amount of time to sell their story before… Maybe it was real? Maybe it wasn't a trick. Maybe... maybe it was really the other paladins, and- No. No. Lance crushed that thought immediately. It wasn't them. Thinking like that was dangerous. Besides, he wasn't important enough for them to risk everything for. They weren't coming for him. But... at the same time, he doubted that his captors would have the patience for this, especially when he wasn't falling for their trap
So he must be imagining things. Hallucinating. Somehow the idea was calming. It was worrying, and clearly a bad sign, but... if it was in his head, then he didn't have to worry about it being real.
"Okay. Okay, Lance," Not-Keith said sharply. "Listen to me, it's us. Keith and Shiro, your friends. We're getting you out. Do you understand?"
"N-no," Lance forced the word out. It hurt. it sounded like them, they acted like them- but it wasn't. He couldn't let himself believe that. "You're not- not them."
Not-Keith made a sound halfway between a sigh and a growl. "We don't have time for this. Lance, we're going to have to carry you. Fair warning."
Hands grabbed at his shoulders. He flinched, eyes flying open at both the contact and the pain that came with moving. The door was still cracked open, flashing red light spilling through - it was too bright, too bright, too bright - so he could make out their silhouettes. His breath caught.
It looked… it looked like they were really there. He didn't think he could ever imagine something this detailed. This lifelike. Their hands were warm. How long had it been since he was warm? His captors didn't look like that. This was-
"Hey, it's okay. We're going to get you to the castle, okay?" Not-Shiro - real Shiro? - said softly, holding out a hand to stop- to stop Keith?. "But, we- we need to hurry." He glaned out to the flashing lights- warning lights, Lance finally realized. "We need you to work with us. Can you do that?"
Lance hesitated. Was... was it really...? "A-are you… are you r-real this time?"
They froze, just for a moment.
"Yes, we're real- of course we are," Keith snapped. Lance paused. That's what anyone would say, whether imagined or deceptive. But... he was done not knowing. If it wasn't real, if it was another trap, then he'd deal with it as it came. They'd hurt him whether he listened or if he didn't, so why not try? Besides, they... they did look like them. Whether it was intentional or not, they'd let him see. For the first time in however long, he- he could see.
"I… I wanna go home," Lance whispered.
"I know. I know, Lance," Shiro said. "We'll take you to the ship. Please, let us."
Lance hesitated, before nodding slightly. Relieved, Shiro gently looped one arm around Lance's shoulders and the other under his knees. He let out a choked cry at the movement, tears gathering in his eyes. It hurt. Shiro muttered an apology, and then lifted Lance from the ground. His head burst with static, and for a moment he thought he would pass out, before his vision cleared again. His body was screaming with pain, injuries pressing against Shiro's arms and chest.
"Let's go," Shiro said, letting Keith take the lead. To clear a path, maybe? Lance slammed his eyes shut with a gasp as they reached the door to the hallway, light searing into them as the last of the darkness of his cell disappeared. The warning lights flashed in time with the pounding in his head, his eyes burning even closed as tightly as they could be.
Every step Shiro took was another flash of agony surging through Lance's injuries. He tried not to cry out or whimper. He didn't need to be more of a bother, after all, or draw attention to them. They had already come to save him; They didn't need more to worry about. And… speaking of saving him, the slow, full realization that this was real sank into him, and that alone was enough to shut down the last of his coherent thoughts.
"'M- 'm sorry," He whispered. "I didn't... didn't think you w-were real."
"It's okay. Don't worry, you have nothing to apologize for," Shiro said, firm but gentle. Lance smiled slightly, and for the first time in a long time, he felt warm, and- and safe. Smile still on his face, he slipped into unconsciousness.