X

As Color Fades Away

Chapter Thirty-Eight

There was something to be said about waiting.

And if you polled the residents of the Castle of the Lions they would come to a unanimous conclusion regarding the act of waiting: they hated it.

The six varga of sleep Allura had required had come and gone, but Lance was still in the cryo-pod with over half a quintant still to go. Much to Allura's chagrin, the Paladins had decided to make the infirmary into their new waiting room and all of the blankets and pillows that had been dragged to the common room found a home on the cold tile floor.

It was not like she could blame them. None of them wanted to leave Lance alone. They were all worried and she wasn't about to order them out for the sake of maintaining an orderly infirmary when being in the room with Lance was as much reassurance as they could get at this point. She did have to enforce though that no, they could not camp out right in front of Lance's pod because in the event of an emergency it was not safe to be dodging around blankets and pillows.

Allura had replaced Hunk on the cot for a number of varga, somehow managing to sleep through the quiet chatter of the assembled group, and awoken to a rather delectable smell of some spice she could not identify that Keith had seasoned pieces of bread with and toasted on the stove. When she'd asked, he'd called it "garlic bread or close to it anyways" and said he used to make it all the time when he lived on his own.

Pidge had chimed in then that Lance was always waxing poetry about garlic knots and Keith had smiled softly and said he remembered that and although it wasn't quite the same, perhaps Lance would be up for trying a piece when he got out. Shiro's look of beaming pride had reddened Keith's ears and had him ducking his head.

It warmed Allura's own heart to see the changes in Keith. He and Lance had come a long way since she had first met them, but there had still always been a chasm between them. She realized now that a large part of that could be traced back to the constant comparisons Hunk had opened her eyes to that Lance felt he had to overcome and as such he pursued the rivalry to a sometimes reckless degree.

The other part was simply the personality differences. Lance was loud and brash outwardly, although she knew now that behind the laughter and grins there was actually a very empathetic, compassionate individual, but it was the former that Keith for the most part saw. And it conflicted with the Red Paladin's preference to be alone and withdraw from social situations, although hidden beneath that was a longing to belong that perhaps even Keith did not know how to act upon. They were literally fire and water and did not mix.

But now… Allura hated that it had taken this kind of tragedy to open Keith's eyes, but she was grateful for at least that one tiny silver lining to emerge. She only hoped that Lance would reciprocate the bond, and not just with Keith but with them all. She recalled Hunk's warning about pity and knew that if they were not careful that Lance could reject all attempts at reaching out.

Of the team, Hunk had been the only one who had refused to leave the infirmary while Lance was in the pod, not even to visit his beloved kitchen. Instead he had left the food duties to Coran and Keith, who took to the task with more gusto than Allura would have thought, but she supposed it was a good way to keep busy. Hunk kept up a steady vigil outside of Lance's pod, as if staring at it could make the healing process go faster.

She had posed her idea to Coran about the quintessence and some way of changing it so that Haggar could not access it. Her advisor said he was not certain such a thing could be done, or at least he had never heard of it. But Coran was never one to give up and he had dashed off to their library, returning with several thick tomes on quintessence.

She, Coran and Pidge had taken it upon themselves to read up on it, but the texts were excessively dry. Allura kept finding her eyes closing until she finally handed the book off to Pidge with a rueful sigh. It was no good for her to read it if she wasn't even retaining the information.

She ended up joining Shiro on the couch, where he was constantly going over the castle's defenses and making notes for what should happen in the event Haggar did arrive. So far it looked like his best plan was to get Lance aboard Blue and have the two, along with another Paladin and Lion, wormhole away until the danger was over. It wasn't a plan they could enact long term, but for right now if it came to it that would be an acceptable course of action.

Throughout the wait Coran had been noting the cryo-pod's output and had reported, pleased, that so far everything was looking good. Despite the higher body temperature Lance had gone in with the pod was reporting no abnormalities and healing was going at a steady pace.

He had frowned though and said Lance's body was still severely malnourished and dehydrated. Once he emerged it was imperative they try to get him to take in something, although he hadn't looked all too convinced it was going to be that easy. He was already putting together more human-compatible fluid packs for the likely inevitable outcome.

