Sam paced back and forth by the doors of the communal cell, waiting for them to bring Lance back. He strained his ears, but he couldn't hear anything beyond the thick metal door between the cell antechamber and the hallway. Sam's hand kept rising to grip in his hair, pulling painfully at his scalp. He couldn't stop remembering that moment in the corner, how frozen he had felt when that powerful Galra and the two guards loomed over him and Lance. He should have done something more than just sit there. Anything. Anything at all. It wouldn't have made any difference to the outcome, but at least Lance would have known that Sam cared about him enough to try.

For God's sake, he had told the boy not to be sassy. As if that had anything to do with...as if it would... And Lance hadn't been, really, though Sam supposed an ugly enough mind might have interpreted Lance's first few responses as insolent. Anyone who understood human tone and body language would have seen that Lance was too depressed and weary for anything like resistance, but it was unlikely that the Galra commander cared about nuance. Sam's shoulders shook, remembering that rod-like weapon the commander had held his hands. Were they...were they...

"Sam." A quiet voice, a touch on his shoulder from Zalyk. Sam stopped pacing and looked up. He heard a noise at the door to the hall. Then it opened, and two guards dragged Lance inside.

His head was down, and he didn't even try to carry his own weight, letting his feet trail on the ground as he was hauled by the guards who held his arms in a bruising grip. Sam and other prisoners waiting at the bars stepped back before the guards could make them, and they opened the cell door and tossed Lance inside in an unceremonious heap.

As soon as the door shut and the lock clanked, Sam and the others rushed forward. Sam got his hand under Lance's arm, and on the other side was Braxia, the big, furry Yuven Lance had likened to a teddy bear. Lance jerked at the first touch, a startled gasp bursting from him, and Sam hesitated for a moment, then reaffirmed his grip and lifted a little harder. "C'mon, son," he murmured, soft as he dared. "C'mon, sit up, let's have a look at you."

Lance let himself be helped to a sitting position, groaning as the movement jarred his body. Braxia whuffled through his snout-like nose in unmistakable concern and positioned himself behind him, providing a soft surface for Lance to lean back on. Lance winced and moaned, but let himself be shifted by the several pairs of hands on him, head lolling on Braxia's barrel-like chest. He ended up reclining back on the furry alien as if he was an armchair, his limbs loose and his eyes almost shut, his face tight with pain.

Sam knelt in front of him, holding Lance's hands in both of his and searching his face as if he were a book he desperately needed to read. "Lance." He put a hefty dollop of urgency in his voice, hoping for a response. "Can you hear me? Can you talk? We need to know what happened. Are you bleeding anywhere? Is there something we can do?"

Lance grunted, and his eyes fluttered half-open and stared at Sam, dully at first. Then he seemed to come back to himself, and a slow, exhausted smile grew on his face. "Hey, Sam." His voice was soft, weary, but astonishingly bright and pleased.

"Hey, Lance." Sam felt breathless, the air punched out of him. Another surprise. Would this child never stop surprising him? He chuckled, short and painful, and squeezed Lance's hands. "What's so funny, kiddo?"

"I didn't scream." Lance grinned loopily. He was out of it, but he was also proud of himself. "The guy...Bulgo...he said he would make me scream, but I didn't. I didn't scream."

Sam squeezed his hands again, tight and convulsive. His heart felt eaten out of his chest with acid. "What did he do to you, Lance? Please tell me. What did Bulgo do?"

Lance shrugged, barely a shift of his shoulders against Braxia's bulk, then groaned and let his eyes flutter almost shut. Moving had been a mistake. "It wasn't a big deal. He didn't even make me bleed. Just hit me a lot with that stick of his. He really, uh...really likes that thing."

Sam couldn't speak, couldn't even begin to express his rage and sorrow and useless sympathy. Lance opened his eyes a little more and looked at him. "Sam, I'm fine. Promise. Bulgo said, they...they know how to cause pain without causing damage. And that...that's true. They wanted to make me scream, not make me die. It's fine. It was just a...just a whipping with a stick."

But he shuddered at the end of that statement, and Sam couldn't stop the sudden tears that slipped down his cheeks. Braxia's huge arms closed around Lance's torso, cradling him gently, and Zalyk and the other prisoners crouching with them on the ground swore and moaned and ground their teeth. One of them began to cry, muffled but unashamed.

They all loved Lance. So much. Sam too.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered. "I'm so sorry that happened to you, Lance."

Lance sighed and let his eyes fall shut. "It's fine. Really. I didn't scream. I didn't call out to Blue. I even...while they were doing that...I did everything I could to try to shut the bond down from my side. Don't know how well it worked, but I tried. Don't want my girl to get ambushed trying to save me. Not the way it's supposed to go."

The pride in his voice was overwhelming. Sam had to allow him that, even though every particle of him wanted to yell at Lance that he should scream, he should call out for his lion, his friends. He needed to be rescued. He didn't deserve this, any of this, and Voltron needed to come and save him. Sam knew Lance's team would agree. Shiro and Katie, for certain, would much rather walk deliberately into a trap than allow someone they cared about to suffer, and if the rest of them were the heroes Lance talked about so glowingly, they all would feel the same.

