Over the next few days, Lance made a concerted effort to get to know every single prisoner trapped in this awful place with him. He was an endless font of questions, wanting to know where everyone was from, who their friends and family were, what their culture was like, the things they missed the most. He made a particular effort with the female prisoners, and he seemed to have a knack for picking up which qualities each species considered to be attractive and complimenting those. By and large, the ladies bloomed and blushed under this treatment. It had been a long time since anyone had flirted with them, even the gentle, almost childish flirting Lance indulged in.

Males were not immune to this treatment, either, but Lance was a bit more circumspect with them. Sam got the feeling that it wasn't because he was ashamed of complimenting males, but because he was attempting to be respectful of social mores. The universe was enormous, though, and not every species had the same gender norms as Earth. Most of them didn't. Lance treaded carefully, but once he knew his attentions would not be rebuffed, he sailed on with heartfelt cheer and boundless enthusiasm.

Lance seemed to flourish like this, surrounded by dozens of folks who hung on his every word. The Galra were cruel, but at least they didn't lock up children in this terrible place, not even important ones. Lance was the youngest prisoner by far. He was a novelty, a breath of fresh air and a glimpse of sunshine below the ground. In less than a day, he had been adopted as a combination mascot, baby, and pet by ninety percent of the prison's population.

Lance spent a lot of time with Sam, too. Sam could usually be found sitting by the wall or in a corner, conserving the strength that continually drained out of him in this lightless prison. Whenever Lance wearied of the constant attention and needed a recharge, he came and sat next to Sam. The other prisoners respected his retreat, for the most part. They weren't allowed individual cells, unless they were being punished with solitary confinement, so they all staked out personal areas that the others made an effort to leave alone.

Lance was content to sit in silence with Sam, usually. Sometimes he hummed or tapped his fingers on his legs, shifting restlessly but trying to be unobtrusive about it. Sometimes he tried to strike up a conversation, but if Sam only responded with polite monosyllables, he let it drop. Sam found his company pleasant, if a bit jarring at first. It was strange to have such a young, energetic person choosing to spend time with him, especially one who wasn't his son or daughter. It made sense, though, that Lance would seek out the presence of the only other human in this place, especially one he had once looked up to, and perhaps still did.

A few days in, though, Sam looked a little more closely into Lance's face when he came to sit next to him, and he didn't like what he saw. Lance's greeting smile was less airy and effortless now, and his face was paler than it had been when he arrived, the dark rings around his eyes deeper. Lance was keeping up a good front, playing morale officer for dozens and dozens of aliens he'd never met before, but the strain was starting to show.

Sam scooted a little closer and bowed his head to speak softly to the boy. "How have you been sleeping, Lance?"

All of the prisoners were forced to simply lay down on the benches and floors when night came, with not even close to enough blankets and pillows to cushion them. The last couple of nights, Sam had been separated from Lance when the guards put the lights out and plunged them all into pitch darkness, and they hadn't tried to find each other, instead simply curling up with whoever was close. The guards kept an irregular schedule for the lights, so the prisoners were always off balance, unsure of when night or day would arrive. Sam didn't know if there was some cruel reason for it, some theory of control and subjugation, or if it was just because the guards enjoyed using their petty power over the helpless people here.

Lance shrugged and offered up a small smile. "Fine. I cuddled up with Braxia last night, the big one over there?" He pointed, and Sam nodded. "Seriously, like an Angora teddy bear. It was awesome."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "But did you sleep, son? I know you're doing your best to keep everyone's spirits up, keep them all expecting Voltron to come, and that's a fine thing to do, truly. I can't even explain how much of a difference you've made here in just a few days. But you don't have to keep it up for me, you know. I already know that my Katie will come for her old man."

He told himself that was true. He was getting closer to believing it.

Lance tilted his chin up, looking at Sam thoughtfully. "You don't have to worry about me."

"Indulge me." Sam leaned a little closer and bumped Lance's shoulder with his own. "I'm a dad. And I've worked with more young whippersnappers than you can shake a stick at. I'm allowed to worry."

Lance wrinkled his nose. "Sometimes I think you use those old-fashioned expressions just to mess with me."

Sam chuckled gently. "Maybe so. Still, the question stands. Are you sleeping well?"

Lance wavered. Sam could see the hesitation on his face, the need to let go, the opposing need to be strong. Poor kid. He was far too heroic, far too self-sacrificing. Just giving and giving, all day long, that was all Sam had seen from the moment Lance first arrived here.

But he was so young. Just a kid. He should be a cadet back at the Garrison, worried about tests and simulation scores and whether that cute classmate liked him or not, not about saving the universe and keeping up the morale of a hundred aliens from dozens of species, all much older than him. It was too much for a kid. Too much for anyone.

"C'mon," Sam said softly. He reached out, put his arm around Lance's back, and pulled him in. "You can rest. You don't have to be a hero every second of every day. You're allowed to be scared and sad. You're allowed to be just Lance, here with me."