One other thing was becoming abundantly clear though, to their horror.

Lance was developing scars.

As the pod brightened they were able to get a better view of Lance, and since his body was not hidden inside a cryo-suit they were able to make his skin beneath the bandages, which were breaking down in the cryo-process and revealing more and more with every passing varga. Fortunately for Lance's modesty his shorts were faring better and only fraying on the edges.

There was a thick line around his entire neck in a mottled looking reddish-brown, about two inches wide. A burn scar, Coran had said quietly, from the repeated crystal shocks. They had already known the pod could not heal scars – Shiro's prominent one had never faded despite his trips into the pods – but Coran had held onto the hope that Lance's injuries were fresh enough that they would be healed without a mark.

His heart broke that he had been wrong.

In addition to the ring about his throat there appeared to be another burn scar that ran the length of his inner right forearm from wrist to elbow. Hidden beneath that scar Coran knew was another injury, but its twin had fortunately faded from sight on the left.

But both impalement wounds on Lance's hands had not fared as well. They could only see the backs of Lance's hands, but there was a pinkish colored splotch in the center and there was no doubt it had a match on the palm.

The bottoms of his feet were hidden as well, but Coran was unfortunately certain that one or both had some mixture of burn and knife scar.

The final one was another pink scar just below Lance's ribcage, which was likely from the original attack that started it all. Otherwise at least from what they could see the other marks and burns had melted away, leaving unblemished mocha skin.

But one scar was one too many. Sometimes they might be worn as badges of honor. It was how Shiro got through his day, hoping beyond hope that he'd gained some of his in some combat situation he could be proud of; maybe taking down a Galran officer or defending another slave. Hunk had a small scar on his knee from where he'd tackled one of Lance's younger siblings out of the path of a car when they were little.

Other scars had a story that didn't come with any lasting hurt. Pidge had a faint chicken pox scar on her forehead she wasn't proud of but nor did she shirk from it, just laughed if it ever got brought up. Keith had one on his elbow from when he'd been learning to drive a bike and had fallen off, but it reminded him only of his dad and happier times.

Lance's scars though. They were a grim, permanent reminder of what he'd suffered. He should see them as a hero's mark; he had gotten them protecting his friends and the universe. But the uneasy consensus, as they had all shared looks upon the scars becoming visible, was that the scars were only going to be a source of pain. If a table or hallway could send Lance back into a memory, what chance did the scars of torture have?

Otherwise the readings looked good regarding a full body healing, but Coran knew that it wasn't as clear cut as that. Lance's right wrist looked normal again, but whether the muscles and tendons had been damaged so badly that they would be capable of performing the normal functions of a human limb remained to be seen.

All they could do was keep waiting.

Castle Standard Time rolled around to overnight hours and Allura insisted everyone sleep again. Lance was due to come out of the cryo-pod at about 0800 hours – and the fact that that was exactly seven quintants since this nightmare had begun was not lost on her – so they had time and they still needed the rest.

She, Coran and Shiro – who insisted he did not need any more sleep – traded turns in keeping watch. And somehow before they knew it it was nearing 0800.

As a group they had gone over multiple strategies depending on how Lance woke up out of the pod. He could be lost in a flashback, in which case Hunk and Coran were to take point and the rest would leave to give them space. He could be coherent and depending on his reaction to the group – either relief to see them or being completely overwhelmed – would dictate how that approach went.

They were prepared for anything. The only constant was that Hunk was going to be the one to catch Lance as he fell – the foam had also disintegrated so there was nothing keeping him locked in place – because as they had all witnessed Lance responded the best to Hunk if touch had to be applied.

So when the final beep sounded and the cryo-pod opened, Hunk caught Lance as he tumbled out, wrapping a thick blanket about his bare torso and holding him close, careful though in case Lance resisted.

But Lance did not react. He didn't do any of the things they had prepared for, because he seemed determined to remain unconscious.

"Lance?" Hunk whispered, giving him a tight squeeze to get a reaction.

Nothing.

