Blue Spirit

by Speechless_since_1998

Summary:

The young man stared at him, shocked.

"You... don't you remember me?" he asked, finding it simply inconceivable.

And Lance, in other circumstances, would have been amused by that reaction, but there was a little girl he had to bring back to her mother; he hadn't slept for almost twenty-seven hours and needed a break.

"No, dude, now if you want to excuse me..."

The boy turned Lance to him, their faces a short distance away, purple eyes fixed on his, and Lance's treacherous heart skipped a beat.

"Blue Spirit, I'm Red Warrior. Do you really not remember me?"

At that point, Lance began to break out in a cold sweat. Of course, he couldn't remember him. Lance wasn't the real one.

 

(In which, due to a stupid stunt, the seventeen-year-old Lance dies and finds himself in the body of a villain of his best friend's favourite graphic novel, trying not to attract too much attention. Too bad for Lance, Keith doesn't make things easy for him at all.)

Chapter 1: I

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Something slimy was wetting his face. Lance tried to wipe his face, but his body did not respond to him. He was tired, to the point that he couldn't even lift his eyelids.

 

He moaned, "Hunk, tell your stupid dog to stop licking my face... it's disgusting..."

 

Hunk didn't answer, and Lance repeated, "Hunk, really, it sucks..."

 

His voice died with a sharp pang of pain in his chest. He gasped, feeling as if someone was sticking a thousand needles into his body.

 

With a herculean effort, Lance's eyes finally cracked open. The light pierced through his eyelids, sending shockwaves through his skull. He tried to blink, but it was as if his eyelids were made of lead. The room around him was a blur of colors and shapes. The pain grew more intense, spreading through his body like wildfire. It felt as if every bone was shattered into a million pieces, yet somehow, they were knitting themselves back together at an impossible speed. His muscles spasmed and twitched, a symphony of agony playing in his body.

 

Breathing required an enormous effort, his eyes felt moist with tears of pain. As it had begun, the pain ended suddenly, leaving him lying on his back on what was definitely not the bed in his dormitory.

 

He wasn't sure how long it was before he was able to sit up, feeling all his muscles protesting the movement. To his horror, he realized that the stickiness he had perceived earlier was blood. He was completely covered in it, his clothes torn, leaving his chest partly exposed and a good portion of his thigh bare.

 

Clothes that, by the way, were not his. Lance would remember if he had a very tight and uncomfortable shocking blue jumpsuit in his closet.

 

The room he was in was definitely not the dorm. The walls were covered in what looked like metal panels with wires sticking out of them, sparks flying everywhere. The floor was a mess of shattered glass and twisted steel, the smell of burning plastic and something chemically noxious made him want to retch. The lights above flickered erratically, casting eerie shadows across the floor. The place looked like a tornado had hit a robotics showroom and decided to throw a rave.

 

To his left, a giant computer console lay on its side, screens smashed, lights blinking in a panic. Above it, a large pipe had burst, water dripping down onto the fried circuitry, creating a sad little waterfall of destruction. To his right, a row of cages stood open, their former occupants nowhere in sight. The cages looked like they were designed for something much larger than the average house pet. There were burn marks on the bars and a smell of ozone that suggested they had contained something far from ordinary.

Lance felt an unpleasant feeling of déjà-vu that he could not explain. He struggled to his feet, his legs shaking under his weight. His head was spinning as if he had been on a roller coaster for too long and was just getting off.

 

He took a few unsteady steps, ending up on his knees again after a few seconds.

 

"Where the hell did I end up... Hunk, are you here? Hunk!"

 

His friend didn't answer, and Lance began to panic. He tried to remember what had happened during the last few hours, but what he got was a deadly headache.

 

He bent slightly. Let's recap: he had woken up covered in blood in a strange place, completely alone, dressed strangely and very weak.

 

Now, there were two things: either he had been kidnapped and taken to some strange place, or he had attended a very strange costume party.

 

Both options were absurd.

 

He didn't have time to dwell on the impossibility of the situation when a gasp echoed through the room, freezing him mid-thought. Lance whipped his head around, expecting the worst.

 

A man in purple armor stood about ten feet away, his eyes locked onto Lance with an intensity that was both alarming and intriguing. He looked like Beast from X-Men, but his skin color was a deep purple that almost seemed to glow in the dim lighting. The yellow eyes sent a shiver down Lance's spine, a stark contrast to the crimson blood seeping from a gaping wound in the man's ribcage. The armor looked to be made of some sort of organic material, flexing with each of the man's movements, as if it were a part of him.

The man pointed a kind of sawed-off shotgun at him, only with many more lights and futuristic, growling at him, "You."

 

"Um... this is a great place," Lance tried to joke, because what else was he supposed to do with a gun pointed at him? He wasn't even sure if he could run!, "It just needs some repair, maybe a touch of color... I know an interior designer who maybe..."

 

"Stop your stupid jokes, Blue Spirit," the other interrupted, causing him to jump. Wait, had he called him Blue Spirit?, "You and your companions can... destroying Haggar's lab, but that's not the end. She... will bring Zarkon back... and there's nothing that you... damn paladins... you can do..."

 

Big words for someone who seemed on the verge of suffocating to death. Lance didn't know whether to call the police or an ambulance. Maybe both.

 

But that gave him the answer he was looking for earlier: Lance had definitely ended up at a costume party that got out of hand – probably organized by James Griffin, that guy had too much money and little common sense, and Lance hated him, but at least he was in the right circles and Lance desperately wanted to be part of the kids who mattered, because they were the ones who had the best chance of impressing teachers and recruiters and then becoming real pilots, not cargo pilots – where, despite the age of the participants, the alcohol had been there and had flowed freely, so much so that it had knocked out Lance, certainly not a heavy drinker, and convinced that guy he was really in Paladins, the graphic novel that Hunk and his sisters adored and that he certainly didn't read because,  duh, he wasn't a nerd.