Lance stiffened, trembling against Sam's side for a moment, then abruptly surrendered. His head slumped over to rest on Sam's shoulder, and a long sigh whispered out of his mouth as his entire body went limp. Sam brought over his other hand and combed it through the boy's hair, marveling silently at how soft it was.

"You're okay," he murmured. "You're okay, you're okay, everything's okay."

It wasn't true. Not even close. But while Sam was trying his hardest to believe Lance, Lance seemed to have no trouble at all believing Sam. He relaxed into Sam's side, letting himself be supported, and his eyes closed. Sam kept stroking his hair, and not long after that, Lance's breaths deepened as he fell into an easy slumber. Sam's heart swelled with affection. It reminded him of when Matt and Katie were tiny, the way they would fall asleep anywhere, how good it had felt to hold the limp, warm bundles of their sleeping bodies.

They stayed like that until Lance woke, hours later.

After that it was like the ice had been broken, and Lance seemed much more comfortable and at ease with him. He called him "Sam" without being reminded, and he relaxed in a way he couldn't with anyone else. Sam also felt that he had a job, now, and he pursued it to the best of his ability. While Lance worked with all his heart on getting to know the other prisoners and encouraging them to hold on till Voltron came, Sam took it as his responsibility to make sure that Lance himself was doing okay. Or as okay as he could be, considering the circumstances. He talked to the boy more openly and easily, sharing stories about himself and his family to take the pressure off Lance to talk, and also asked more questions.

"Why is it so important to you that you get to know all of the people here?" he asked one day, after watching Lance spend an entire morning trying to converse with a shy Iykosian who usually kept herself separate from the group. "You're putting a lot of effort into it, and it's admirable, but I'm not sure I understand why you're so determined about it."

Lance shrugged. "I just... I want things to be easier for them when we get rescued. We, Voltron, we've freed planets before, even rescued large groups of prisoners from the Galra. Whenever there's an influx of people like that to the ship, they're always confused and disoriented at first and have a hard time trusting us. I don't blame them, ever, but it's hard to help someone who doesn't even want to tell you the name of their planet. So I guess I see this as...an opportunity. Voltron is gonna rescue us, I know it, but I got in here early. So I have a chance to earn everyone's trust as an equal, another prisoner who's in the same position they are, instead of as a powerful and mildly terrifying warrior from outer space. It'll make things easier later. I know the Princess will appreciate the help with the diplomacy stuff, anyway, and I would do basically anything for the Princess."

Sam nodded and smiled. "That's very sweet of you, Lance." He should have figured the reason would be something like that.

Lance shrugged and blushed, looking away with a tiny smile. "It's no big deal. Better than being bored, anyway. Sure is taking them long enough to get here. I wonder what the hold-up is."

Sam frowned, but he didn't follow up on that thought. Lance was working hard to keep that certainty of rescue alive in his heart, and Sam would do anything he could to protect that. With each passing day, though, it got harder.

Then came a day when Lance's face was tired from the moment the lights came on and roused them all from sleep. His smiles were strained, his voice was quiet, and his words to the other prisoners were shorter and more rote than usual. He didn't single someone out and start asking them questions the way he had every day up till now.

Sam wasn't surprised when Lance meandered over to his corner and sat down with him. Lance's shoulders were drooping, his expression bleak. He looked exhausted, and Sam could see it. Everything had caught up to the boy at last.

Sam didn't say a word, just put his arm around Lance's shoulders and pulled him in to lean on him. Lance didn't say anything for a while. He lay against Sam's side, limp and weary, his breath slow and controlled. Sam raised his hand to brush over Lance's forehead, and his temperature seemed normal, so at least he wasn't getting sick. Not physically, anyway. Heartsickness was more likely.

"I don't get what's taking so long," Lance murmured. His voice was almost inaudible. He was trying to make sure no one else heard.

Sam leaned in a little closer to him and pressed the side of his chin to Lance's bowed forehead. "They're coming," he said just as quietly. "Your team is coming for you. They'll be here soon."

"Yeah." Lance heaved a sigh. "I just... I can sort of feel Blue, through this mystical mind link we have or whatever, and I know she misses me, and she wants to get to me. But she feels so far away. I really...I really want her to come."

"I know," Sam murmured. He cupped his hand around Lance's forehead and tucked him in tighter against his neck. "It's okay to be worried."

Lance made a frustrated noise. "I don't want to be worried. I want to know."

"And you do," Sam said stalwartly. "You know she's coming. You just don't know when, that's all. But the lions...you said they're incredibly old, right? Ancient. Maybe they have a different sense of timescale than we do. It might seem to Blue like she's getting to you right away, while to you it feels like it's taking much longer."

Lance hummed. "I guess that makes sense."

"Of course it does. I'm a scientist, you know."

Lance huffed and leaned against him even more heavily. "Yeah. Pidge got her brains somewhere."

"Mostly from her mom," Sam said gently. "But some from me."

Sam felt Lance smile, slow and reluctant but still there. It was good. It was good to be able to lighten this situation for this young man, however slightly.