Lance's feet were on the floor, but his body was holding none of his weight and his head rested limply on Hunk's chest. Hunk bit back the fear that Lance had somehow died in the pod because of course the sensors would have done something, right? Right?

It wasn't until he felt a soft exhale on his neck that that tension bled away. Breathing. Breathing was good. And it wasn't that rattling hoarse gasp either. It was slow and steady and sounded normal. Hunk clung to Lance a little tighter in sheer relief.

"Why isn't he waking up?" Pidge asked, voice small. Everyone always awoke near instantly when they came out of the pods. What had gone wrong?

"Not to worry," Coran said, holding up his scanner. "All seems to be in order. His body is just exhausted – remember, the pods cannot replenish the sleep cycle – so he should wake up after he gets some more rest."

"Does he still have a fever?" Shiro asked, and Hunk shifted Lance ever so slightly so he could press the back of his palm to the unblemished forehead. His skin was still cold though from the cryo so it wasn't much of an estimate.

"Hard to say until he warms up some," Coran mused. "Although I must admit, this is perhaps the best course of action at this time. We'll get Lance settled and then I can check on his motor responses."

"Where should we take him?" Hunk asked. The infirmary was out; the still covered exam table lending credence to that decision. Lance's room would likely be the most comforting to him, but it was small and the bed hard to access except from one side, making it less than ideal until Lance was more in control.

"My room," Allura decided. "Lance can decide if he wishes to remain there or go to his own room or another location upon waking, but for now let us bring him there."

Hunk nodded and carefully adjusted Lance so he could scoop him into his arms. Lance didn't react at all to the handling and Hunk was still unsure if he should be relieved or worried.

"Number Two and I will get Lance settled in," Coran said, "and then the rest of you are welcome to join us after."

"That sounds good, Coran," Shiro said, heading off any protests from the other Paladins. "We'll be in the kitchen then."

He knew how much they all wanted to be there for Lance. But there was no need to crowd while Lance got cleaned up and Coran ran his tests. Shiro knew for certain he would not, if he were in Lance's place, want an audience. Pidge and Keith seemed to realize the same, as other than concerned looks being sent towards Lance, they made no move to follow.

Hunk walked slowly back to Allura's room, trying to jostle Lance as little as possible while Coran kept pace beside him, a small chest in his arms that contained a fluid and nutrient pack and some of his medical equipment for tests.

It was so different from their last trip down this hall, Hunk mused. This time Lance's breathing was soft and quiet, a welcome from the near death rattle that it had become, and no pained whimpers passed between chapped and bloodied lips. He was still shivering, but it was nowhere near the desperate shudders that had plagued him before.

Hunk tightened his arms about Lance, grateful that he could do so now without fear of accidentally hurting him. Still though, although Lance was no longer covered in injuries he was still much, much too thin. He didn't dare hug him as close as he wanted for the very real fear he might actually break him. He just wanted to stuff him with food, all of Lance's favorites, but he knew that one; eating that much rich food after having nothing for so long would not end well and two; Lance hadn't even been able to stomach water. It was possible food, being a completely different texture would be all right, but all of the foods that Lance should eat while recovering – soups and broths – were too watery. Maybe he could find some oatmeal substitute?

For now though he tried to take comfort in the positives. Lance was alive. He was in one piece. Other than the scars – Hunk's eye traced the visible dark ring on Lance's neck and winced – he didn't appear injured at all. They didn't know about the damage to his hands and feet, but they looked normal at least and Hunk hoped that was a good sign. He would go with that until Coran told him otherwise.

Allura's room had been tidied since their last time there; the bloodied blankets and sheets had made it to the laundry and now clean fresh ones adorned the large bed. As much as Hunk wanted to just lie Lance right down on the mattress, he still had plenty of dried blood clinging to his skin from the injuries that the cryo had not quite washed away. First stop was going to be a bath.

Or rather, Hunk corrected, a mimicry of one with nowhere near the amount of water. He and Coran ended up setting down with Lance on a low-backed chair near the sink. While Coran gently wet a washcloth and cleaned away the blood, revealing the scars even more vividly, Hunk took it upon himself to give Lance's hair some much needed attention.