 

Except maybe he might have read something, and he understood why he had chosen to come dressed as Blue Spirit.

 

"Dude, I'm not Blue Spirit," he tried to reason, "I'm just a guy in a costume. I know you're probably a little confused..."

 

"Shut up!" the guy yelled. "I won't make myself... deceive... by you! Faces... your destiny... paladin!"

And with that, the man in purple armor pulled the trigger of his futuristic shotgun. Lance reacted instinctively, throwing his arms up in front of his face in a feeble attempt to shield himself from the impending onslaught. The sound of the weapon firing was like a thunderclap in the room, the force of the shot sending a shockwave that rippled through his body. But there was no pain. No impact.

 

Peeking through his fingers, Lance saw that the man was looking at him with horror. The purple-skinned man's hand was still tightly clutching the gun, but his eyes had gone wide, and his mouth was agape as if trying to form a word that his dying throat could no longer produce.

 

Blood spurted from the man's mouth, painting a gruesome picture against the stark metallic background of the room. He coughed violently, sending crimson spurts into the air, which fell like morbid confetti onto the already ruined floor. His knees buckled, and he crumpled to the ground, the gun clattering against the metal floor, the lights on it winking out like a dying star.

 

Lance remarked, speechless. It took him a good minute to realize what had happened, and scream (a very manly scream, he certainly didn't look like a panicked middle school girl, thank you very much!)

 

"Shiiiiiit... Where the hell is everybody?! I need a phone... maybe he's not really dead... what the hell am I saying, of course he's dead, dead dead! And now the police is going to arrest me, send me to jail without trial because I'm not even an American citizen, and throw away the key. I'm going to get out the prison when I'm eighty!"

 

He was not lucid enough to realize that 1. there were not his fingerprints on the weapon and 2. the guy clearly had a very bad aim because of all the alcohol he had drunk and shot himself.

 

What kind of idiot carried a loaded weapon to a party?!

 

A good 60% of the American population, that's who!

 

He took a trembling breath, trying to calm himself. Which was not very easy, when there was a body a few steps away from him, and the concrete possibility (only in his mind) that he would be convicted of murder.

 

"I have to find a phone, and call an ambulance," he muttered, getting up with difficulty, "There must be a phone in this damn place... or... wait a minute..."

 

Patting himself down, Lance attempted to find his phone, hoping he hadn't inadvertently destroyed it during whatever damn madness he got involved in. If it had happened, his mother would have killed him! Do you know how much  phones cost? A lot, that's it!

 

But instead of the cold touch of the device, his hand encountered something else. Something hard, metallic, and definitely not part of his body. He stared down at his right arm in disbelief, his fingers tracing over the unfamiliar contours embedded within the sleeve of his costume.

 

It was a bracelet.  It was a sleek, hyper-technological device with glowing blue lines that pulsed with an eerie light, reminiscent of the Zords from Power Rangers.

 

"Where did I get this costume? Was it on sale? Did I rent it?! God, the shop owner will want my head as soon as... Whoa!"

 

As soon as the last word left his mouth, the bracelet on his wrist began to glow brighter. Lance felt a sudden jolt, like a thousand volts of electricity coursing through his veins. He jolted back, stumbling and almost tripping over his own feet. A blue light grew from the bracelet, coalescing into a holographic image of a majestic lion, its mane fluttering as if caught in an invisible breeze. The creature's eyes met his, and he swore he could see intelligence in those digital depths.

 

"Hi, Blue Spirit," the hologram greeted him condescendingly, "How can I be of any use to you?"

 

Lance's eyes widened, "This is... it's really well done. “

 

"Thank you. Dr. Alfor created me," the hologram said, and looked annoyed, as if he meant as you should already know.

 

Lance ran a hand through his hair, moaning as he realized there were clots of congealed blood there too, "All very convincing, thanks, but I really should call an ambulance."

 

"Ambulance?"

 

"That man is dead," he pointed to the body, "And, I don't know, in these cases people called ambulance and police, aren't they? I've never been in a situation like this before."

 

It should have been impossible, but the hologram was staring at him with open judgment at the time, as if he were stupid, "Blue Spirit, that's a Galra."

 

"Yes, great costume, by the way. Putting all that purple paint on must have been a real nightmare."

 

"No one will accuse you of anything. You've done your duty as a paladin," the hologram continued, ignoring him completely, "But you're unmasked. You have to leave, before anyone sees you. I'll show you the safest way to..."

 

"Wait," Lance interrupted it, "Isn't it, like, failure to provide assistance? I can't leave him here!"

 

"He is already dead."

"But..."

 

"You have done your duty. Altea is grateful for what you have done. Now, you must leave, before Haggar or other Galra arrive. “

 

He wanted to protest. He didn't know who had programmed that devilry to look so much like Blue, the holographic guide of Blue Spirit, but he wanted a refund!

 

However, he had to keep quiet when an earthquake shook everything, causing the walls to sway dangerously.

 

"Earthquake magnitude 7.5," Blue recorded in a monotone voice, "I suggest you run away, now, if you don't want to be buried alive, Blue Spirit. I'll show you the way."

 

And when a hyper-technological hologram spoke to him like that, what should he do? Ignore it?

 

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

 

Blue guided him through a series of narrow, dark corridors that were creepy as hell, and that made Lance think, James, what the fuck, over and over again!

