Chapter Text
Everything is worse at night.
Dark clouds cover the sky like a blanket, murky grey, threatening rain and obscuring the stars and the tiny sliver of moon outside. It sharpens the shadows in his room, making them jump and dance, blurring the darkness into terrifying creatures in the dead of the night.
When Jason sleeps, he dreams of it. The docks, glowing green eyes, alien armor, a golden staff.
Rita's mouth twists, all sharp edges and poisonous charm, into a cruel smirk. Victorious. Her shoulders shake as if in disbelief. Her laugh echoes loud, shrill and painful, like chalk on a blackboard; it makes his ears ring.
A wave of her staff and a human heart stops beating. There’s the too loud splash of a body hitting water and the overlapping voices of his team crying out in desperation.
She glows green and Billy dies.
He dies.
You failed him. You failed them. You fucked up and Billy paid the price. You rushed in, you tried to prove a point and you failed. You’re worthless as a leader.
Jason stands in the middle of the room, inside an ancient spaceship, his team behind him, mourning a loss that's carved a hole deep inside of him. His chest is hollow, heart beating with an irregular rhythm. It clenches painfully, dripping acid around his rib cage every time it pumps. Soul crushing grief, the weight of loss on brittle bones. He’s too young to feel such guilt, and the burden of it makes him feel old.
In his dreams, Zordon keeps quiet. Billy dies and Zordon doesn’t do anything about it.
Rita wins. Angel Grove falls.
Everything turns to ash.
This pain, you won't forget.
This pain, you will carry for the rest of your life. Until you shrivel, old and weak, and die. Until she kills you, hand around your throat, magic on her fingertips, sucking the life from you.
He wakes up with a scream stuck in his throat and sweat running down his back, all over his face, sheets damp and tangled all around his legs. Not enough oxygen in his lungs; he gasps, knuckles white, eyes unfocused. The house is quiet and with the window open, he can hear the stillness of the bay, the gentle waves lapping against the shore. On the night table, his power coin glows a steady red, cascading light all over him and the bed, silencing the shadows on the other end of the room. Nothing but a desk and a chair, and the mess between the bed and the far wall.
Slowly, he opens his hands, fingers stiff and cold. His stomach revolts, nausea hitting like a hurricane, violent and fast. Bile in the back of his throat; he forces himself to breathe slowly. In and out. Repeat. It does nothing to help the frantic, desperate butterfly that's his heart, fighting against the wild winds of his desperation. Tossed from side to side. One beat of those wings and everything comes crashing down.
He's never been loud with his tears, so when they finally spill it's with a choked quiet gasp. Blue eyes glistening in the middle of the night. The red around his eyes makes them seem brighter.
He's not dead.
He's not dead.
Billy’s not dead.
Rita’s gone.
* * *
Rita’s gone but not entirely gone either. Her influence remains. Sharp golden claws threatening the life from their quiet town with a fierce grip that refuses to let go. Zordon warns them about it and her words echo in his mind — a warning. A threat. A promise.
Others will come.
The world cracked open and spilled, illusion vanishing under the harsh reality of their situation. Aliens, technological beasts in the shape of dinosaurs roaming the city, creatures rising from the ground, breaking through the asphalt, destroying everything in their path. Destiny divided in colors, assembled into one force.
He sees green everywhere, even in places it shouldn’t be.
Or maybe it’d always been there, maybe he’d been ignoring it before. It didn’t use to matter, so he never paid attention to it. Green was no different than purple or yellow or blue or red.
The bell rings and he closes his notebook, slams shut his book and there it is — green, all over the cover of his earth science textbook. The same book he’s used since the start of the semester a few weeks ago, before fate bonded him with four strangers. He sighs, dumping everything inside his book bag and gets up. He has pre calc next. The class is boring, and more than just a pain in the ass, but Kim’s in there too and that helps a little.
After school, he waves goodbye to his team — his friends — and goes straight home. Even though the ankle monitor is hacked, he has to babysit all week since his dad’s out for a few days on the boat and his step-mom is pulling double shifts at the hospital.
The box says easy to make, but he still manages to burn the mac and cheese he tries to make for dinner. Not bad enough to be inedible but bad enough that it makes Pearl criticize it. He’s not the best cook, he’s well aware of it, but the critical look his baby sister gives the bowl of pasta makes him recoil with shame. He should’ve gone with something easy, like sandwiches. Or cereal.
“We’ll order pizza tomorrow, how’s that?”
“And watch Frozen?”