When they had first cleaned him up he had gotten the worst of the blood and sweat out, but it was still nowhere near washed. He didn't dare use too much water, just in case Lance woke up, but he filled a small cup and worked it through the dark locks, massaging Lance's scalp ever so gently with his favorite shampoo.

Lance had stiffened a bit at the first contact, and a soft whimper echoed in the quiet room. Hunk had immediately frozen like a deer in headlights. Coran too had paused in his ministrations, pulling out one of his scanners and clicking it on, reporting quietly that Lance's breathing indicated he was still asleep, if shifting from deep to light. It was just his body's natural reaction to the intimate touch and Hunk had had to excuse himself for a moment to wash his hands of the shampoo so he could rub his brimming eyes.

"This isn't fair," Hunk muttered, being even more cautious now so he didn't make Lance think he was… was someone else should he wake. Previously Lance would unconsciously lean into touch and if he'd been a cat Hunk knew he'd have been purring. But now he did the opposite and Hunk hated it. He hated that just a few days of captivity had hurt Lance so much to the point where normal comforts were now just sources of more pain.

"It is not," Coran agreed softly.

They remained silent the rest of the time, blotting Lance dry and assisting him into the clothes Hunk had picked out earlier. The t-shirt, already slightly too large, now seemed to dwarf Lance, but Hunk figured at least it was comfortable. It also did little to hide any of the scars, save the one on his torso, which seemed to shine neon now that they'd been cleaned, but given his fever it wasn't a good idea to dress him too warmly right now.

Coran hated that he had been right about Lance's feet. Bisecting the length of the bottom of his each was a thin, pink-white scar. His palms too also bore a matching mark to the back of his hand, although they were even larger there and looked like distorted stars due to how many different ways the knife had shifted while lodged inside.

Before he began any of his tests, Coran's first step was to hook Lance up to the vein valve once more with both the nutrients and fluids. They were a poor substitute for actual food, but for now they would have to do until Lance felt like eating. After a moment's consideration he placed the needle in Lance's left forearm and taped it down. To his relief Lance did not even react to the quick insertion and he moved onto checking Lance's vitals while Hunk hovered.

"His temperature remains higher than normal levels," Coran said, looking at his scanner output. "Just below a one hundred. Still, that is better than previous, hmm? And the water does appear to be removed from his lungs as well." He turned his scanner to show Hunk. "They are inflamed slightly, but nowhere near my previous reading. It seems although the pods cannot heal illnesses they recognized that no liquid was supposed to be there."

"That's great news," Hunk said, resisting the urge to smoothe Lance's hair back and instead placed a cold cloth on his forehead instead, hand only lighting down for the slightest of moments to shift the bangs away. It looked like they were just dealing with a slight fever now and he felt much, much more equipped to handle that than pneumonia. Hunk also had his suspicions that the Glornack seed had more healing properties on humans than the Alteans were aware; he still recalled when he'd had one for a headache it had also soothed the beginnings of a runny nose.

"Other than those, the rest of his vitals are operating in regular range for a human. Most excellent news, to be sure."

Coran pulled out a different scanner then and the smile that had turned his moustache up disappeared. "I am going to check on his muscular and nervous structure now," Coran explained quietly. "Number Two, I'll need your assistance."

"Of course," Hunk said, scrambling to his feet. "What should I do?"

"We'll start with his feet; hopefully some good news first," Coran decided. "I need you to move his foot and ankle as I instruct while I scan to see how the structure responds compared to the data I have for humans."

Hunk cast a concerned glance to Lance's face, as peaceful as he'd seen it in the last day, resting on the comfortable bed and no longer plagued by pain. "Will he wake up?"

"He has returned to a rather deep sleep, but I would not eliminate the possibility. We must be prepared to stop immediately if we cause him any discomfort." Coran frowned. "Given Lance's state when we put him into the cryo-pod, I would not be surprised if he comes to lost to a memory."

And that was what Hunk was afraid of. He knew that he could probably talk Lance out of it – as he'd already done several times now – but they were going to be messing around with his feet and hands, which seemed to be the most abused parts of him. If they were going to trigger something it would not doubt be from this handling.