 

However, he had to reluctantly admit that he was starting to doubt that it was just a party gone bad, but thinking about any other hypothesis at that moment would have made him more agitated, and he preferred to avoid it!

 

When the shakes finally stopped, Lance breathed a sigh of relief and dared to ask Blue, "Hey, is anyone else here?"

 

Blue scanned him, "Are you referring to the other paladins?"

 

"No, actually..."

 

"Besides you, I don't register any other life forms in this place," was the hologram's curt response.

 

"So they're all already gone..." he muttered to himself, reflecting. Hunk must have been so worried.

 

He didn't like parties, even if sometimes he followed him to make sure Lance didn't get into big trouble, but he couldn't do it all the time; he had tough exams to study, he wanted to become an engineer, and the pressure was even more than what the pilots were subjected to...

 

"Lance, I don't think it's a good idea..."

"Hey, Veronica gave me the keys. She wants me to learn. And who better than you can keep me company?"

 

His eyes widened, his head throbbing. Where did that come from? Blue was quick to say, "Don't stop, Blue Spirit. It's not long before the exit..."

But Lance's legs had frozen. The memory was so vivid, it couldn't just be his imagination; it must be a memory, it must be...

 

 

"Lance, he's provoking you. Forget it! Lance... Lance, slow down, Lance!"

 

 

The words echoed in his head as he stumbled down the corridor, trying to shake off the disorienting flashback. His heart raced, and he could almost feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins again.  The taste of fear on his tongue was palpable.

There had been an argument, he remembered now. Lance had foolishly accepted a challenge, and Hunk had begged him to stop, and for once, just once, to listen to him, but... Lance had not done so.

 

 

"That's your problem, Lance! You are selfish! You want to be the center of attention, always! You don't care a damn if others have to study or if they have other things to take care of! For you, only you, you and you count! I'm tired of your antics, you big idiot! You're a failure, that's what you are! At seventeen you are still in limbo, and you have not understood that you will never be a real pilot, because you do not have the skills and ..."

 

 

Lance put his hand to his mouth, stifling a cry. Now he remembered. He had not ended up in an absurd party gone wrong, nor had he been kidnapped.

He was... he and Hunk were...

 

"Blue," he called, his voice broken by the too many emotions he was feeling, by the memories that had come back to him, by the guilt, oh God, what had he done, what..."Blue, where am I?"

 

"You're just a few miles from Altea, Blue Spirit. You don't have to fear..."

 

"I didn't mean that, Blue. I..." He paused, uncertain, because now that he knew, there was only one possible explanation for all this mess, and he was afraid. "Get me out of here, now."

The hologram nodded gravely, and the blue light grew around him, enveloping him in a cocoon of energy. Lance felt himself being lifted off the ground, the corridor walls blurring around him. His heart raced faster than ever before, and he was sure he could hear it echoing in the vast emptiness of his mind.

 

In moments that felt like hours, the light faded, and Lance found himself standing outside, the cold air hitting him like a slap in the face. He staggered, taking in the scene around him. The towering trees stretched up to the heavens, their branches reaching out as if trying to pluck stars from the sky. The moon cast eerie shadows across the underbrush, and the distant skyline of a city, gleaming and majestic, loomed ahead.

 

It seemed sparkling and full of promise like Metropolis (for this reason, DC had sued the author of Paladins several times, accusing her of plagiarism), but Lance knew better.

 

It was Altea. He couldn't be wrong.

He pinched himself to make sure he was awake.

It was all real.

At that point, he burst into tears.

 

Blue didn't understand his sudden burst of tears, "You're safe and sound, Blue Spirit. Why are you crying?"

 

"This... this is not my home..." Lance managed to sob, covering his face with the palms of his hands. He's messing up with all the dirt and blood on his face, but he couldn't care less.

 

Now he remembered. He was dead. He had died from a stupid race and had Hunk killed too (oh my God, Hunk, it was no surprise that he hated him, it was all his fault, Lance was responsible, he was...)

 

And, somehow, he had been resurrected. Like Blue Spirit. One of the Paladins. The worst of all, the weakest, the stupidest... the traitor who condemned Altea to destruction.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lance didn't know how long he knelt crying, ruining what little dignity he had left with a tattered suit and a hologram lion watching and judging him.

He didn't care about the impression he gave.

He died. At seventeen, without becoming a fighter pilot (not that he would ever become one, Hunk was right...), and killing his best friend.

And somehow he had ended up in the body of a cheap villain from a graphic novel.

How right was all this? What on earth had he done to deserve such a thing?

Was he a dictator? Was he in Epstein's files? Was he an arms dealer? No! He was...

He was a murderer.

Perhaps being reborn in that world was a kind of just divine punishment for what he had done.

In the end, he had no more tears to shed.

His eyes were swollen and burning. Altea in the distance was too bright for his taste, almost as if to make fun of him.

"Do you feel better?" Blue asked him, without any particular inflection in its voice. He doubted that Dr. Alfor had even put empathy into his programming.

Lance pursed his lips. He was tempted to say "absolutely not, fuck," but he didn't think the hologram would understand. 

He certainly couldn't tell it that he wasn't the original Blue Spirit and that he didn't know what to do in a world and body that wasn't his, much less when, in theory, the plot wanted him to become a villain who worked for the paladins' enemies, the Galra, and destroyed the city.

He certainly didn't want to kill anyone else!

Either Blue wouldn't believe him, blaming shock or a head injury, or worse, it would believe him and swoop the Paladins on him to... he wasn't clear what the Paladins could do, but White Witch was a kind of Hermione Granger and she would surely find something to send him back...