Inside, he curses the existence of the movie. Outside, he smiles. “Only after you finish your homework.”
He pours ketchup on top of the mac and cheese to mask the subtle taste of burnt macaroni. That, and the promise of some ice-cream after homework, plus the Disney movie the next day are enough to keep her from making another comment about his lack of skill in the kitchen.
Pearl goes to bed early and he makes sure every door is locked and every window downstairs closed, before retiring to his room. Even though he’s exhausted, he still stays up for a couple of hours browsing videos on his phone. It’s a small hope, that he’ll be too tired to dream.
That night, it rains.
He dreams of water, of abandoned docks.
Of Billy.
* * *
In the morning, he turns off his alarm and goes back to sleep for an extra ten minutes. Big mistake. Ten turns into twenty and the loud knocking on his bedroom door wakes him up with a start. He overslept, great. No time to shower, not if he’s supposed to make breakfast for his sister — he still has to walk her to the bus stop too. Cereal and toast, nothing fancy. She gives him a funny look when he hands her a few dollars to buy lunch at school but still gives him a hug before boarding the school bus.
He misses his truck.
He misses being able to oversleep a little, compensating with speeding to get to school on time.
Now he has to walk, or worse, ride his bike. The coin gave him a lot, but it didn’t take away the pain from his knee, not entirely. Sure, it can resist more than it could before, but riding his bike at full speed to avoid being late still puts a strain on it. He sucks it up, chalks it up to just another bad day that hopefully will turn around.
It doesn’t.
Zack has second lunch, and usually he skips class to eat with them during first lunch. At least he’s showing up for school now, more than he used to, judging by his attendance record. It’s no secret everyone approves of him being around, even when they tease about it.
“Whoa, boss, what happened?”
There it is again — Jason doesn’t say anything this time. He’s told Trini and Zack to drop the nicknames but they’re relentless. He doesn’t want to start anything; he’s too tired for that. “What do you mean?”
He expects a wisecrack or something, but Zack stares at him with concern. “You look like shit.”
He feels like shit. “Thanks.”
There’s a hand on his shoulder. Jason glances down at it, fixates on the silver rings on Zack’s fingers. “Dude, seriously.”
He shrugs him off. “Yeah, seriously? It’s nothing.”
“If you say so.”
Kim told him he looked sick, but he’s not sick. He rarely gets sick. It’s fine, whatever. It’s not like he’s the only one having nightmares, but they all cover it up somehow. It’s one of those things they should talk about but .. don’t. But they really should. He made a mental note to bring it up next time they relax by the bonfire, after training on saturday.
It’ll be a great bonding experience, talking about everything that’s happened ever since.
That’s a lie. He’s not looking forward to that, and he doubts the others will either.
He throws down his bag on top of the cafeteria table, startling Billy, who immediately looks up. Jason gives him a rueful smile, “Sorry.” He doesn’t say anything else after that. He sits down, folds his arms on top of his bag and lays down his head. The noise of the cafeteria and the murmur of his friends fade into silence.
“—Get up, Jason.”
“Wha—?”
“Lunch is almost over, you should eat something.” Kim pushes an apple towards him and he grabs it on reflex. Truth is .. well, he’s not hungry, but he makes an effort to bite into it. Billy stares at him, opens his mouth but closes it.
“Where’s Zack?”
There’s Kim, who’s still staring at him, Billy next to him, but Trini and Zack are gone.
“Bathroom.” Billy replies, “Trini left to talk to a teacher. Something about extra credit. I asked her if she needed help, but she said she could handle it on her own.”
Just regular school stuff.
“She’s been complaining about biology.” Kim adds. “We had a test yesterday.”
“You guys been studying together?”
Kim nods, “Yeah, and we’re meeting up after school to go over some homework. It’s no big, I told her not to worry too much about it. The test isn’t even that important. It was just some stupid quiz, but we do have a test next tuesday.”
“She looked worried about it,” Billy points out, glancing between them.
“You think she failed it?”
“I didn’t ask, and we haven’t gotten the results but she does okay in that class. I don’t know why she’s asking for extra credit.” Kim shrugs, but it’s obvious she’s concerned about it. “I’ll ask her this afternoon.”
“No training today?” Billy looks at him, and Kim makes a face. It’s only been three days since they trained, but with the girls studying all afternoon, they won’t have time for it.
“Nah, tomorrow though?” Jason bites into the apple again, he’s not even halfway done with it when the bell rings.
“Tomorrow.” Kim nods, picking up her stuff. “I’ll see you guys later.”