Still, it was best that they could do this now while Lance was asleep. And maybe… maybe they'd have only good news to tell him. Hunk's roiling stomach though told him that likely wasn't the case. But hope was all he had to at this point so he clung to it against reality.

They started with Lance's right foot, Hunk flexing it carefully and moving it as Coran instructed, sometimes holding the scanner at a distance and other times pressing it right up against flesh.

"Everything reads as normal," Coran sighed with relief, indicating Hunk could place the limb back on the bed. "Thank Alaaran. Let's check the left now."

And just like the right, the left reacted as it should. "He should be able to walk with no problems after a bit of recuperation," Coran smiled. "The cryo-pod did an excellent job."

Bolstered by that announcement, they moved onto Lance's left arm and hand. Coran had Hunk do a variety of things; bending fingers back, holding the hand out by just the wrist, rotating the entire appendage, all while he moved the scanner in and out.

"It is weaker than it should be," Coran finally said. "The muscles are not at the same strength they were, but they and all nerve functions are responding accordingly. With some time I do not foresee any complications."

The true challenge was still ahead. But although Lance's right hand and wrist had suffered the worst, Coran had hope blooming in him. After all, his initial diagnosis had been that Lance may very well lose all four limbs. The fact that the first three were going to recover in full was a welcome surprise.

However, it became clear to the Altean within the first few tests that the right hand had not fared as well and he could feel Hunk's growing despair as he realized the same.

The limb looked all right, if one ignored the dark burn scar that ran the entire inner forearm and the pink scars on his hand and palm. It was straight now, no longer twisted in a clearly broken state. The flesh was whole and healed.

But it did not respond as it should. Lance's hand shook when Hunk held it out, the fine motor skills lost in that trembling. It flopped limply if let go, having no strength to support itself and Coran quietly reported that the nerves there, while connected again thanks to the pod, were not actually communicating. Most of the damage seemed to be centered at the wrist from what Coran assumed was the initial break.

All of the repeated mangling of the limb, from his entire body weight dragging on it during the Kri Za Kri, to the horrors and torture inflicted as punishment had furthered the decline. The only ray of hope that Coran had was that the nerves and muscles had reconnected to one another. There was nothing more the pods could do, as they viewed the problem as healed, but at least they were not splintered from one another. If that had been the case there was zero chance of a miracle.

Otherwise Lance had a barely functioning hand. It could still feel touch, evidenced by the way Lance's face had scrunched up when Hunk had first turned the wrist, and the responses that Coran saw on his screen when Hunk tapped each finger, but they were weaker than they should. It would likely not move much beyond what Lance could control with his arm, as despite the terrible burn scar Lance's arm did not seem to have any particular neural or muscular damage. There would be no strength to grip and barely dexterity to move. It would have little actual use in its current state.

They could fit him with a prosthetic; remove the limb at about the elbow and affix a new lower arm and hand. They had the technology and minds between Coran, Hunk and Pidge, along with a base model thanks to Shiro, that they could make a fully functioning limb to replace the practically dead flesh.

But the thought of such a thing made Coran's heart clench. While a prosthetic would be infinitely more useful than what Lance had… it wasn't Lance. And Alaaran help him, the scars were bad enough but to have an entire limb removed and serving as a permanent reminder of his torture? No. That could not happen.

And yet, without the use of his right hand… Lance could learn to write and do tasks with his left, as Shiro was learning to do. But he could not shoot a gun without two working limbs. He could not go into the field with such a handicap that could get himself or his teammates hurt.

He could not be a Paladin.

And if they took such a thing from him… Coran had no doubts that the wide-eyed, passionate and kind boy would shutter in on himself, more so than he already did. Such a course was not allowed. Lance was their Blue Paladin. He embodied the role more than any individual Coran had ever seen, the connection he had to his Lion was breathtaking and something of legend. He would not – could not – allow this fate to happen.

"What do we do?" Hunk murmured, coming to the same conclusion Coran had. "Is there… is there some way we can fix it?

"I don't know, my boy," Coran sighed. "I do not let us not be too hasty in our own fears. Lance is a very determined young man. He may very well surprise us."