 

And then, if she did, where would Lance return? In his body? In the afterlife? Would he go back to his life as before? Or would he simply remain dead?

In any case, it was over.

He would never see his mother, Veronica and all the others again...

Well, a little voice whispered to him, too similar to Iverson's for his comfort, that's what happens when you're a selfish bastard. Here are the consequences of your actions!

He knew he didn't deserve a chance, not when Hunk couldn't have one, and what kind of selfish was he to want to go home when his best friend (former best friend) wouldn't have the same chance?

He already missed all of them, but wasn't it the consequence of his actions? Hunk had warned him, and he hadn't listened, too caught up in his eagerness to prove his worth, to be up to something.

Nice job, McClain, you got yourself killed! Fortunately, you never became a fighter pilot; otherwise, you would have made more trouble than you were worth!

"Blue Spirit?" Blue called him again, and Lance swallowed, mustering up courage.

He had to proceed in small steps, gradually. You couldn't expect him to solve all his problems in less than an hour; he wasn't a genius. 

"How do I get back to Altea?" he croaked to the hologram, who immediately replied, "Easy, contact the Tower and..."

"No!"

Blue tilted his head, confused, "Why not?"

Lance slurred. He knew it would be convenient to have help, especially since he was in an unknown world with no guide other than a hologram of a puppet lion that he would not look out of place as an anime mascot in Japan.

 But, and this was important, the chances of him being discovered were very high - there were at least two geniuses to be part of the team, plus a super-powered witch, there was no way anyone wouldn't understand that something was wrong, even with Lance's exceptional improvisation skills, and shit, wasn't Dr. Alfor some kind of human lie detector or something? - he didn't want to end up in a cell because the Paladins believed him to be a Galra spy or an interdimensional parasite!

"Is there nowhere I can go?" he asked weakly, biting his lower lip, "Like, you know, a safe house for... for emergencies?"

It didn't seem so crazy to ask. In the comics, a lot of heroes had safe houses scattered almost everywhere, just think of Batman, Red Hood, or Green Arrow. 

If you were a hero, and for some reason you found yourself in trouble and unable to contact your teammates, you needed a place to lick your wounds without the villain on duty coming to bother you.

He hoped that the author of Paladins had thought of borrowing that from DC in her world-building as well.

"Safe house?"

Crap, he didn't like the tone it was using. He explained, almost bordering on ranting, "Yes, where do I go when I'm not at the Tower and I want to relax for..."

Blue interrupted, "Oh, you mean your apartment."

"Do I have an apartment?" he asked, feeling a little silly asking, but hey, the author never showed the private lives of her heroes, so it was normal for him to be a little surprised. He thought they all lived permanently at the Tower of Lions, taking off their costumes only when they were in their rooms and there was no need for them to go kicking the bad guys' asses.

Of course, being in costume was almost always annoying, but it was to protect one's secret identity, since the Tower of Lions was also frequented by many employees who worked for Dr. Alfor, many journalists and various students of the Academy, who one day hoped to join the Paladins. Lance was convinced that the excessive secrecy for the whole secret identity thing was just a narrative device of the author to hide her laziness and not have to delve into the civilian lives of her heroes, but when he said it, Rachel accused him of not understanding the depth of the author's storytelling. Veronica, on the other hand, made fun of him, ''You know a lot about someone who says they don't read it."

He liked the idea of the Academy; in a world where 30% of children were born with powers, it was necessary to prepare them in some way and be sure that they did not become bad, and Dr. Alfor had the brilliant idea of establishing the Academy of Tomorrow. A way to keep people with powers under control and be sure not to find a new Lex Luthor in the way. Oh, and there was also the thing that they wouldn't join the Galra in this way. A win-win situation.

 

Also, it was partly Alfor's fault that there were so many people with powers now; the Academy and the Paladins were the least he could do to fix it.

 

"Of course, you paid for it with money from your first job."

Lance blinked, confusion growing, "What first job?"

"The cover of the Altea Gazette, four years ago," Blue patiently explained, "Afterwards, you fought with Dr. Alfor, who didn't think it was appropriate for you to have a job in your civilian identity. You replied shut up, old man, I can do what I want, I'm of age now."

"So I'm what, a sort of a model?"

His vanity was tickled – in fact, he wasn't in such a bad place – before he remembered that Blue Spirit was the model; he was already lucky if he could get Nadia's attention and not be too clumsy to talk to her or one of her friends.

 

"We can say so, even if you have been repeatedly urged not to continue with this professional choice by both Dr. Alfor and Red Warrior, even if with different tones."

Lance turned up his nose. He could only imagine how Red Warrior had commented on Blue Spirit's choice to be a model.

Red Warrior was the first to not miss the opportunity to criticise Blue Paladin, and it didn't help that the leader, Black Bolt, was always on Red's side.

Not that he could do otherwise: Blue Spirit went looking for trouble, a mouth too big for someone who didn't even have such an impressive power, and Red Warrior always reminded him of it.

Fuck, Lance understood why Blue Spirit was always so antagonistic. He was dismissed every single time just because he hadn't been as lucky with the genetic lottery as the others.

"Well, where is this apartment?" he asked, trying not to think about how similar he felt to a second-rate villain.

"Don't you want to let others know you're okay?"

"No, at the moment... I'd rather to be alone," the lie came out of his lips all too easily, and well, was it really a lie?

After all, he had to figure out what to do in that new world, and to do so, he had to start with a first, fundamental thing: to find out who Blue Spirit really was.

From there, things should start to get easier (at least, that's what he hoped.)

"If you want it that way," the hologram said, reticently, "Your bike is nearby, where you left it before entering the lair with Red Warrior, Black Bolt and Green Light."