She’s the first to leave. Billy walks next to him until they branch out to head to their respective classes. Jason doesn’t see Zack or Trini again but he texts during their last class to let them know training’s postponed until tomorrow.
yellow submarine: can’t
yellow submarine: i have to babysit the twin terrors tomorrow
zack attack: yeah, i’m gonna be busy too yo
pulling your hartstrings: no training this week! say aye
zack attack: AAAAAYYY
yellow submarine: aye
Mrblue: Why not?
dented can of coke: this isn’t a democracy
pulling your hartstrings: it’s a rangercracy
yellow submarine: that makes no sense
zack attack: yeah man
zack attack: outvoted!!
pulling your hartstrings: ofc it makes sense, we’re rangers and we voted
dented can of coke: billy didn’t vote
zack attack: billy, my man, my dude, my blue bff
dented can of coke: don’t try to buy his vote tf
Mrblue: If everyone’s saying aye, I guess aye.
zack attack: lmao in ur face, red
dented can of coke: shut up
Mrblue: Does that mean no training this week?
pulling your hartstrings: no training this month
dented can of coke: no training this week
zack attack: boooo
yellow submarine: k cool
He puts his phone away before the teacher can say anything and goes back to taking notes. No training the whole week sounds good, especially since he has to babysit too. They can catch up on Saturday and there haven’t been any attacks, so it’s not like Zordon has any real excuse to get on their asses about it.
Pearl goes to bed after they finish Frozen but it’s still too early for him to crash, so he takes a long shower, changes into old sweatpants and lays down in bed. It’s been a long week and it’s only Wednesday. Just a few more days and then Saturday detention and on Sunday, he has nothing planned.
* * *
Thursday morning, he actually runs late. Forgot to set his alarm, overslept. No coffee again. Pearl barely makes it to the bus on time, so that’s the very slim silver lining of the day. By the time he gets to school, his knee is aching and he’s fifteen minutes past the bell. He already knows it’s going to be another long day. He stares at the inside of his locker for far longer than he should; doesn't notice the students hurrying along, the hallway emptying out. The bell rings for second period and he's still standing with his locker open, eyes unfocused. He's so tired. It takes him yet another minute to grab his book and hurry to class.
Mr. Hayes gives him a look but doesn't say anything. Jason's grateful for it, especially when he locks eyes with Mike, sitting front and center — current quarterback of the football team and former friend — and gets a nasty glare thrown his way. Nothing's been the same since the prank, but Jason's moved on from lost friendships and fake so-called friends.
Whatever. He's too tired to care about Mike. Too tired to pay attention to class but he tries. In the end, it all strings together, words that go in through the left and come out the right; his brain short circuits, smoking black, a metaphorical death of every working brain cell. He almost texts the others that training is cancelled before he remembers they all agreed to cancel it the whole week, at least until Saturday. That’s fine. They don't care, so why should he? It's just one day. The world is not going to end on a Thursday.
His dad gives him a funny look when he gets home, but Jason walks right past him, straight to his room without saying a word. Too tired to pick a fight. His bookbag falls to the floor, he toes off his shoes and faceplants the bed. it feels softer than he remembers, like a chunk from heaven, feather light but soft like a cloud. Or a giant marshmallow.
He wakes up from a restless nap around six, his phone going crazy, vibrating aggressively on his bedside table and his coin glowing bright — too bright, a constant flash of red next to his pillow.
Putties.
The world doesn't end on a Thursday. The power rangers show up to save the day, in bright flashes of color. A hit there, a punch and a kick, like clockwork. Except it's not quite that flawless.
“Rangers, on me!”
Zack doesn't listen, opting to attack head on when Jason calls to fall back and regroup. The black ranger slams through the window of an antiques shop and somewhere to his left, Pink gasps.
Hundreds, if not thousands of dollars in damage in mere seconds.
There’s glass everywhere, inside the shop and outside, scattered on the sidewalk beneath the large broken window of the store.
“Oh, man.” To his right, Blue is shaking his head.
Red groans.
Trying to keep public damage to a minimum is hard. Their priority is the people, keeping every civilian safe, but that doesn’t mean they don’t try to keep the city intact, especially considering some buildings are still getting fixed up after the mess with Goldar.
They fight until all putties are gone and flee the scene before the cops can show up. The owner of the shop won't be happy. Zordon isn't happy either, but the others don't get to hear his scalding words. They get dismissed first, leaving only Jason, still clad in the red armor, behind.
