Forming Bonds -- (VLD)

Chapter 1

Lance did not wake as he normally did. 

For starters, he wasn't wearing his nightly face mask. His skin was clear of the green substance that would have hardened from a gooey sludge into a thin layer of rejuvenation as he slept. This was very concerning. How was he supposed to woo the human (and non-human) population if his pores were a breeding ground of harmful bacteria? He shuddered to think what pus-filled abominations would sprout on his pristine skin without his face mask.

Secondly, he wasn't wearing his fluffy pyjamas. The soft material of the simple pants and shirt allowed him to wake slowly in complete comfort. He usually woke with a relaxed body and mind, which helped him to keep his hyperactivity in check. He was usually pretty good at it. Sometimes. But the point was that he had woken up feeling tense and gritty, his clothing agitating his soft skin, and being much tighter than he remembered. 

Also, he didn't remember falling asleep in a prison cell. Maybe he should be more concerned by that.

Lance sat up, taking in the dirty walls of his small cell. There was a small cup of water by the solid metal bars, a plate of something green sitting just behind it. It smelled nothing like food goo, so Lance moved it to the side. 

As he moved about, vague memories of battle began to filter through the haze of what Lance guessed was a mild concussion. He saw explosions, and he remembered a scream. 

Keith had yelled his name as they had both been knocked out. They were on a supply run while the others worked on some castle repairs. The explosion had taken out the communicators. 

He needed to find Keith.

Gingerly he stood up, testing all of his muscles as he went. He was mostly okay, but he did remember Keith being hit by something before they were taken. He needed to find Keith.

Lance kept up his mental "find Keith" mantra until he had managed to move to the front of the cell, where he could see down the hall. Most of the cells looked empty, but if he listened hard enough he could hear a gentle wheezing- the hurried breaths of an injured prisoner.

"Hello?" his voice was quieter than intended, but it did the job. A quiet gasp filled the silence.

"Lance... ugh" Keith answered softly, the effort quite obviously costing him a great deal of energy.

"Keith, thank god. How bad are you hurt?" Lance enquired, voice hushed and fearful. 

"M'fine." Keith grunted, there was a loud thud and a stream of rather colourful swear words that Lance was sure could make a sailor blush. 

"Obviously;" Lance said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "Stop talking. Try to conserve your strength." 

Lance wasn't an idiot. He could tell that Keith was more injured than he let on. He couldn't help him from here, but he could at least try and keep his rival from killing himself through his own sacrificial stubbornness. 

There was a grunt from the neighbouring cell and Lance took that as Keith's acknowledgement of his words. 

Or it could have been an involuntary grunt of pain. You could never really tell with Keith. 

"Do you remember what happened?"

Silence, punctuated only by the soft pained wheezing of his teammate.

"Buddy?"

"You told me... nrgh... not to talk..." 

Lance smacked a hand to his head, then immediately regretted it as the action caused a wave of concussion-induced dizziness that left him gasping on the cold floor of his cell. He heard the strained voice of Keith calling out to him and he focused on calming his churning stomach as he attempted to stand again.

"I'm--" he was interrupted by another wave of nausea, forcing him back to his knees as he held himself on shaky hands. Wiping the dregs of vomit from his lips, Lance held the wall for support. Keith was still panicking, his breaths coming shorter and shorter. 

"Lance? What's happening?" Keith wheezed. Lance hurried to reply, concerned by his teammates shortness of breath.

"I'm fine;" he breathed out, moving as far away from the small puddle of sick as he could. How did Hunk deal with this?  "Concussion." 

"Good." 

Lance was confused for a moment at why it was good, before realising Keith meant it was good that he was okay. There was a rustle of fabric as Lance slid down the wall, and he remembered that he was unsure of what he was wearing. Trying not to worsen his headache, Lance looked down at himself to find he was wearing black.

His mind briefly entertained fantasies where he was a ninja, or perhaps he was Shiro now and he was leading Voltron. He didn't want to lead Voltron. It would cramp his style. 

Shaking his head, Lance looked down again, fully taking in the Galra prisoner garb he was clothed in.

"Usually, I would prefer a date before someone undresses me." he deadpanned, and he heard a snort from the cell next to him. He smiled.

"They have good taste though;" Lance started, smirking as he heard Keith quickly muffle his laughter. "I look great in a crop top."

Lance decided at that moment that Keith had the most adorable laugh. It was gentle, broken up by the occasional snort or wheeze. Although the wheezing may not be normal now that he thought about it. 

If lance had been in better shape, he might have slapped the guard that interrupted the precious moment. But unfortunately, he was not in better shape. He actually thought he was shaped rather like a scrambled egg right now. All mixed up and kind of gooey. 

He didn't like eggs that much. 

"Get up!" The guard snapped. Lance fell to the floor. Later he would say it was an act of defiance, rather than a sudden wave of dizziness. If he remembered it at all in his disoriented state.

The guard did not take kindly to Lance's actions, as he was pulled roughly from the floor. Beside him, Keith was also pulled out of his cell and Lance was finally able to get a glimpse of his teammate before they were forced apart again. 

Keith didn't look good. He was pale- even for Keith! (How that boy managed to remain pale after spending a year in the desert, Lance would never know) There was also a bunch of mottled bruises covering what Lance could see of his face. And he was pretty sure that humans did not normally bleed from their fingers. It was like Keith had tried to dig out of his cell using his bare hands. 

But what concerned Lance most was that the injuries looked old- the blood caked over his hands was dried, the bruises already seeming faded.

... How long had Lance been out?

"L-Lance..." Keith groaned, weakly attempting to remove himself from the guard's tight hold as he was half-dragged, half-carried away.

"Keith!" Lance gasped, also attempting to wiggle out of his captor's hold. His last thought before a hand was slapped to the back of his neck was that all this manhandling could not be good for his concussion.

Lance was determined that he would find Keith again. He wouldn't leave his teammate.