Lance gasped, "Do I have a bike?"

"How do you think you got here?"

"Er... along with everyone else? You know, as usual?"

"That's usually the case, but you had a fight with Red Warrior before the mission, and you didn't want to be with him more than necessary..." Blue narrowed its eyes, "Your memory has several holes. You should get checked by Dr. Alfor."

"I'm fine," perfect, he almost got caught by Blue, he already imagined how well it would be if he met the others, "I just need some rest and to be alone for a while."

Blue still didn't seem entirely convinced, but since he was the boss, it relented, "If you say so. Do you want me to get your bike here on autopilot?"

"Can you do that?"

"Of course I can!" Blue looked almost offended as it said it, and Lance gave a half-smile. It was pretty cute. "In fact, I have already done! Look!"

 

At that moment, Lance heard a loud noise of an engine, and a blue metallic MV Agusta F4 came out of the bush, a 4-cylinder engine with 195 horsepower, and he almost fainted.

 

That was the stuff of rich and cool guys: James once came back from vacation with an MV Augusta F3, and it was nothing compared to the wonder he had in front of him.

 

Lance felt the desire to drive that little gem ... until he remembered how it had gone the last time he was driving, and felt a sudden cold that made him shiver.

 

"Hey, Blue... Could you also set the autopilot up at my apartment? I'm really, really tired, and I could collapse at any moment.”

 

"Of course, Blue Spirit."

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

Half an hour later, and with his heart bursting at any moment, Lance walked through the door of what had been Blue Spirit's apartment.

And he was amazed.

 

"Is this place mine?" he asked Blue for the umpteenth time, "Really mine? No roommates? No relatives or..."

 

"This place is yours alone," Blue confirmed again, flying past him, "Not even Dr. Alfor knows about it."

 

"Not even him? Really?" he asked, with a hint of surprise. Doctor Alfor always gave this impression of being like the Dumbledore of the situation, a bit eccentric, very wise, who you could always go to if you needed help, especially if you were the more or less recognised protagonist, even though Paladins was supposed to be an ensemble story where everyone had equal importance, but hey, the author played favourites.

 

Above all, Lance assumed that Dr. Alfor always knew everything. So, the fact that Blue Spirit had managed to hide a whole apartment under his nose was incredible.

 

"Your sister helped you: she took care of the necessary paperwork and helped you with the bank account where you paid a share of your money to ensure economic independence."

 

His heart sank at the mention of a sister. Blue Spirit had a sister, someone who had to love him very much, if she was willing to go behind Dr. Alfor's back and not be a spy, who trusted that out-of-the-box and drifting brother...

 

 

"Please, Veronica. I swear I'll be careful, and Hunk will be with me too, and you know how cautious he is!"

Veronica just sighed. Lance knew he had worn down her resistance: the eyes of a beaten puppy always won. On the desk, there were open books, but she bet that they were only there to make a scene: somewhere, there was the latest issue of Paladins waiting only for her.

"An hour, and then you go back to your dorm," the young woman said, trying to look stern but failing, "Don't be smart and don't try to go to town, don't bring the false documents I know you asked Marco for the last time he came to visit us to enter God knows what club..."

"Jeez, Veronica. Who did you take me for?"

She grinned, "I know you too well, Lance. Trouble doesn't come looking for you; you call them with the megaphone."

"Hey, I know perfectly well to stay out of trouble!"

"Yes, of course," he chuckled, and tossed him the car keys, which he managed to grab on the fly, "An hour, no more. If you are a second late, I will bring Rachel's wrath upon you, and you really don't want it."

"Yeah, I get it... see you later!"

 

 

"Blue Spirit? Blue Spirit, are you listening?"

Lance shook himself, his heart aching at the memory. It had been his last conversation with Veronica. Had he told her that he was happy to have her as a sister? Had he at least thanked her?

Those were his last fucking words, and fuck, they were horrible. There was nothing nice to remember, he had been petulant and annoying until the end and...

Veronica will be the one called to recognise his body.

The thought hit him like a freight train. Veronica was his closest relative, their parents were in Cuba with Marco and Luiz, Rachel was in New York for the internship, and this left Veronica with the task of...

God, she's going to hate him so much right now, because She warned him, damn it, more than once.

She had told him to be careful, not to get into trouble, and he hadn't listened to her.

His chest tightened violently, a sudden wave of dizziness making the walls sway. Lance stumbled backwards, his back hitting the cool surface of the door. The air in his lungs seemed to evaporate. He gasped, clawing uselessly at his throat, vision tunneling into pinpricks of light against a spreading darkness. The apartment, felt like it was collapsing inwards, crushing him under the weight of his own stupidity and loss. Veronica's face swam in his mind – her exasperated smile, the stern glint in her eyes that always softened for him. Gone. He won't see her again.

 

A raw, soundless scream built in his constricted chest.

 

Lance crumpled against the door, the world narrowing to a suffocating point. Blue Spirit was instantly near him, its holographic form shedding soft, cool light onto his sweat-slicked face.

 

"Blue Spirit!" Its voice, usually smooth, held an edge of command. "Listen to me. You are having a panic attack. It is not real. Focus on my voice. Breathe with me. In... slow and deep, through your nose. Fill your lungs."

 

It demonstrated how to do it, its light pulsing gently with each simulated breath, a visual anchor in the drowning dark.

 

Lance forced air through his clenched teeth, matching the rhythmic pulse of Blue Spirit’s light. The cool glow washed over him, a lifeline in the suffocating dark. Slowly, the vice around his chest loosened. The roaring in his ears faded, replaced by the faint hum of the apartment’s environmental systems and Blue Spirit’s steady, synthesised breathing. He blinked, the tunnel vision receding to reveal the stark reality of the space he’d now live in.