That cracked a small smile for Hunk. "You're right. He… he won't give up so easily." Or, at least Hunk knew the old Lance wouldn't have. When he got knocked down he got right back up, determined to do it right and prove the others wrong.

But this also wasn't some test score or flight simulation. No matter his determination if Lance's hand could not be fixed it then it could not be fixed. Lance wouldn't see it that way though. He'd take it as a personal failure.

Why was it that no matter what happened Lance was going to be hurt?

It just wasn't fair.

Hunk sighed, thumb brushing the back of Lance's hand one final time before he went to lie it back on the bed. And whether it was that last touch or something else entirely, Lance's breath hitched and a second later he was jerking awake, eyes filled with panic and a groan of pain hissing out between clenched teeth.

"Lance?" Hunk called, uncertain, releasing his hold.

Lance did not seem to hear him. His eyes were wide open, blue firmly ringed by white, but they were staring beyond Hunk and Coran, beyond Allura's bedroom.

"Lance, hey," Hunk murmured, hands hovering but not touching Lance's shoulder. "You're okay, estás bien. Estoy aquí. Estás en el castillo. ¿Recureda?"

Lance gave no sign that he'd heard Hunk, just sucking in a harsh breath while his entire body trembled.

"Lance, lad," Coran tried. "It is Coran and Hunk. You are safe."

The wash cloth, which had been defying gravity and clinging to Lance's forehead, lost its battle and fell with a plop onto Lance's leg. He violently recoiled at the contact with a whimper.

"Lance," Hunk said, firmer but no less gentle. He waved a hand in front of Lance's unseeing eyes. "Lance, por favor. Mírame. It's okay. You're okay. Estás bien."

Lance took another painful sounding breath, but when it passed his eyes appeared focused, if still terrified. Hunk remained completely still as Lance's eyes traced his face.

"Hunk?" he rasped after a moment, as if verifying what he was seeing was real.

"It's me," Hunk answered just as quietly. "Soy Hunk. Estás en el castillo. Do you remember?"

"I…" Lance's gaze slid from Hunk, darting about the room until they landed on Coran, sitting on his other side. "Coran?"

"Here, lad," he smiled.

"I…" Lance swallowed thickly. "What… what happened? I don't…. I can't…"

"Easy, easy," Coran murmured. "You spent quite a period in the cryo-pod, it's natural you're a little disoriented."

"Cryo-pod?" Lance repeated, confused. "I… why was I…?"

And Hunk hated the moment where he physically saw Lance remember everything leading up to that. Underneath the light flush of fever he went pale and his breath hitched while his heartbeat audibly picked up tempo.

Lance's hands flew up to his neck, seeking the collar. No metal greeted him, but there was something else there. He traced it with trembling fingers, hardly even realizing that his right hand was barely following along. It was bumpy. Uneven. It didn't hurt but… he pressed down on it and the sound of his own screams echoed in his mind.

"Lance, breathe, it's okay," Hunk cut in over the sound of the crying that was only in his head. "You're okay. Come on, mírame."

He searched out Hunk's gaze then, still trembling as the phantom screams receded. "What…W-what is…?" He gestured at his neck. "I… The collar…?"

"The collar is gone," Hunk said quietly. "That's…" He swallowed thickly. "That's a scar."

"Scar?" Lance repeated faintly. He touched it again, stomach rolling.

The taste of acid tickled the back of his throat and before he knew it he was leaning forward and retching into a bowl that Coran had pulled out of nowhere.

He had nothing to throw up, save the small bit of fluid his body had started to regain from the packs. It burned though and the feeling of anything inside his throat just made him choke more, terror flowing through his veins at the sensation.

Hands were on his back and although they should have been soothing they too seemed to burn.

He whimpered and hunched more over the bowl, still gagging.

The hands disappeared and Lance couldn't decide if he was relieved or missed the contact. That only made him feel worse and he scrunched his eyes closed, trying to regain control of his stomach.

Shame burned his cheeks and he ducked his head further.

The only sound in the room then was his harsh gasping, accompanied by the indistinct murmurs of Hunk. Lance clutched at those words, the sheer comfort and safety that Hunk always made him feel. The murmurs turned into words – estás bien, you're okay, I'm here, breathe, it's all right – and Lance followed them back out of the panic that was seeping into his mind.