Lance shifted, suppressing a wince, and glanced at the cell door a few feet away. "Could we...move?"

Sam squeezed his hands, then climbed to his feet, his knees aching. "Of course, son. Let's get you somewhere you can rest."

Braxia did not let Lance walk. He stood up, lifting Lance in his arms as if he was a small child, and carried him back to Sam's accustomed corner. He settled down there, still holding Lance, back to the rest of the room so Lance wouldn't have to work so hard to keep up a brave face for everyone else. Lance let his pain show then, breathing hard and closing his eyes to keep from making a noise. He turned sideways against Braxia's chest and curled up, knees drawn toward his chest, to take some of the pressure off his sore back and legs, and Braxia shifted to support him. Sam next to them, a hand on Lance's arm.

When the guards brought the prisoners' rations that night, there was none for Lance. Sam had been worried that Lance might be in too much pain to have an appetite, but that turned out not to be a problem. Usually the guards brought the food in a few bins and left the prisoners to sort it out amongst themselves, not caring if some took more than they were due or stole from others.

But today, the prisoners were told to sit on the floor and wait. Three guards, one carrying the food bins, one handing out food, and one holding another flexible rod, moved around the room and fed a few prisoners at the time. They handed out a small hand-sized loaf of what Sam called "prison bread," full of nutrients but mostly bland, with a bitter aftertaste. The guards stood over the eating prisoners until they finished, then moved on to the next group. And when they came to the back corner where Sam, Braxia, Zalyk, and a couple of others were shielding Lance, they handed food to everyone but Lance.

Sam did protest this time, though it was meek. "Ex...excuse me. I don't mean to be rude, but did you forget someone?" He gestured at Lance, who was laying limply against Braxia, his eyes almost shut as he tried to accept the waves of pain still rolling over him.

The guard with the rod sneered at him, then cast a contemptuous glance over Lance. "The Blue Paladin will not eat. Commander's orders."

Sam was almost dizzied by the injustice of this. "He...he's injured. He needs nutrients to recover. I thought you didn't want him to die."

"No death. Only pain." The guard kicked Lance's foot. Lance whimpered and pulled his leg closer to his body, but didn't otherwise protest. "The Blue Paladin must suffer. And none of you are permitted to save your food for him, either. Eat. We will watch you."

And they stood there, staring, as Sam and his fellow prisoners silently consumed their rations. The prison loaf tasted worse than usual, like ashes on Sam's tongue, thick and bitter and choking. But it would do Lance no good for him to refuse to eat in solidarity or some other fool-headed idea. He needed to be strong to take care of the boy as much as he could, especially if their captors intended to deliberately weaken him.

At least water was freely available to anyone who needed it, spigots placed in several locations around the common area and about a dozen sturdy cups floating amongst the prisoners. Perhaps dehydration was too dangerous a torture to attempt, even for these monstrous sadists. Sam or one of the others would fetch some water for Lance as soon as he even seemed to want it.

Still. To deprive a growing youngster of food. It made Sam sick to his soul. He couldn't even look at Lance while he ate his bread, then held out his empty hand to show that it was gone.

The guard nodded in satisfaction, and they moved on. Only then did Sam look to Lance, but the boy's eyes were fully shut, and his breathing seemed more smooth and controlled. Sam leaned closer to him, looking into his face, and reached up to brush a stray lock of hair off his forehead. His hair was getting longer, framing his face and accentuating how young he was.

"Lance," Sam murmured. "Are you awake? You don't have to answer. You can sleep, if that's what you're doing."

Lance released a soft breath and opened his eyes, just a crack. "Almost," he muttered.

"Okay." Sam brushed his fingers over his forehead. Still no sign of fever, yet. "That's fine, son. You go to sleep. We'll be here with you."

"Mmkay." Lance blinked dazedly. He snuggled into Braxia's fur, finding a more comfortable spot. And he gave Sam a smile, soft and sleepy. "Don't look so sad, Sam."

Sam's breath hitched. He rested his hand on Lance's head. "I can't help it, sweetheart. I'm sad that this is happening to you. I'm sad you were beaten like that, and I'm sad they didn't let you eat."

Lance's shoulder lifted in a careful shrug. "'Sfine. I wasn't hungry, anyway."

"I know. It still isn't fair."

"Yeah." Lance sighed and let his eyes slide shut, his body going limp. "But y'know that...this is gonna get worse, right? Gonna get a lot worse. So...gotta appreciate what I can. 'M glad 'm here with you guys tonight. Glad they brought me back. Glad they didn't just...keep me strapped to that table."

Sam's throat was almost too tight for speech. "Yes, I... I suppose I'm glad for that, too. Glad you're here with us."

"Yeah. 'Sfine, Sam. Gonna be fine. I'm strong. I can hold out."

Sam couldn't speak for a moment. His voice was gone, fallen on the floor. He ran his hand through Lance's hair. "Go to sleep, son." Barely a whisper.

"Yes, Commander." Lance's voice faded, then he did, too.