 

He pushed himself shakily upright, leaning heavily against the door as he finally took it in. The apartment was large, undeniably spacious compared to the Garrison dorms, yet it felt so cold in comparison.

 

 His room at the Garrison was full of his own things, photos of his family, clothes scattered around, even models from when he was a child and only dreamed of being able to enter the Garrison and become a pilot. There was also a guitar in the corner, but it made him miss less his home.

 

He couldn't say that there was much personality in that apartment. It was very tidy, to begin with.

 

The walls were painfully empty—no photographs, no posters, no evidence that anyone had ever lived here beyond the sterile elegance. Everything spoke of Blue Spirit's practicality: a low-slung sofa in deep navy fabric, a sleek black armchair angled toward a minimalist coffee table. Above, a chandelier—a cluster of geometric glass droplets catch the light—but its beauty felt cold, impersonal. Like a showroom, not a home.

 

His gaze drifted toward the kitchen, separated by a polished steel breakfast bar. The elegant but practical design—all gleaming steel countertops, integrated appliances hidden behind panels—felt like a spaceship galley. Efficient. Soulless. A pang hit him: Rachel would've filled this place with mismatched mugs, herbs wilting on the sill, the smell of caf brewing.

"You're in shock," Blue said, almost frowning, "You had to go back to the Tower!"

"Believe me, it's better this way," he found the strength to say, chasing away ghosts that didn't exist, "I just have to... I don't know... rest and then..."

Then deciding what to do with a life that wasn't even his.

"Look, Blue... Who is this apartment registered to?" he asked, opting for a seemingly neutral question and not at the risk of turning off all Blue's alarm bells, like hey, who the hell am I?

Yes, it would have been fine if he had asked it!

" It’s registered under the name of Leandro Sanchez, although it is not your real name, but according to your sister, it was a convenient alias. It would have been even harder to find you."

An alias. Great. He had no idea what Blue Spirit's real name was!

Author, secrecy is fine, but show the civilian identities of your heroes now and then! Otherwise, it just seems to see the Power Rangers at work 24 hours a day!

He ran a hand through his hair, and grimaced. He needed to take a shower, he didn't mean to go to bed dirty and that he looked like walking death.

Lance gasped as he hit a new depth. His gaze drifted to the mirror—and froze. A stranger stared back. Lean muscle defined unfamiliar shoulders and arms, skin kissed by sun and sea salt, hair bleached messy gold at the tips. The sharp angles of the jawline, the confident set of the brows—utterly alien. This wasn't his reflection. This was Blue Spirit's body, borrowed without permission. He traced a finger along the unfamiliar collarbone, a tremor running through him.

"How old am I?" he murmured in the mirror.

He was certainly not a teenager, even if, given the logic of comics, he could not say for sure.

At a cursory glance, he looked like he was now in his twenties, twenty-two at the most, and he was damn fit.

Is it thanks to the training as a hero? Who knows, Lance also often trained at the Garrison but had never been able to have such a physique.

"I don't need false documents anymore if I want to go drinking at the bar," he said again, halfway between horror and wonder, feeling like a lost kid who had to learn to be an adult. God, he couldn't do it. He didn't want to have deep reflections at that hour... He just wanted to sleep and forget about all that mess for at least a couple of hours.

Was it too much to ask?

He walked to the shower, unable to help but think, "I bet they're celebrating at the Tower. No one could stand Blue Spirit, not even Dr. Alfor... They didn't even go back to see if he was... that I,  if I was actually dead... urgh, I'll have to start thinking that Blue Spirit, Leandro or whatever the hell he was, now it's me... But since he used an alias, why shouldn't I do the same? Why should I stop being Lance? I like this name, it's mine. I may live in a stolen body, but..."

 

Lost as he was in his thoughts, he had forgotten Blue Spirit's superpower and accidentally destroyed the shower head as soon as he picked it up.

 

"Oh, are you fucking kidding me?!"

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

The silence of the room was unbearable, interspersed only with the noise of the machines to which Alfor's daughter was attached.

 

 Alfor sat beside Allura's bed, his posture slumped, his fingers curled around her motionless hand. Her skin felt cold beneath his touch, a stark contrast to the vibrant warmth she'd always carried. He traced the line of her cheekbone with his thumb, whispering ancient prayers under his breath—words he hadn't uttered since her mother's passing.

 

The door opened with a soft click, startling him. Shiro stood silhouetted against the hallway light, his broad shoulders filling the frame. He wore his Black Bolt uniform, the obsidian armour polished to a dull gleam. His expression remained hidden behind the helmet's opaque visor, but Alfor saw the tension in his jawline, the slight tremor in his gauntleted hand as it gripped the doorframe. There was a stillness to Shiro that spoke louder than any alarm klaxon.

The man took off his helmet and put it under his arm, a posture that made him look twenty years older and too tired.

 

Alfor sighed, "Don't beat around the bush. I know what you want to tell me. He's dead, isn't he?"

Silence. Then, Shiro exhaled softly, "Yes."

Alfor's gaze didn't waver from Allura's pale face. A tremor ran through his shoulders—a silent earthquake tearing apart his careful facade. When he spoke, his voice was gravel scraping against bone, "How?"

The single word hung heavy, sharp as a scalpel poised to cut open the unbearable truth. His thumb kept tracing Allura's knuckles, as if memorising the map of her existence before it faded entirely.

 

Shiro hesitated too much, and Alfor misinterpreted, "He disobeyed your orders, right? He thought he knew better than you what to do, and he threw himself into a much more delicate situation than he did..."

