Chapter Text
Shiro felt sick as the scene remained frozen in the infirmary; Coran holding a poison pill — a suicide pill — aloft that Lance, his panting breaths giving way to thinly pressed lips that did nothing to hide the sheen of fear in his eyes as his gaze darted about those clustered around his bed, had just tried to swallow.
And Shiro had zero doubts if Lance had succeeded that it wouldn’t matter he was in the infirmary with Coran and cryo-pods right there.
He’d be dead within minutes of finally returning home.
His pulse was still roaring at the too close call.
One second later and…
“Everyone,” Coran’s voice cut into the silence, light and even despite the circumstances, “over here, please,” and he stepped away from the exam table Lance was strapped down on into the space between Shiro and Hunk beds and Pidge and Keith, both by the table, followed him.
He was keeping them in Lance’s sightline, Shiro realized, as dark ocean eyes tracked them across the room, gloved hands curled into fists that couldn’t hide the tremble that Shiro knew wasn’t just from pain.
Lance was terrified.
Terrified of them.
And the fact he’d gone so quickly to the option of suicide upon waking up and finding himself captured…
It terrified Shiro.
That level of conditioning, to kill oneself without even his handlers being present and a direct order to do so…
It changed everything.
Lance wasn’t just a threat to them, he was a threat to himself and because of that it meant they couldn’t leave him alone or leave him unrestrained because otherwise he could…
“I think,” Coran kept his voice pitched low, and pulling Shiro back to the present, “given current circumstances it would be best to put Lance immediately into a pod following a sedation. The restraints,” and Shiro could see Lance peripherally tugging on the ones on his wrists and while he made not a sound Shiro could see the way his trembling was only growing, his chest heaving beneath his armor, and God, all of this was so wrong, “are causing immense distress. It is imperative we build good will, to show Lance we mean him no harm, but I fear right now we are only building further suspicion and fear. Healing him will, I hope, be a good first step.”
And while Shiro doubted that would be enough to erase nearly a year of conditioned training that told Lance whatever his mission was was of more value than his own life, maybe it would make him hesitate before he did something drastic.
Maybe it would help him to see them and not see the enemy.
“Do it,” Shiro said.
“Then in the same breath I am also going to issue the order that you also need to go into a pod, Shiro,” Coran’s eyes met his, no leeway in them. “I shall keep Lance in cryo-stasis until you have been fully healed so you may be there for him, but I will not take no for an answer any longer.”
“Do it,” Keith said, mimicking Shiro near perfectly and Coran’s lips twitched into a small smile even as he looked to Shiro for confirmation.
Shiro nodded.
There was no point in forcing himself to remain alert if they were going to put Lance into a pod and while Shiro knew his own wounds would take far longer than Lance’s the promise of cryo-stasis until they were able to determine the best course for Lance — and not being rushed due to any wounds or suicide attempts — would allow them to do so.
“I shall administer Lance a sedative in a few moments,” Coran said. “In the interim, Keith, please assist Shiro into a cryo-suit and Pidge, if you would be able to assist Hunk. Just over your underarmor is fine for today, please.”
Shiro knew the extra clothing layer — especially something insulated like the underarmor — could make the process take longer, but for both modesty purposes — and Shiro would refuse on principle in this crowded room as they did not need to see his scars from the arena when even he couldn’t bear to look at them and right now, with Champion still hovering so close to the surface, he didn’t dare — and for timeliness they could go in with them on.
“What about Lance?” Pidge asked quietly, looking over to where Lance was still hyper-focused on them, although some of the trembling had slowed likely due to the fact they weren’t all gathered around him and presenting a threat. “That bodyarmor… it’s even thicker than the Paladin undearmor. And,” her eyes still looked guilty, “we can’t really see the injuries he might have.”
No doubt, Shiro figured, because he had a feeling that the bodysuit was Lance’s full armor; he didn’t have anything else on beneath that save perhaps shorts or a fitted shirt. His outfit was designed for stealth — as befit an assassin — and didn’t need the heavier, bulkier safety components Paladin armor had.
But that would mean it would take even longer to heal through.
And, Shiro winced, Pidge was right. They didn’t know the extent of the injuries he had from both Shiro’s attacks and then Pidge’s shock and if they did know those things it would be easier to program the cryo-pod to heal them.
“I shall be leaving it on and putting the cryo-suit over top, ” Coran said and his expression was heavy then. “Much,” his voice lowered, “has been taken from Lance these many, many deca-phoebs, and I imagine that includes both his privacy and his body autonomy, and we will do all we can to respect both.”
Shiro felt his own chest tighten at Coran’s words and Pidge bit her lip and nodded, cheeks darkening as she whispered out a, “sorry.”
“There is nothing to apologize for, my dear,” Coran placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, “and your intentions were good. We just want to make sure we make Lance feel as comfortable and safe as possible and waking to find that someone else has disrobed you I cannot imagine will assist in that regard. If the armor still had the possibility of having tracking equipment it would be a necessary step, but your bayard would have disabled any such equipment no matter its strength and so, thanks to such, we can pursue this path instead.”