"Estoy bien," he managed, still not looking up, even though it was obviously he wasn't. "Gracias, Hunk."

"¿Mírame por favor?" Hunk pleaded. "Please?"

And that shouldn't be so hard. But looking at Hunk meant opening his eyes and facing everything again. Facing… His stomach twisted again, but he had nothing left to expel.

"Let's see those pretty blue eyes of yours," Coran encouraged to his left.

Lance stiffened. Pretty blue eyes?

You have beautiful eyes he could hear in her rasp and then feel her pointed nails circle beneath them. Tears? They make your eyes an even prettier blue.

"No," he gasped, squeezing them even tighter. "N-no."

"Lance?" And Hunk somehow sounded even more worried than before.

"No," he whispered, shaking his head and blinking back the tears that she loved so dearly. She couldn't have them.

He wasn't weak.

One slipped down his cheek anyway and a sob caught in his chest.

Who was he trying to fool?

Weak. He was weak.

"It's all right, lad," Coran comforted. "What is it? We're right here."

Another tear escaped.

"Lance, please," begged Hunk. "What's wrong? Does something hurt? Is it your stomach? Eyes?"

Lance flinched at the last word and he could practically feel Hunk and Coran exchange glances.

"Your eyes?" Coran latched on. "Do they hurt, lad?"

Lance whimpered out a no.

He knew Haggar wasn't there. He knew that. It was just Coran and Hunk and yet he couldn't… he couldn't open his eyes.

Perhaps you'll even be able to see me. He could feel her smile on him and another sob shook him.

"Lance," and Coran's voice had changed. It was firm, like the tone Allura used when she expected to be obeyed, but it was softer than that; gentler. "Lance," Coran repeated. "Haggar is not here."

Lance choked on his next breath. How did he…?

"She is not here. It is just I and Hunk. You are safe."

And Coran said it with such conviction that Lance couldn't help but believe it was true. He was safe. She wasn't here. He knew that. He did. He just couldn't believe himself. But he did believe Coran.

Slowly, very slowly, he raised his head and peeked open tear-washed eyes. No hand caressed his face. No breath whispered behind his ear. He opened them more, revealing two very worried faces sitting opposite him; close but not too close.

"There you are," Hunk murmured.

"Lo siento," he managed past the lump in his throat. "Lo siento, lo siento—"

"Lance," and Coran was still using that gentle tone, "You have nothing to apologize for. I am the one who is sorry for causing you such a distress."

"It's… not your fault," Lance mumbled, feeling his cheeks redden again. "I just…"

"You don't need to talk about it right now," Coran said gently. "When you are ready."

Lance nodded, grateful. He had no idea how to explain his reaction without coming across as weak as Haggar said he was. Just thinking of her name sent a shudder racing through him and he swallowed, wincing at the sting to his throat and the acid taste left behind.

"How about something to soothe your throat?" Coran suggested. He hurried on before Lance could fully balk, "I have an Altean candy that I think you'd like. How about we all have one, hmm? I know the princess has quite a stash in her drawer."

Lance swallowed again as Coran got up to rummage through one of Allura's dressers. He honestly wasn't sure he could keep anything down. His throat seemed to constrict at the thought and he couldn't suppress the cough that bubbled up.

Hunk continued to hover worriedly as Lance expelled what felt like all the air in his lungs, eyes watering from the sheer force.

Coran came back a moment later, whisking away the bowl of bile and instead holding up a brightly wrapped yellow candy with a smile. "Let's try this, lad, if you're up for it. You don't eat it per se; you let it melt on your tongue."

Hunk had already opened his and popped it in his mouth. He sent a reassuring smile to Lance. "It sort of tastes like butterscotch."

Lance hesitantly went to hold open his hand to receive one from Coran. But to his surprise his hand didn't want to fully open and he stared at it, the limb trembling in the air between him and Coran.

From there he couldn't miss the giant burn scar – You will truly learn regret, Theodek hissed – and the scent of burnt flesh wafted about the room while all-consuming agony seemed to envelop him. A scream, that he realized was his own, tore at his throat and seared against his ears.