“You are the red ranger, you must learn to control your team—”
Jason tunes him out, nodding in all the right places, looking contrive. They'll do better next time. Yes, he’s aware they need to improve. What happened was an accident. Nobody got hurt? That has to count for something. All he wants is his bed, and maybe something to eat before he melds into his mattress once more.
Thursday drags on.
He stands at the edge of the gorge, Zordon's words still fresh in mind, what little he did manage to soak up. It's all old stuff anyway, things he's heard before from the sentient wall but also from his dad. An old chorus he knows by heart. He can’t even deny they were at fault; they might be friends, and they might be part of the same team but they’re not quite a single unit working yet. Teamwork takes time, it’s only been a little over a month.
They’ll get there.
They have to, but for now, he has to put up with whatever Zordon says. He knows arguing back won’t get him anywhere. He’s supposed to be better than that anyway. Should be, but isn’t, that’s the ugly truth. He hides behind a mask, pretending to know more than he does, pretending to be better than he actually is when the reality is that they're all fumbling their way into this whole ranger thing.
It’s just — frustrating. Jason knows what disappointment looks like, what it sounds like, how it curls hot and nauseating in the pit of his stomach. It’s what he sees when he’s quietly standing at attention in front of Zordon. How their mentor talks, how he compares them to the previous ranger team.
Zack stands a few feet away from the edge, not unlike a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.
Jason has half a mind to tell him to get lost but that's the side of him that's done with the day. He wants the whole week to be over with but it’s still Thursday, and Zack is still standing there. “What?”
Zack frowns. “What? That's all you can say?”
“What do you want me to say?”
There's a pause, a second of silence that drags on. “What'd he say?” And almost as an afterthought, “He didn't look happy.”
“He's a wall of pixels. He can't look happy.”
Not quite. Kind of, really. Zordon’s face moves, shifting; little squares trying to emulate life. Anger and disappointment are easy, but maybe that's because Jason knows them by heart. Zordon never looks happy, but sometimes, on rare occasions, he manages to sound content. The only time he ever sounded proud was after they slapped Rita into space.
“Fuck you, you know what I meant.”
“Actually, I don't.” He walks past Zack, shoulder nearly colliding. Nearly. The temptation was there. “What do you care anyway? You don't listen in battle, and now you give a shit?”
Word vomit.
Wrong thing to say.
Zack grabs him by the bicep, hold hard enough to bruise. “Don’t give me that shit!” He sounds about as frustrated as Jason feels. “You think I wanted to get thrown around?”
“I don’t know, maybe you did,” Jason snaps, arm twisting to break off the hold. He turns sharp, eyes narrowed, heart beating faster. They’re too close; if he throws a punch, it’ll throw off his balance. “In case you forgot, we’re supposed to be a team but you love to run off and do your own thing, and you know what? I’m tired of it.” A gross exaggeration. Zack is rash, sure, and impulsive sometimes, but not stupid. So what happened that afternoon? “You don’t listen and today you could’ve screwed us over.”
Zack’s face twists; there’s remorse, but also anger. “Maybe if you were someone worth listening to, I would bother.”
Jason staggers back, Zack’s words hitting harder than an actual punch. He exhales, the air rushing out of him, shocked. There’s that nauseating hollow feeling from before, the one from his nightmares, spreading inside like ice, the cold slowly filling him up. It makes him light-headed.
He never asked for it.
He never asked for red.
“Jason—”
“You think you can do a better job?” He doesn’t need to yell, they’re all alone and it’s quiet enough that his voice carries easily. He takes a step back, hand digging into his pocket, to feel the warmth of the red power coin. Zack backs up, distancing himself from what, the conversation? He looks conflicted. “You wanna lead, Zack?”
“No, that’s not what I meant.”
“Fuck what you meant.”
“Listen, I’m sorry, alright?”
That’s the thing with regret. It always comes too late.
“Have at it then.” He throws the coin to the ground, near Zack’s feet, hard enough that it picks up dust. Zack startles, stepping back, eyes wide. “Knock yourself out.” Jason spreads his arms wide open, “You wanna know what Zordon said? Go ask him yourself, Taylor.”
Zack stares back at him, the spark of anger back in those dark eyes. His hands close into fists at his sides. He doesn’t pick up the coin. “So that’s it, you’re just gonna walk away?”
“That’s it.”
Jason turns around, starts walking even as Zack keeps yelling.
“That’s some fucking bullshit, Jason! You can’t walk away!”
‘Watch me,’ Jason thinks.
“Come on, Red!” And shortly after, “What the fuck, man!”