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The problem with being a superhero is-
No. That's not right. There's more than one problem with being a superhero. There's, like. A mountain of them. Patrick couldn't begin to list them all if he tried. But the biggest problem is fucking putties in his god damn back yard when he's trying to study.
Patrick fumbles for his stupid morpher at the back of his belt, thumb sticking at the activation switch. He mumbles out a pathetic triceratops, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one is going to barge in. Blue ranger or no, if Kevin sees him, Patrick's going to be getting teased until he dies.
The morphing itself is always quick. He's not really sure he wants to know where the spandex is when it's not on him, but he's always always pretty grateful that he doesn't have to wiggle into it on his own. Outside, the putties are starting to gather up around the pool, mumbling and groaning to one another. There's four visible, which is straddling the line of what he can handle on his own. But unless Joe or Andy can figure out how to teleport to him, he's shit out of luck.
Carefully, Patrick slides out of his bedroom window, crouching behind the sticker bush. The putties stop moving, their heads cocking to the side in unison. They're creepy sons of bitches. Patrick takes a slow breath, nods, and lunges for the first one. It goes down hard, sliding into the pool with a splash. The chattering gets louder around him as it floats away in the water.
Patrick's not really a fighter. He's a slow runner and a has a weak right hook, but the suit takes over and gives him strength when he needs it. He doesn't think he'll ever get over watching his own leg kick a putty six feet away. He aims for the stupid z at the center of their chests, eyes narrowed in his helmet. One putty explodes to bits, falling across the lawn.
Patrick isn't picking it up. Superhero or no, lawn work is Kevin's job.
With two out, the other two are easy to get rid of. Patrick jumps a tree and throws apples at their heads, thinking gleefully about how long it'll take his brother to clean up the mess. One of the apples catches a z just right, and the third putty implodes. If he's being honest, Patrick totally prefers Zedd's model to Rita's. Rita at least tried to make things difficult. He tumbles off the branch and headbutts the last one to mud.
This wasn't nearly as hard as he had thought it would be.
"Good job."
Patrick turns around, arms up in front of his chest. There, leaning against the fence, is another ranger, his helmet catching the fading sunlight. The green of his suit stretches and bunches against his arms as he claps, his gloves muffling the sound. Patrick swallows down his nerves. They've fought this guy before. He's strong. Scary strong.
"Why are you here?" Patrick asks. Really, he wants to know how this asshole knows where he lives.
"Because you're here," the green ranger says. He slips over the fence gracefully, landing in the grass without any sound.
Patrick takes a slow step back. The green ranger is bigger than he is, stronger. Faster. Andy usually takes the brunt of his assault when they face off. The green ranger has a dagger strapped to his hip. Patrick has a graphing calculator tucked into his belt. This match is nowhere close to even.
"What do you want?" Patrick asks, stepping over a chunk of putty. He's seen Zedd's lair through Alpha 5's displays, but he doesn't really want to visit in person.
"I already told you," the ranger says, moving in faster. He fakes to the left, but when Patrick tries to dodge, he finds himself flat on his back, ears ringing in his helmet. "I'm here for you."
The green ranger locks his knees against Patrick's sides, one hand on his dagger. Patrick can see the shape of his eyes through the faceplate of his helmet, knows them somewhere in the back of his brain. He's seen this asshole out of costume before. When he feels the fingertips of the green ranger's fingers at the base of his neck, he jerks back.
"Don't be like that," the green ranger says, laying the flat of his dagger against Patrick's chest. Patrick takes a slow breath and goes still. He can feel the steel through his costume.
The green ranger pushes Patrick's helmet off one-handed, the knuckles of his gloves dragging over Patrick's cheek. Patrick squirms, but there is no way to hide his face. This close, he can hear the self satisfied huff of breath the green ranger let out.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he says. It's hard to believe him with the dagger still pressing into Patrick's chest. "Close your eyes."
"I'm not going to-" Patrick cuts off when the dagger makes its way up to his jaw. The blade is sharp enough that Patrick can feel his skin splitting against the edge.
"Close your eyes, and no one gets hurt." The green ranger's hand is steady, his knees digging into Patrick's hips. Reluctantly, Patrick closes his eyes. If he lives through this, he's quitting the team. This shit isn't worth it.
Of all the things he expects to happen, the brush of lips against his isn't one of them. Patrick goes stiff, his fingers curling in his gloves. He feels the green ranger's mouth twist into a grin, tries to imagine the shape of the other ranger's face. There's a moment of silence, and then the green ranger is off of him.
"You should join up with Zedd," he says, voice muffled. "We'd be a good team."
"I'm thinking about retiring," Patrick says, reaching for his helmet. When he looks up, the green ranger is already hopping the fence, leaving Patrick behind.
"I'll be back," he promises before disappearing, nothing more than a beam of light. Patrick flicks his morpher and collapses onto the grass.
Fucking super powers.