Hands were on him then, holding his shoulders and turning his head away from the gruesome sight that was his arm and he was crying out "no me toques" as hands turned to claws and no matter how hard he tried he could not escape.

"Lance, please, it's just us," Hunk's voice pleaded. "You're okay. You're okay, I promise."

Something was shoved under his nose then and Lance had no choice but to inhale. The scent of cinnamon overpowered him and the burnt flesh disappeared, as did the claws and the restraints. He took a shuddering breath and then another.

"You're okay," Hunk murmured, one of his hands resting on Lance's shoulder giving him a squeeze as Coran removed the bowl of scented leaves, grateful they'd left them here. "You're okay."

Lance took another shaky breath, leaning into Hunk's touch and trying to soak up the safety Hunk had always offered.

"Can I… can I give you a hug?" Hunk asked tentatively, his voice unsteady. "Por favor?"

And Lance nodded after a moment, both desperately wanting the touch and yet not at all. But as soon as Hunk's arms wrapped about him, secure and safe and warm, he knew he made the right decision.

A sob broke free and he didn't even try to hold it back. Tears stung his eyes and he let them, burying his face against Hunk's chest. He was aware of Coran settling onto the bed next to him and one of the Altean's own hands descended to land feather light on his shoulder.

"Is this all right?" Coran asked, and Lance could hear the tears in his voice. Tears for him. Over him. They just made his own come harder.

He managed a nod against Hunk while his left hand – he didn't dare think or look at his right – wormed its way free of the embrace and over to the Altean. Coran picked it up as gently as one would a baby bird. His hands were large, larger than Haggar's but smaller than Theodek's, and they cupped Lance's with all the tenderness in the world.

And absolutely surrounded by love and comfort and understanding, Lance sobbed.

xxx

Author's Notes:

So Lance is awake, yay! Time for the real battle to begin. We've gotta build our blue boy back up and let him know how much he means to his family. Also, another trigger y'all might not have guessed is focusing on his eyes. They're just such a pretty blue though, how can we not?

As you can see, I settled on something sort of between the two outcomes of fully healed or prosthetic. It's actually based off my own experience of breaking (re: shattering) my wrist and having to undergo months and months of therapy to regain motion of it. Not fun, let me tell you, and it still acts up in the cold thanks to all the metal I've got piecing me together. :p But we've got two possible scenarios now: either Lance does manage to gain control over his limb again or he goes the route of a prosthetic on his own terms.

So many thanks to the reviewers who keep me going. I wasn't sure if I was going to get this chapter out today, but y'all pushed me forward. Everyone say thanks to: Guest, hobbes101, Berrybanana05, This-Lil'-Fan-Girl, WhiteTails, Sirrius The Moonblade, Rookblonkorules, Saumya, Jadegem02, TheTheoryofFangirling, rwbygirl, dragoscilvio, Jennyfish26, Fireflame159, Lovemelau, Alexa, IceAurora, Merlin's Knight, Pfeh, Oliviadbell, Wolf of the Demise, HetaRosFangirl, Guest, DoctorMerlinReid, Pheonixwarrior123, imagine forevermore, JustADamFrenchFry, wingedflower, Shadow Gray, catlover2976, Guest, Guest, JayLightnStrike, Justanangryfangirl, Lasagna, Spacenerd7, Supergurkan, Arrowshaft, Adrianna Agray, Guest, PaintedWings45, FanaticFangirl2602, Cats and violin, QuestionablyCapableGhoul, Guest, RowerLovesAstronomy, StrawberryFever3 and Egg rolls!

A little self promotion to wrap this note up. I published a (super dark holy cow) fic called "A Broken Shield" if you'd like to see a taste of true darkness housed in my mind. There are plenty of warnings, but mainly it is a deathfic and it does not have a happy ending. At all. But if you do read it I'd love to get your reactions! Find it on my profile.

And on that, until next time you lovely people you. Please do drop a review – a sentence, a paragraph, a short novel; whatever you're feeling like – on your way out; I appreciate it!