 

"It wasn't him."

 

Shiro's voice was clear as he spoke, and Alfor looked at him without understanding. The hero continued, "Blue Spirit obeyed my orders. The situation got out of hand after..."

 

He paused, swallowing, signs of discomfort evident on his face. Alfor pressed him, "After what? What happened?"

 

"After Red Warrior responded to a provocation about his origins, ending up injured and in need of assistance. Green Light and Blue Spirit have got our backs, but... Haggar had installed a bomb, and it exploded... I couldn't save them all, I..."

 

"Black Bolt," Alfor interrupted, voice steady, refusing to look at him, "Are you telling me that Blue Spirit died because Red Warrior didn't listen to you?"

 

"No, doctor, I'm saying there was a bomb..."

 

"Blown up by Haggar after Red Warrior disobeyed you," Alfor blurted out, barely holding his anger in check, "I know Haggar, she doesn't act rashly. If she detonated the bomb, it's because Red Warrior left her no choice. That's it, isn't it?"

 

Shiro's silence was the answer he needed. Alfor closed his free hand into a fist and put it in front of his face, "Was Green Light also involved in the explosion?"

 

"Yes."

 

"He's alive," wasn't a question.

 

"Yes."

 

"Shiro... answer me sincerely... Have you decided who to save? Did you choose to leave him behind?"

 

"There was nothing to do, I couldn't..."

 

"Did you recover the body?"

 

Shiro pursed his lips in a thin line, "It couldn't be recovered, doctor. It was beyond recognition and..."

 

Alfor motioned for him to stop. He didn't want to listen anymore. Shiro obeyed and waited.

Silence filled the room like a pall of lead, slipped between them and oppressed them.

Suddenly, Alfor spoke, "Get out."

"Doctor..."

"Shiro, I don't want to see anyone for the next twenty-four hours. Warn Coran, and tell him to... to announce the loss of Blue Spirit on the news. The funeral will be held as soon as the body is recovered ..."

 

"Doctor, I don't think that..."

 

Alfor looked at him with a look that one could only describe as infernal, as if at that moment he was a demon whose flesh was being torn apart and not a human being.

 

"I will not bury my son except worthily, Shiro," Alfor insisted on the word son, pain that pierced him like so many small knives, feeling like Mary at the foot of the cross.  "Find his body... or what's left of it... I want him to rest next to his mother..."

 

"I see..." he lowered his head, and started to leave, when Alfor stopped him, "Shiro, I want to remind you of something. I always know when people lie to me. And I don't know what about, but you lied to me. God help you if I ever find out what you lied about."

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

Keith woke up feeling broken. He did it slowly, his head empty as if he had been stuck with his head under the water one too many times.

 

The infirmary room was sterile and dim, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic. He was lying flat on his back, his body heavy and uncooperative. There was an IV line taped to his left arm, and the steady beep of a heart monitor filled the silence. He tried to push himself up, a groan escaping his lips as pain lanced through his chest.

 

Matt was sitting next to him, in a wheelchair. He was looking at Keith with a concerned expression. Keith tried to sit up, but Matt stopped him. "Don't," Matt said quietly. "You've got several broken ribs, a pretty bad head injury, and they had to put your foot in a cast."

 

"What the hell happened? The last thing I remember..."

 

"It was you attacking Sendak, " Matt sighed, tired, "I had to admit, that bitch deserved it...but it was a trap."

 

“A trap?”

 

"Yes... there was a bomb, and Haggar detonated it," Matt continued to explain, shaking both hands, "Thankfully, you and Shiro weren't close, but Blue and I were..."

 

Keith uttered a mocking cry, "What, Blue used you as a human shield or something? That coward..."

 

"Keith..."

 

"Did he leave you under the rubble and forget he had super strength? Not that it's of much use, he's barely able to lift a car, let alone rubble..."

 

"Keith..."

 

"Where is he now? Or is he too cool to be in the infirmary like the rest of us and thinks he doesn't have to mix with..."

 

"Keith!" Matt's voice was sadder than Keith had ever heard. And she looked at the boy with an expression that Keith could describe as simply destroyed, "I lost consciousness, and I don't remember much, but Shiro told me... Blue Spirit took the full force of the explosion. He tried to protect me, he..."

 

An unpleasant feeling made its way into Keith, "Matt, where's Blue Spirit now?"

 

Matt looked away, and Keith blurted out, "Matt, don't treat me like a child. Where is he?"

 

"Where do you think he is, Keith? I told you, he took the whole explosion."

 

Keith opened his mouth, but closed it immediately. It couldn't be true. Because if what Matt was implying was true, it meant Blue was dead, and it couldn't be, because he didn't know anyone more selfish and self-centered than Blue Spirit, and that asshole would never die that way, ever.

 

He tried to get up, but Matt held him back, "What the hell are you trying to do?"

 

"You're all wrong," Keith growled, trying to remove his IV and being restrained by Matt, "Blue Spirit isn't dead. I'm going to look for him."

 

"Keith, don't do that..."

 

"Matt, you know him as well as I do. Blue Spirit can't be dead, not like this. Someone like him seeks glory, and there is no glory when you are dead!"

"I know," the boy whispered shyly, "I know though when I woke up, I was covered in blood, and it wasn't mine, Keith."

 

He felt his stomach tighten. He vehemently denied, "It must have been from some Galra. You can't know, you were unconscious. I have to go..."

 

"Shiro saw it all," Matt interrupted, gloomily, "He said that... Blue Spirit was in very bad shape. Really bad. There was nothing more for him to do..."