Pidge nodded again, expression lightening a little bit.
Shiro understood.
Hurting Lance had been a necessary evil but seeing him in pain, seeing him scared…
It was not the outcome they’d hoped for.
“Let us get to it then,” Coran said, “so we might all hopefully feel a little better, hm?”
Shiro nodded, aware of everyone else nodding with him.
Keith and Pidge were skirting around Lance’s exam table by his feet — allowing him to see them fully in his sight as he lifted his head up to follow them — to go to the closet for the cryo-suits while Coran moved to a nearby cabinet and popped it open to reveal vials and syringes, of which he selected one of each.
Before he could even take a second step towards Lance, the items held in view and Coran clearly making the decision to show Lance rather than try to hide them, the boy spoke.
“I won’t tell you anything.”
The words were near biting in their intensity, in the furrow to Lance’s brow as he glared dark ocean eyes in Coran’s direction and beyond them Shiro could see Keith and Pidge freeze in their tracks as Lance spoke his first words since he’d awoken.
But they could not hide the fear that swam in them as they darted from Coran to the items in his hands and back to his face, his body still trembling slightly.
“That is perfectly all right,” Coran smiled reassuringly at Lance. “I was not planning to ask any questions of you.”
The briefest crease of confusion crossed Lance’s face before his eyes widened and then his entire expression shuttered into a near blank mask that Shiro could only imagine was the one he wore beneath his actual mask, but…
Why?
Why had—?
Shiro’s breath caught.
Lance had assumed he was about to be interrogated, of which Coran had sought to alleviate with his words and smile.
But with that option removed Lance could only see one other outcome.
Shiro swallowed, hands curling at his sides.
Torture.
He was preparing himself to be in pain. And, clearly…
This was far from the first time he’d done so.
Shiro’s stomach both clenched and turned over while his heart somehow managed to crack even more.
“Lance?” Coran called the boy’s name, his own brows creased with confusion and worry.
No response.
Just empty eyes and lips pressed thinly together even though there was still the faintest tremble that Lance could not fully control with the pain he had to be in.
“Lance, can you hear me?” Coran set the syringe and vial on the small table behind the exam table, coming closer.
Lance continued to stare near unblinkingly up at the ceiling.
And then Coran sucked in a sharp breath before Shiro could share his own theory and observation.
“Oh, lad,” Coran murmured, his voice cracking. “I am not going to hurt you. I promise I will never hurt you.”
Lance twitched ever so.
Specifically, Shiro saw, the first moment Coran had said ‘hurt.’
God.
Coran audibly swallowed, his own hands trembling where he reached one out before bringing it back to his side.
“I am going to sedate you,” he continued quietly, as while Lance was not listening… he still clearly was hearing them. “It will not,” he emphasized the word as he picked up and prepared the syringe, “hurt anymore than a tiny prick on your hand. And when you wake up…” he reached forward, one hand going to pin Lance’s left wrist to the table and the other holding the syringe, and Lance’s hand twitched and he flinched but his face smoothed back to blank within a blink, “you will feel better. I promise.”
And, notably, Lance did not try to pull away.
He did not fight back.
He’d…
He’d not just resigned himself to what he thought was going to be torture but came to the conclusion resistance would only make it worse.
He’d…
He’d given up.
It sent a shiver down Shiro’s spine because the Lance he’d known never gave up, always kept trying, and he barely bit back the moan the resulting movement caused, his eyes squeezing shut.
When he reopened them Coran had depressed the syringe into Lance’s hand, the boy still ramrod straight and bracing himself for a pain that he could not fathom not coming.
And as the seconds ticked by, Coran carefully removing the syringe but remaining where he was although his thumb on the hand holding Lance’s wrist down was gently rubbing a small circle there, Shiro could see the way Lance’s body began to lose his tension, the way his eyes started to slowly close as the drug took effect.
Within the minute he was completely limp on the table, his head canted slightly now to the left and in Shiro’s direction, revealing a near peaceful expression and the first time that Shiro could recall since Lance had gone missing that he didn’t look scared or lost or blank.
He looked like himself.
Shiro found himself slumping back into his cot and a squeak from across the room revealed Hunk to be doing the same although with a pained whimper and that was the cue for the sudden flurry of movement.
Keith was at Shiro’s side in a few steps, cryo-suit at the ready and Shiro’s groan at the thought of moving to get into it was not that much exaggerated. Now that he had been lying down for a little bit… he wasn’t sure how he’d ever expected to power through.
He wasn’t sure how he’d still been fighting, honestly, as Keith helping him to sit up so he could swing his legs off the cot to step into the suit he nearly tipped right back over, room spinning.
Coran was there a moment later with a soft murmur and Shiro was barely aware of the man starting to maneuver his legs.
Everything was starting to tunnel, to darken on the edges, Keith and Coran’s voices the barest of white noise.
Blood loss, his mind told him. Shock.
He’d been pushing for too long and not just this last battle.
He needed to rest.
He needed to rest now.
Shiro’s eyes fluttered shut against the darkness, the white noise fading to nothing.
He was unconscious before his next breath.