Lance leaned against Sam for most of the day, gathering strength. Sam accommodated him as best he could, though here, as in a lot of other things, he was in uncharted water. Matt and Katie had never been quite this clingy, even when they were sick or distressed. But Lance was a different person, and whatever he needed, Sam would do his best to provide.

Unfortunately, Lance was not the only one who wanted to know what was taking Blue so long. It was later that same day, and Lance was still leaning limply into Sam's side, his eyes dull and listless as Sam swept his fingers gently through his hair. A commotion at the doors of the cell made Sam tense and raise his head, though Lance barely reacted.

The deep, threatening tones of a Galra put Sam's teeth on edge, and he wrapped his arms tighter around Lance and pulled him against his body. He didn't know what the guards wanted, but their presence in the cell when it wasn't time for rations was never good. Occasionally they would come in and remove one prisoner or another, then bring them back beaten and bloody or otherwise messed up, sometimes near death. Sometimes the prisoner was then locked in an isolation cell so the other prisoners couldn't offer even what poor comfort they had to provide. Sometimes it happened more once.

The prisoners were almost never killed, Sam knew that much. They were all too important. They were being kept alive here for a reason. But those prisoners who had people still waiting for them might be punished, tortured, and their agony recorded in order to keep those on the outside in good behavior. Sometimes it seemed more random, just cruelty for the sake of cruelty, for the sake of keeping the rest of the prisoners subdued. Sam didn't know what was going on this time, but his stomach churned with dread.

"Where is he?" A Galra demanded, kicking and prodding at the prisoners near him with a flexible rod that whistled through the air like a whip. This wasn't one of the usual guards. A commander of some sort? "Where is the boy?"

They all knew who he was talking about. Sam sucked in a breath and held Lance even tighter, but they had nowhere to hide. Lance looked up, then, finally realizing that something was happening. He looked toward the door and saw the Galra commander flanked by two guards coming this way, pointed silently toward their corner by several resigned prisoners.

"Sam..." Lance murmured, a tremble deep in his voice. "What...what's happening?"

"I don't know," Sam murmured, his hand wrapped vice-like around the boy's shoulder, clenching him to his body. "Just...don't fight, whatever this is. Don't sass them. I know that's your natural state, but you must not. Don't make this worse."

Lance didn't have time to answer. The Galra reached them, looming ominously above Sam and Lance huddling in the corner.

"Boy!" the one with the rod barked. "Paladin! Where is your lion?"

Lance blinked up at him. "You mean...Blue? The lion of Voltron?"

"You know what I mean!" The commander brandished his weapon threateningly but didn't strike him with it. "What is taking the lion so long to come for you?"

Sam could barely breathe. He had seen the guards come for other prisoners, but they'd never come after him. He was terrified, and he was ashamed of his terror. He wished he could shove Lance back in the corner behind him and shield him with his body. It wouldn't do any good, but he still wished he could do it, that he could offer even the flimsiest scrap of protection. But he couldn't. He couldn't even move.

Lance, for his part, shook his head in sincere confusion. "I have no idea, dude. I thought she would be here a while ago, honest."

The commander growled, then reached down and grabbed Lance by the forearm. He pulled him to his feet, ripping him out of Sam's arms as if all of his strength was worthless, meaningless. Which it was, truly. Sam scrambled to his feet beside them, but he was shaking so hard that even that was difficult.

The commander yelled in Lance's face, spraying him with spittle as the boy winced and turned his head, cringing away. "You have a bond with your lion, do you not? Call for it! Scream for it to come, if that is what is required!"

"I've been trying!" Lance protested. "For real, do you think I would stay here one second longer than I could help it? I've been praying for Blue to come all day long, every single day, and she's still not here! What else am I supposed to do?"

The commander paused. He shook Lance like a rag doll, hanging almost limp in his grasp. He didn't shake him that hard. It was almost curious. He stared down at Lance, his head tilted. "Really? You've been calling your lion this entire time?"

Lance nodded frantically. "Yeah, of course! If I could do anything else, I would." Then he paused, hanging in the commander's grip as his chest heaved. "Wait...why do you want Blue to come?"

Sam's breath stuttered just as Lance's did. Oh no.

It was a trap. It was all a trap.

The commander held Lance still in his fist and bent his head closer to him, a strong whuff of air through his nose blowing Lance's hair back from his face. Lance squeezed his eyes shut, nose wrinkling at the smell of his breath. "If you truly have been calling your lion, and it still hasn't come, perhaps you aren't trying hard enough."

Lance's chest hitched. He lifted his other hand and grabbed at the massive fingers wrapped like steel bands around his wrist, desperately trying to loosen them. "Let me go, let me go, I won't... I won't..."

The commander grunted in decision. "Yes. That is the answer. You need to try harder."

"I won't, no no no, I won't, I won't..."

A smile, slow and sharp and vicious, and Sam stopped breathing. "We will make you scream."

They took Lance away. All Sam could do was sink to the floor and hide his face in his hands so he wouldn't have to watch. But he could still hear. He heard Lance protesting, voice high and panicked, all the way to the door and down the hall.

"I won't, I won't, I won't I won't I won't..."

But Sam knew he would.