 

Keith wanted to scream. He would have meant that Shiro could also be wrong, he wasn't a doctor, what did he know?

 

But Shiro had been a paladin since he was sixteen. He had seen a lot of accidents and fatal injuries. Shiro had lost an arm and was saved at the last minute by Allura.

Shiro wasn't stupid. He knew how to recognize a desperate situation when he saw one.

And if Shiro said there was nothing more to do...

 

"Where is he?" he croaked, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears.

 

"Shiro is talking to doctor Alfor..."

 

"Not Shiro. Where is Blue Spirit’s body? I want to see it."

 

"Keith..."

 

"Don't tell me bullshit like it's not recognizable or anything like that. We weren't friends, it won't affect me..."

 

"Keith, it's not possible, because Shiro wasn't able to get him back."

 

Keith heard his ears ringing, "You mean you left him there?!"

 

"It was not an easy choice, but with the two of us injured and me dying..."

 

Keith wanted to slap him in the face. He had no idea what Haggar would do if he had the chance to get his hands on the bodies of one of them.

 

Well, not that there's much to work on, a sneaky little voice reminded him, and he had to fight the urge to scream.

 

"Let me go."

 

"Keith, you're not in a condition to walk..."

 

"Then I will fly," he said, raising his chin proudly, "I can fly there and bring him back to the Tower."

 

"Keith, you have a head injury that has yet to heal," Matt had to remind him, "You don't have a regeneration factor like Yellow Taurus, you can barely use your powers when you're injured so badly."

 

"So what, let's let Haggar do what she wants with his body? Do we give up like this?"

 

"I'm sure Shiro and Yellow are already working on something to bring him back," Matt said conciliatory, "You know Blue Spirit and Yellow Taurus were friends, Yellow wouldn't stand the thought of leaving his friend in a Galra base."

 

Keith had always wondered how a person like Yellow Taurus could tolerate Blue Spirit. He'd even asked him once, and Yellow Taurus  had looked at him as if Keith was in the wrong, and said, "If you stopped antagonizing him, maybe you'd realize he's a good guy."

 

It was just the demonstration that Yellow was too good and Blue Spirit had taken advantage of his naivety.

 

Should he stop antagonizing him? It was Blue Spirit who never missed an opportunity to remind him that he was only there because Shiro had brought him, and that it was a charity case.

 

To which Keith replied, ''At least I'm powerful, you are a joke, and your powers are useless. Why should we have you on the team when I'm here?"

 

At least now there will be no more useless discussions...

Immediately after thinking it, he felt disgusting. If what Matt had said was true, Blue Spirit had died a hero, sacrificing himself to save Matt...

 

But Keith couldn't believe it. The rescue must have been an accident, and Blue Spirit had been unlucky, being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now Matt, out of guilt, saw what had happened in a different light.

 

It made a lot more sense that way, rather than for Blue Spirit to sacrifice himself. Why would he ever do it? He didn't care about anyone but himself.

 

Sacrificing yourself for someone else was totally out of character, and... No, it just didn't sound good to him.

 

Maybe it doesn't sound good to you because if Blue Spirit has always been able to do these things, it would mean that you misjudged him, and that you treated him unfairly. How did you call him before entering the base? Don't you remember? Wait, I will help you remember...

 

"Stop," he almost yelled, and Matt blinked, confused, "I didn't say anything. Are you hallucinating?"

 

"No, just... Nevermind, maybe I need to rest and... I don't know..."

 

Matt put on a serious expression, "I'm going to call Coran. He definitely has to take a look at you."

 

He started to push his wheelchair away, when Keith called him back, "Hey... your legs..."

 

Matt stared down, then smiled at him, "Oh, don't worry. Soon I will be as good as new!"

 

Keith wanted to feel relieved, but he couldn't.

 

Matt had lied to him.

 

 

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

 

Narti and Ezor were two silent presences behind him, while Haggar observed the camera footage of Laboratory 626.

 

Everything had gone according to his plan: Sendak had followed the script as planned, and Red Warrior had fallen into the trap.

 

It would have been perfect if only Black Bolt hadn't stepped in and saved Red Warrior. She clenched her fist.

 

She had been one step away from finding the perfect body, and the opportunity had slipped from under her nose. Damn Black Bolt, Alfor's loyal watchdog, always willing to do whatever his master ordered him to do.

 

"I thought Black Bolt was the perfect solution, but I was wrong... Red Warrior's powers are a cut above, he is practically a god. He doesn't realize it yet, but he could have the world at his feet... and I want that power for Lotor... I want to..."

 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden sight, caught out of the corner of her eye. She would almost have lost it.

She went back and looked at it again. And she looked at it again, again, again, until...

 

"This is very interesting," she smiled, leaning forward, "It seems that the Alfor puppy is much more interesting than I thought... Narti!"

The girl was immediately next to her. Haggar said, "Go back to the lab, and take some samples. Anything useful. I need to do some analysis."

"Yes, Lady Haggar."

"Ah, and while you're at it... I want you to destroy everything. There must be nothing left to prove that Blue Spirit is still alive."

"Got it, Lady Haggar," Narti nodded, and disappeared into a cloud of smoke.

Haggar leaned her back against the chair.

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Alfor had taken a son from her, and she will return the favour.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

And yes I'm working on another wip, but inspiration is rogue, and here I am. They won't be very regular updates (once a month, I think, then we'll see), but I liked the idea and said to myself, ' Why not? ' Another way to torture my favourite character. Sorry Lance.

Thanks for every kudos, comments and bookmarks. This keep me and my ispiration alive. Also, I hope you will also take interest in my fic crossover Legacy. It's a strange work, but pretty funny.